Priceless (Ruthless Doms 1)

“It didn’t!” I protest, but we both know it’s a lie. He cocks one brow up at me as he doubles his belt over in his fist, then before I know what he’s doing, he’s tipping me to the side.

Whoosh.

Leather smacks against my ass. It hurts. It fucking stings.

I moan. He chuckles.

“It didn’t?” he asks, dragging the leather along my naked back and backside. “You can’t lie to me. You know if you lie, I’ll have to punish you.” The leather trails back and forth. It’s soft but rough, and I imagine myself bent over the bed while he brings the leather down. Lecturing me. Stern and corrective. I swallow hard.

“But not today,” he says, tossing the belt to the floor, before he leans down and kisses my shoulder. The belt slithers, the buckle clangs, as his warm, soft mouth caresses my naked skin. “You belong to me, Marissa,” he says, dropping another kiss to the opposite shoulder, as if blessing me with his mouth. “And today I will make you mine.”

I close me eyes, overcome with anticipation and so much more. Hope. Longing. Before our separation, I’d have died knowing this moment was coming.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” I whisper, gently tracing my finger down the side of his face as he works his way to my collarbone, kissing a sensual trail. “And I thought you hated me. I was convinced I couldn’t possibly mean anything more to you.”

He shakes his head and lifts his eyes to me, as he gracefully moves his body over mine, caging me in beneath him. The blue fathomless depths do something to my heart, reminiscent of the vastness of the ocean, the endless sky, his gaze brims with conviction.

“I wanted to keep you safe,” he says in explanation. “I couldn’t let on how I felt about you or both of us would be in danger. Your father would have killed me and you’d have been locked up forever. Sent to a boarding school.” His voice cracks. “Taken away from me.”

Then he closes his eyes and brings, his lips thinning, before he bends and whispers in my ear. “We aren’t supposed to speak of this now.”

Oh, God. I totally forgot.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He places a finger to my lips and shakes his head. “Sweet girl,” he whispers. “There are many ways to speak with no words at all.”

He’s bare from the waist up, and I let my eyes rove shamelessly over his powerful body, muscled and strapping, marked with ink and slightly tanned, he’s the epitome of strength and tenacity. My shelter from the storm.

I open my mouth to speak, then close it again. He’s right. Even though there are so many things to say, we don’t need words to say them.

He holds himself above me, braced on his elbows, his hands caging me in on either side. I feel small and fragile in his grip, and I love the way his large hands frame my body. I brace myself on his neck as he lowers his mouth to mine and gently, so gently it’s only the ghost of a kiss, brushes his lips to mine. Once, twice, three times as he gently rocks his hips against mine.

I want to tell him I love him. That no matter what happens, I always will. But I need to tell him silently. I grip the back of his neck and pull his mouth harder to mine, kissing him back with matched ferocity. The soft, sensual feel of his mouth on mine makes delicious tingles spread through my body. I lift my hips and spread my legs. Welcoming him closer. Giving myself to him.

He tears his mouth away from mine with great reluctance, groaning as he shifts his weight to avoid crushing me. I reach a finger to his cheek, biting my tongue so I don’t speak. There are so many things I want to say.

I missed you.

I’ve wanted this for so long.

We will find our way.

I knew you’d come for me.

Instead of speaking, I run my hand gently down the side of his face, thrilling with the rough feel of his scruffy beard, before I lightly trace the fullness of his lips, swollen from kissing me. He holds my gaze and lifts his brows.

Are you ready?

I bite my lip and nod. It will hurt, but if he doesn’t satisfy this ache in me I’ll wither up and die. It’s more than a craving for the physical connection. So, so much more. It’s the deep, abiding need of becoming fully, truly his.

With deliberate movements, holding my eyes, he pushes himself to kneeling and finishes undressing. I help him, reaching for his pants, and he allows me, guiding the fabric down together. I let my gaze wander unabashedly over him once he’s naked. I want to run my tongue along the grooves of his abs, and rub my bare skin against the coarse hair that trails down his stomach. I trace each tattoo with the very tip of my finger before I take his shoulders and pull him down to me.