Debauched (Undone Book 3) (22 page)

I hold my breath.

With one hand he flicks open the buttons on his shirt, baring my breasts. His attention shifts over them, taking in the bruises on my skin. He trails a finger over my nipple. “You tell me, Ruby. Did you like being marked by me?”

I gasp, the sensation a painful, jarring pleasure. “Yes.”

He cups my breast and lifts it to his mouth. My thighs slide over his and I am wide open and exposed. He licks, laving over my too sensitive skin. He lifts his head while his finger tugs at my nipple. “Are you swollen and sore?”

“Yes.” And it just makes it all the more delicious.

His pressure on my breast increases and it inflames me. “But as sore as you are, all you want is to fuck, right? So you can feel that thing you can’t quite put your finger on but feels like a drug.”

I nod. That’s exactly right.

He grips my thighs and pulls me so I straddle him. My wet, aching center is flush against the soft cotton of his sweatpants and erection. He palms my ass. “It’s the same for me.”

This shocks me, works me up, and empowers me. “Really?”

I know he doesn’t say things just to say them, but it’s still hard to believe.

“Yes.” His fingers grip my soft flesh. “Do you think I’m always like that? Just insatiably fucking over and over again?”

I bite my lip. “Um…kind of.”

He laughs. “Not even close. Your cunt is addictive.”

I jerk against him involuntarily.

He laughs again and that dark evilness is back. He squeezes, and slightly pulls the cheeks of my ass apart, allowing cool air to brush over normally private skin. “Have you ever been fucked in the ass?”

I suck in my breath and shake my head.

He meets my gaze as his fingers dip farther, closer to that part of me nobody has ever touched. “I’m going to fuck you there.”

Even while my mind rejects the statement my body responds, heating and swelling, and pulling tight. I clear my throat. “I don’t think I’d like that.”

“Oh, I disagree. I think you’re not only going to like it, that you’ll learn to crave it.” The tip of one finger brushes over puckered skin.

My core tightens. “Why do you think that?”

He moves his hand so his thumb circles my clit at the same time his finger circles over skin I had no idea was sensitive. The sensations war against each other, competing. I gasp and clutch his shoulders, not sure if I want to surge forward or back.

His eyes grow dark, his features intense. “I’ve noticed something else about you.”

“What’s that?” My nails dig into his bare chest as his movements pick up speed.

“I think you like things a little raw. A little taboo.” He bites my neck, his teeth scraping over my skin. “It must be the repressed Catholic girl in you.”

“I’m not…Catholic.” My breath quickens. My breasts tingle. A low, needy groan escapes from my throat.

He laughs, dark and sexual, while his fingers are relentless. “You know what I mean.”

My thoughts scatter. I don’t know how he does this. I’m on fire.

I lean forward so our chests touch, skin to skin. I start to greedily, hungrily move, circling my hips so I first increase the pressure on my clit before I increase the pressure on my backside, all while abrading my nipples against his chest.

And, oh god, the friction, everywhere at once is so good. I don’t want it to end. I want to go on like this forever.

He growls, low in my ear, “
This
, right here, is who you are. Now be a good girl and come all over my fingers while you think about me fucking this tight little ass of yours.”

He pushes the barest tip of his finger inside me, squeezes my clit and I come in an explosion. I cry out, riding waves of near blinding ecstasy until I collapse in a panting heap on top of him.

Oh. My. God. What is happening to me?

He kisses my temple. “Ruby?”

I moan against him, trying to form a coherent response.

He laughs and drags another pulsing contraction from my drained body. “I’m meeting my parents and brothers for dinner tonight. I want you to come with me.”

A burst of panic tries to break through, but I’m so damn boneless I can’t move. I manage to gasp out, “You…did this…on purpose.”

He tilts my chin and kisses me. “Climb up on my cock and we can talk about it.”

So I do.

Needless to say, I’m meeting Chad’s parents for dinner tonight.

Chad

Ruby and I are at one of the buildings I’m working on. I’m trying to get some things done so my partner and I can list it. We’ve been here all morning, working away, and I’m surprised at how natural it’s starting to feel with her by my side.

I look over at her. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, her hair in a ponytail, her face scrunched up in concentration. It’s warm today, the air hot, signaling summer is on the way. She has on torn jeans and a tight, black tank top that gives her that rocker, rebel vibe.

She’s nothing like the women I normally date. The last girl I dated was a blonde. She was soft and curvy, with a bright, bubbly personality. A cute little submissive girl, who was compliant, loved shopping and didn’t have a complicated thought in her head. I never would have brought her with me to sit in an abandoned building, and I’d never have introduced her to my family.

Watching Ruby, I can’t figure out why that had remotely interested me.

Her brow furrows and she huffs, drawing my attention to her full breasts. Under the scoop of the neckline, I can see the barest hint of a bruise. A bruise I put there. I’ve never been particularly sadistic, I don’t get off on inflicting pain, but last night—my cock stirs—last night I’d been addicted to marking her pale ivory skin. Ruby hadn’t really been in pain though, she’d moved past that so everything had been pure pleasure.

And what I’d said to her this morning was right, last night had been about possession.

Impossibly, I want her again.

Since we’ve been here Ruby has either helped me, or worked on her computer. When we’d first arrived, I’d put her on the island counter and taken her but that was hours ago. I find I’m impatient to get inside her. I hadn’t realized it before but somewhere along the way sex had grown kind of boring. Even kinky sex hadn’t really captured my attention. My seemingly bottomless lust for Ruby only highlighted how apathetic and lazy I’d grown.

I toss my rag to the counter and walk over to her.

She lifts her head, flushes before beaming at me.

My heart skips a beat. I raise a brow. “What were you just thinking about?”

She bites her full bottom lip. “Nothing.”

My guess is she’s either thinking about getting slapped or fucked in the ass. I’ll be honest, she’s managed to surprise me. Her being submissive I’ve known from the beginning, but I didn’t expect her to be
this
kind of submissive.

A darkness lurks within Ruby that gets off on doing things she finds shocking. Ruby didn’t like getting her breasts and pussy smacked because she’s a masochist, she liked it because in her mind there was something wrong about liking it. The more twisted she sees the act, the hotter she gets.

That’s her kink.

My challenge will be in taking it slow. Of pushing her enough she loses her mind but doesn’t panic.

Her lashes flutter. “You’re looking at me like you’re plotting.”

I laugh. “Ruby, when it comes to you, I’m always plotting.”

A red flush crawls across her chest. “Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

“I beg to differ.” I crouch down and rub a finger over her hard nipple. “I think you love the sound of that.”

She does that little intake of breath that drives me crazy.

At some point we’re going to have to talk about the fact that she’s submissive and learning to accept herself for who she really is will only bring her happiness and freedom. She’s not ready yet, but I see it lurking in her gaze, and I know at some point she’ll have to let it out. Her nature will only stand being repressed for so long. Especially now that I’ve opened the floodgates and she no longer has orgasms to stress over.

I have no idea how it will go when we get there, but I’m guessing not well. From what I understand, Ruby’s mom was a talented violinist that gave up everything the world had to offer to take care of her father’s needs and become a perfect minister’s wife.

In Ruby’s eyes, any hierarchy is oppressive and stifling. I can prove her wrong…but only if she lets me. And that will be entirely up to her.

I glance down at her computer and see she has a graphic program open and the image there catches my eye. I shift, sit down against the wall, next to where she’s sitting and take in the picture on her screen. The background is a gritty smudged black, with words in an intricate font. I peer closer—inside the words is an image of a woman, starkly beautiful and haunting.

I rest my head against the wall. “What are you working on?”

She mimics my posture, pulling her laptop up on her thighs, and swirling the pointer over the screen. “It’s not quite done yet. Do you like it?”

I turn my head to study Ruby. Does she not see how unbelievable it is? Her expression is narrowed, her vision roaming over the screen, looking for flaws. “It’s amazing. Is this for work?”

Ruby works for an ad agency and informed me they are beyond boring. I thought she told me the current campaign she’s working on was for toothpaste. She laughs. “No, it’s for fun.” She shrugs. “A favor for my friend, Gene.”

To my surprise jealousy stabs me right in the chest. I shake my head. What the fuck? My mother raised me better. She always said jealousy was a sign of the weak and I tend to agree with her. In a neutral tone, I ask, “Who’s Gene?”

“A musician friend I sometimes hang out with. He’s the guitarist.”

I grit my teeth. Ruby’s weakness. I not only play zero instruments I border on tone deaf and can’t carry a tune to save my soul. My musical talents are in the negatives. I ignore the craziness in my head and ask, “What’s the favor?”

“Their indie band is putting out their first album and they asked me to design it.” She swirls the pointer over the female image in the words. “She reminds me of their first single but I don’t think I have her quite right.”

“She looks perfect to me.”

She laughs. “Layla says I’m a closet perfectionist, and when it comes to this kind of stuff, I am. I’ll make adjustments probably only I can see until I finally get the sense that it’s right.”

“I get that, I’ll fix code for things nobody notices but me and could technically let slide. But they’ll bug me until I take care of them.”

“Exactly.”

Sometimes these little similarities between us takes me off guard. I raise a brow. “And you do this as a favor?”

“Yeah. I’m happy to get a chance to do something creative for a change.”

“Does favor mean free?”

She shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”

I’m not at all surprised. These fucking guys are getting high-quality, professional work for nothing. “How many hours have you spent on this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe twenty or so?”

I’d bet she’s underestimating. “And you don’t think you should get paid for that?”

“They’re friends. I’m not going to charge them.”

“Ruby, that cover is fucking brilliant.”

“You’re biased.” She waves her hand over the screen. “It’s nothing original. Nothing that hasn’t been done before.”

I narrow my eyes on her. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Insist what you do isn’t valuable.”

She stiffens. “They asked me for a favor and I said yes, it’s not a big deal. I wanted to do it.”

She’s deliberately missing my point. I want to push, but stop myself because I can tell she doesn’t want to hear it. To me it’s an example of her undervaluing herself, of minimizing her talents. I don’t even think she’s aware she does it but I’ve been paying attention. She minimizes any praise, diverting almost immediately if someone calls attention to her.

I take a breath and remind myself to be patient. She’s going through changes and it’s important not to throw too much at her. She doesn’t realize this yet but not having her—
I’m frigid and can’t have orgasms mantra
—as a security blanket to cling to is bound to cause emotional upheaval.