Page 26 of Wreck and Ruin
She squeezes my hands, holding onto me like I’m her lifeline, and in ways that she won’t fully understand, I am.
I move closer to her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and pulling her to my chest. She buries herself into me. Her long, pomegranate hair, still dripping with water, is cold against my warm skin.
I realize she’s wearing clothing for the first time, if you can even call it that. I don’t need to look at it to know that it’s far too short to be called a dress with how her exposed, slender legs glisten in the moonlight.
“I won’t let them take you from me,” she whispers softly against me. Her breathing grows faster, and I hold her tighter, careful so that the chains don’t scratch her sensitive skin.
I can’t promise her that everything will work out. I can’t give her the cliche nonchalance you see in movies or read about in books. She needs to understand the weight of what’s happening, the bigger picture, because when the walls start crashing down around her, and one way or another, they will, those men,Father Grimsby, will leave her behind to rot. That is if they don’t kill her first. If she knows what’s happening here, it could ruin the element of surprise that they will no doubt get off on, giving her a chance to escape if I can’t get to her.
Her breathing is softer now. Her too-tiny frame is swallowed by my muscular one as she begins to calm down. She’s not asleep. She’s content like this.
Here with me.
“You know that this all ends in blood, Little Siren. But if you don’t let me go, it will be our blood that spills, not theirs.”
Chapter16
AIRLIE
We lay like this for what feels like an eternity.
Ezekiel.
His strong arms are wrapped around me, and it’s like they belong here. I can’t remember a time I’ve ever felt this kind of peace, and now that he’s here, and I know what it feels like to be in his arms, I don’t ever want to give it up.
We may have fallen asleep at some point because my back is pressed up against his hard body, his bicep beneath my head as a pillow. His other hand rests on my exposed hip, pinning me against him.
He must realize I’m awake because his fingers slowly trace featherlight circles on my hip, but I feel his touch everywhere. His warm breath fans my neck, and goosebumps pepper my skin in response. His hand slides up from my hip to my ribs, leaving a trail of heat behind him. My dress is a pointless barrier between us because it’s bunched up beneath my breasts, exposing my scars to him.
I ignore the urge to cover my body, remembering he, too, has scars. Where some of mine are a mix of pink and purple, his are different shades of silver and blue.
We shouldn’t be doing this.
Father would be furious if he saw us this way.
That thought only makes this all the more exciting.
I realize how strange that is.
When Father touches me, he leaves me cold and empty.
Defective.
And I’m forced to live with his torment curling around my mind like incense smoke, wrapping me in his rancid scent, until there’s nothing left of me but the stain on my soul from his games.
Ezekiel’s touches are warm and gentle.
New.
Yet nothing about this feels foreign.
They’re kind yet menacing. Thoughtful, but I can sense his greed as he smooths his large hand across my stomach, then up to trace the skin beneath my right breast. My blood ignites, a rush of heat flooding through my veins, and my body quivers in his grasp, but it has nothing to do with the chill in the air.
His cold chains brush against my skin, but they are an afterthought as my body willingly melts into his. I sink back into him, wiggling my bottom against his hardness.
He must like it because he squeezes me into him more, groaning something inaudible in my ear, sending a wave of goosebumps across my skin.
The ocean crashes against the rocks, their thunderous roar melding in with the howling winds as it sweeps through the cave’s hollow, though it doesn’t drown out the sound of my heartbeat, thumping loud in my ears.
