Ruin & Rule

I gave up.

Night had turned to a new dawn, and I refused to live another day not knowing. My unlocking rested with Kill.

It was time to find him.

Grabbing his leather jacket, I slipped into the comforting warmth and went in search. My nakedness beneath the supple cut teased my nipples. I inhaled deeply, drenching my lungs in his smell, invoking a twisting need that never extinguished.

My mind wanted to confront him for answers. My body wanted to confront him for a release. Yesterday was over, the future was as dark as the night-shrouded house, but here and now—it was full of possibilities and I wanted to take advantage.

The house was silent as I padded barefoot over luscious carpet and cold marble. There were no noises, no creaks or hints of life.

Peeking into his empty office, with its four computer monitors and never-turned-off analytic software, I followed the usual trail of sitting room, den, and kitchen.

Empty.

Empty.

Empty.

I moved to the huge sliding doors leading to the back garden, cupping my eyes to peer outside to the sweeping garden beyond.

The moon cast a silver glow, turning three-dimensional into two-dimensional, glittering with mystery.

Empty.

The alarm system flickered red, warning it was activated. He didn’t leave the house.

I kept drifting, following the layout of the dwelling, leading easily from one room to the next. Abstract art of black-and-white motorbikes loomed from corridor walls. Diplomas of mathematical excellence and philanthropic donations glinted smugly as I traversed the foyer and entered a wing of the house I explored the day before he took me to the compound.

Newspaper clippings were blown up and bordered in huge glossy frames showing stock market evaluations, graphs, and candlestick charts.

Kill’s house was sterile and remote, yet permitted a small glimpse into who he was beneath the violence, curses, and anger.

There was something insanely intelligent and… defenseless.

Coming to a large door at the end of the property, I pushed it open and entered a muggy, humidity-drenched world. Watery echos bounced off the glass roof above, showing nothing but velvet night sky and glittering condensation.

My skin prickled with damp heat and the sound of splashes came from around the corner. I hadn’t been in here before. The door had been locked.

I inched forward, moving past a changing room and a door to a sauna.

I stopped short.

Kill was doing laps in a large oblong pool. His powerful body sliced through the water, cutting hard and swift with the crawl. His eyes were closed, hair slicked to his skull, and the huge tattoo on his back rippled beneath the water.

I couldn’t move. He looked so sleek and predator-like in the water—so powerful. Water splashed the sides as he ducked and pushed off from the crimson-decorated wall. The mosaic tiles gave the impression the water was red—as if Kill swam in blood.

His arms never stopped their deadly assault, shoving liquid away as if he wanted to murder every droplet. He pushed himself to the point of exhaustion; God only knew how long he’d been in there.

Moving to the end of the pool, I stepped from the shadows and deliberately placed myself where he would see.

One stroke.

Two strokes.

Suddenly he stopped, standing up in a wash of chlorine. His chest rose and fell, his stitched wound looking better but still a little puffy. His eyes pinned me to the spot, narrowing in a mixture of disbelief and denial.

My knees locked as his heavy breathing intoxicated me, reminding me of other activities where panting was caused. Humid air clung to my skin, dousing me in perspiration and need.

Water streamed down his face, spilling into his lips as he said quietly, “What are you doing in here?” His voice licked through the space, sending delicious shock waves through my core. Just like the night when I’d awoken kidnapped, his earthquake voice split my world and fractured everything I knew. I was in tune with him—the perfect chalice for the power he conjured.

I swallowed, trying to get a grip on my thoughts. “You shouldn’t be swimming with your injury.”

His eyes flashed, wrenching back whatever he’d been thinking about while driving through the water. “The stitches need to come out.”

I nodded. “I’ll remove them for you, but they should probably stay in another few days.”

He didn’t say anything, merely cocked his head. His stare unnerved me—whatever he’d seen back on the yacht had given him answers and… hope.

Tearing his gaze from mine, he waded through the chest-deep water, moving toward the side of the pool. In a smooth, effortless move, he launched himself from water to tile. The way his muscles bunched and twisted as he stood from crouch to full height made my mouth water.

His back faced me, revealing the full impact of the tattooed cut—the scar tissue beneath the design raised so many questions. My eyes trailed down and down, ratcheting my heart rate until I felt it in every extremity.

Oh God.

He was slick with water.

He was beautifully built.

He was… naked.

My lips parted, tummy coiled with desire.

He turned to face me.

My cheeks heated as my eyes locked onto his cock. I couldn’t look away. I was entranced, bewitched, completely focused on the mermaid’s hair looping around his perfectly formed erection. It hung heavy and hard, dripping with pool water. His balls were tight and drawn close to his body, completely clean-shaven.

His quads twitched as his hands balled by his sides. The only noise was the gentle lapping of the water and the steady drip, drip, drip of his naked form as droplets rippled over his muscles.