Page 21 of Midnight of Ashes
I swallowed hard. I guessed an alpha wasn’t used to getting the no sort of answers. “I’m not.”
“Why. Not?” Cillian gritted out as he prowled toward me.
I squared my shoulders, a ridiculous attempt to stand my ground when Cillian was over a foot taller than me. “Because you’re hurting.”
He came up short, stopping in his tracks. “Little Flame…”
There was so much pain in those two words, so much unspoken emotion.
I closed the distance between us, taking one of his hands. I slowly unwound the black wraps on his fists. When the material fell to the ground, I could see that the flesh on his knuckles was torn.
I moved on instinct, lifting his hand to my mouth and brushing my lips across the torn skin.
“Careful. I’m not in control right now.”
I lifted my gaze to Cillian’s. “Then lose control with me.”
12
HAYDEN
Cillian’s dark green eyes swirled black again. “Bad idea, Little Flame.”
I stared up at him, pressing closer. “You won’t hurt me.”
“You don’t know that,” he growled, but his arms wrapped around me, his hands squeezing my ass.
“I do,” I said, pouring all the certainty I could into my voice.
Cillian hardened against me, and my thighs clenched instinctively. He needed this. I needed this.
I summoned every ounce of bravery I had and slid my hand into Cillian’s workout shorts. I wrapped my fingers around his length and stroked.
The growl he let loose was pure pleasure.
The sound emboldened me. I stroked again. He felt like silk wrapped around steel. Each pass of my hand sent waves of heat through me.
“Enough!” Cillian barked.
I released him, stepping back.
Another growl left his lips, darker this time. “You want to play, Little Flame?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
Cillian bent down then, picking up the discarded hand wrap. He prowled toward me, a predator stalking his prey.
He grabbed my wrist and jerked me against him. “So pretty. So innocent. Love making you blush. Let’s see all the places that pretty blush spreads.”
In a flash, Cillian had both my wrists in one hand and had backed me up against the heavy bag. He lifted my arms, tying my wrists to the bag’s chains with the wraps. The moment he was done, he stepped back, breathing ragged.
I tested the bindings. Tight but not horribly so. Just the slightest bit of discomfort.
“Safe word,” he gritted out.
“Red,” I whispered.
“Slow down?”
