Confess (Sin City Salvation #1)

by A. Zavarelli

  “Do you like my hands on your body?” he whispered into my ear.

  I whimpered in response, hoping he wouldn’t make me answer him. That was too cruel. It wasn’t desire, it was biology. My body was adapting to the situation. Doing what it needed to survive. That, I was certain of. Because if I had liked it, liked the hands of this monster, that would have made me a monster too.

  His teeth scraped along my throat, all the way down to my shoulder, leaving a certain trail of red marks. It burned, but it made my heart race faster too.

  “I want to do everything to you,” he rasped. “Depraved things I haven’t even thought of yet, but that I certainly will.”

  When he knelt behind me and dug his fingers into my hips, I cried out. He laughed and then buried his face between my parted legs. I forgot the pain of his grip when his tongue lashed against me. It was soft and gentle at first, and the traitorous desire that simmered inside of me now boiled over.

  A sound of surrender escaped my throat when his tongue pushed inside of me. I’d never been so exposed in front of a man before, and I could only imagine how flushed I must be. Moisture clung to my skin, and my palms grew weak against the wall. I trembled when something zipped up my spine. My belly contracted, and my body grew so stiff I knew I would explode any second.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and gasped for air as my toes dug into the carpet. I was so close. So close. Any moment now…

  My pleasure fled in a violent shock of pain when he sank his teeth into my inner thigh and bit down. My scream echoed off the walls of the room as I collapsed forward.

  He licked at the wound and kneaded my ass cheeks in his hand before he leaned in and drew in a long breath. He was inhaling me, and I wanted to die of shame.

  He stood up behind me and pulled my back against his chest as he nipped at my ear. “You didn’t think I would make it that easy did you, Brighton?”

  I wanted to cry, but I was in shock. He hadn’t even been inside of me yet, and already I could feel him everywhere. I was certain my hips were bruised from his grip, and he had marked my shoulder and thigh already with his teeth. A shiver ran through me when his arousal dug into my spine.

  “Turn around,” he ordered.

  I could barely hold myself up, and it showed. I spun in his arms, pressing my back against the wall as he caged me in with his body. He was large. I could feel it now. His body was lean and muscular, and much taller than mine. I felt his eyes on me, his gaze burning through me as he decided on his next method of torture.

  It didn’t take me long to find out what that was. He dragged my fingers down to his cock, wrapping my palm around him. It was so thick my fingers didn’t even touch, and suddenly I couldn’t swallow.

  “Stroke me,” he breathed.

  His anguished voice was unexpected, and it filled me with a strange sort of raw power. I may have been blindfolded, but I wasn’t deaf, and it was obvious I was the one getting to him now. I didn’t understand it. I was nobody, that’s what I’d been told my whole life. But to this man, I was something. Something he wanted very badly.

  The warmth of his breath on my cheek surprised me as he smoothed my hair back away from my face.

  “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time now, Brighton.” His words skated over my lips, followed by the touch of his mouth.

  The kiss was gentle at first, hesitant. And it was confusing. I didn’t want to like it, but his lips were soft and inviting, his breath minty and sweet. It reminded me of another time and place, and for a moment, I could pretend it was that man I was kissing.

  My lips parted, and he seized the opportunity to taste me. To drink my resistance as if it fueled him. A strangled noise left my throat, and it spurred him on. He cradled my face in his hands as the kiss grew deeper, effectively stealing all the breath from my lungs. Heat coiled low inside my belly as I moved my hand against his rigid flesh. I wasn’t sure if I was doing it right, but he didn’t complain. In fact, he was making sounds in his throat that seemed to have a direct correlation to my own traitorous body.

  Why it should turn me on that I was affecting him this way, I had no idea. This wasn’t happening the way I had envisioned. I was supposed to hate him, to feel nothing but disgust, but it wasn’t that simple. My body had betrayed me.

  When his lips broke away, I actually whined. But then his hands were on me again, rough and possessive as he lifted me up and set me on the table. The wood was cool beneath my skin, and his voice was even colder when he spoke again.

  “How easy you are to bend to my will,” he observed.

  A cold front moved between us as his palms bit into my legs, prying them apart. Whatever had happened between us a moment ago was gone, and now fear was left in its place.

  His mouth surprised me when he captured one of my nipples between his teeth and gave it a tug. I yelped, only to be shocked when his hand curled around my throat.

  “You are here for my pleasure,” he growled as he moved in closer. “Don’t forget that.”

  On instinct, my hand came up to his, trying to pry it from the delicate skin around my neck. It had only been a few seconds, but already I couldn’t breathe.

  “Please,” I begged.

  He slapped my hand away and tightened his grip.

  “Don’t fucking move.”

  His arousal nudged against my entrance as he squeezed my hip with his other hand to hold me in place. Spots flashed inside of my vision as he tore into me in one deep thrust.

  A sob escaped me, and he released my throat and froze. I was burning inside, stretched beyond all comprehension from his rough entrance.

  He cursed and leaned back, gripping my thighs as he examined the place where we connected with his fingers.

  “Brighton,” he rasped. “Are you a…”

  “Yes!” I cried out. “I’m a virgin.”

  How far would you go to save someone you love? Would you give up your body? Your mind? Your heart?

  I did, and it cost me everything.

  He says he owns me. And it’s true.

  I’ve signed over complete control of my body and life for six months to a man I don’t know. Five years he’s been planning this. They say revenge is a dish best served cold. But my blackmailer serves it up white hot. He’s addicted to my innocence, and I’m addicted to him.

  EXCERPT from BEAST-

  Before I even open my eyes, a vivid and familiar scent hits me.

  Wild roses.

  I am surrounded by wild roses. They are the first thing I notice when I come to. And they are everywhere. Crimson and soft velvet perched upon delicate stems riddled with thorns.

  My eyes are dry and heavy, but a tear leaks from the corner and spills over onto my cheek. I don’t want to accept my reality. I don’t want to accept that this is anything more than a dream. But the high arched glass ceilings only confirm that I am trapped in a nightmare instead. A beautiful nightmare, with stars as far as the eye can see.

  It’s a conservatory. I’m in a conservatory. On a bed. Surrounded by roses and stars.

  This is not a place I have ever been. And yet, it feels acquainted to me. A place from my memories.

  My father used to speak of a place like this. A mansion in the forest. Moldavia, he said it was called. I didn’t know where it was. At times, I often wondered if it even existed, the way he spoke of it.

  But I recognize the architectural style. I recognize the trees outside the windows. They are things that I know can’t be a coincidence. There is no doubt in my mind that I am at Moldavia. And the person who was leaving rose petals at my door all along was really Javi.

  The same man who refused to meet with me. The one I was so desperate to meet before.

  I wonder now if Art knew. If he knew how dangerous Javi was and he was just trying to protect me. I can’t understand it. Nothing about this makes sense.

  Has it been Javi all along? Has he been the one who has watched my every move for… I shudder to think of how long it’s been.

  That
terror seeps into every one of my bones when I try to move and I can’t. I am bound by my wrists to the bed frame.

  My lungs burn with the need for air, and I can’t think. I want to scream, but I am paralyzed.

  Javi murdered his own mother. That’s what his file said. And now he’s going to murder me too. Tears well up in my eyes and I silently curse my father, wondering why he ever brought Javi into his life. Into our lives.

  With a jolt, I ride the rollercoaster of emotions. Hatred. Anger. Paranoia. And then, finally, determination.

  I’m struggling to pull free from my bonds when the sound of a door echoes through the cavernous space. A draft blankets the room before I ever see the shape of him.

  Even then, it is all I can see.

  He stalks around the perimeter like the predator he is, remaining shrouded in darkness. His hood is up, and his head is tilted down. A wildly overgrown beard is the only unobscured detail beneath the shadow of his cloak.

  The magnitude of his frame increases as he draws near, veiled in jeans and motorcycle boots. Every step is a gunshot to my ears.

  My breath has gone still, and my thoughts are careening out of control.

  I need to convince him not to hurt me. I need to hurt him first.

  I need to escape.

  He stops next to the bed, and those notions die a swift and brutal death.

  A tank.

  The man is a goddamn tank. And I’m going to die without mercy under the weight of those bear paws he calls hands. I don’t stand a chance.

  “Please,” I beg him. “Please, Javi. You don’t have to do this.”

  His name on my lips startles him, at least momentarily.

  “You know of me?” his voice echoes through the space and sends another wave of terror straight through my chest.

  Javi’s file said that he doesn’t speak to anyone. That’s what Art told me. That’s what my father told me. For all the agency knows—he can’t speak verbally at all. But it isn’t true.

  It isn’t true at all.

  His words are accented with a Spanish lilt. Beautifully so.And he said them to me. A low growl rises from his chest, and I try to curl into myself.

  “How do you know of me?” he demands. “How do you know my name?”

  “Your file,” I whisper. “I read your file.”

  Another growl.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t block it out. I can still hear him. He takes a step closer. Then another. And then he is sitting on the bed next to me.

  When I open my eyes again, he reaches for me. His fingers touch my face. Rough. Huge. Lethal.

  I wait for his wrath. For my death. But it doesn’t come.

  His palm drifts down my cheek and over the sensitive flesh of my throat before dipping to my heaving chest. He’s only an inch from my breast when he stops and jerks away.

  The impact shifts his hood slightly, and I can see him now. See his wild, golden eyes staring back at me.

  The scar that slashes right through his eyebrow. He has the bone structure of a Viking. One who looks as though at any moment, he might pillage my very soul.

  “Javi,” I whisper.

  Again, his name on my lips seems to knock his senses astray.

  He rises and disappears, only to return a moment later, placing a fresh cut rose on the pillow beside me.

  “Why are you doing this?” I beg. “Please tell me.”

  “Are you ready, beauty?”

  “Ready for what?” He smiles. And his teeth are perfect. His lips, sinister.

  “To sing me a song.” He touches my arm with a featherlight caress. “With words only I can hear.”

  Once upon a time, I believed in fairytales.

  But then he took me.

  And he taught me that life isn’t a fairytale.

  He is scarred. Broken.

  A dark and wild thing.

  His beauty is violent and his words are cruel.

  His heart is a shadowed landscape where nothing can grow.

  He tells me he could never care for me, and he proves it every day.

  He’s destroyed my life.

  Tortured me.

  And worse…

  He’s trained me to beg for his affection.

  This prison is a place where sunlight doesn’t reach.

  He taught me that hate is born in darkness.

  And then he taught me that sometimes love is too.

  Boston Underworld Series

  CROW: Boston Underworld #1

  REAPER: Boston Underworld #2

  GHOST: Boston Underworld #3

  SAINT: Boston Underworld #4

  THIEF: Boston Underworld #5

  Bleeding Hearts Series

  Echo: A Bleeding Hearts Novel Volume One

  Stutter: A Bleeding Hearts Novel Volume Two

  Twisted Ever After Series

  BEAST: Twisted Ever After #1

  Standalones

  Tap Left

  Falling Series

  Novellas

  An Escort for Christmas

  One Last Gift

  For a complete list of books and audios, visit www.azavarelli.com/books

  A. Zavarelli is a USA Today and Amazon bestselling author.

  She likes all things chocolate, books that come with warnings, and putting her characters through hell. Her tales have been known to flirt with darkness and sometimes court it unabashedly altogether. Revenge themes and tortured souls are her favorites to write and this gives her an excuse to watch bizarre and twisted documentaries in her spare time.

  She currently lives in the Northwest with her lumberjack and an entire brood of fur babies.

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