Page 18 of Carved Obsession (The Sanctum Syndicate #4)

Carter

The cold spray of the shower hits like frigid hale, but I have to put out this heat that has filled me with such fiery vengeance. I drove like a madman back home, speeding with all the windows down, hoping that the gushes of air would do the job.

They didn’t.

This shower is not doing a better job.

Maybe . . .

Oh no, that’s a bad fucking idea.

But maybe . . .

I could fight fire with fire.

I shake my head at this fucking idea, because I know it’s both good and terrible. It could backfire. It could become addicting.

Stepping out of the spray, I grab my phone and prop it on the four-foot-high divider wall before I walk back in. I’m not a fan of glass cages, so I had to have an open shower, with only this partial wall dividing it from the rest of the bathroom.

I open the spy-cam app, pulse speeding as I wait for Scarlet’s bedroom to pop on screen. The image slams into my chest like a wild blaze, shooting straight to my cock. It’s the only part of me that’s moving. Throbbing. I refuse to move, especially blink.

Because this sinful woman is spread bare in the middle of her bed, fingers sunk deep inside her pussy, back arched, and features strained with euphoria.

And I have a front-row seat to this show.

“That’s it, kitten, fuck that pussy raw.”

I turn the volume up, and my bathroom fills with her moans and soft cries. She sounds disheveled and desperate, begging for more.

For deeper gratification. For that stretch that brings a taste of pain.

I fist my cock, bracing myself against the wall as I watch her, pumping myself until my movements turn harsh.

Borderline desperate. I tighten my grip around the piercings, hissing through satisfying pain, my knees threatening to buckle with the onslaught of pleasure.

Harder and faster, I run my hand over my length, eyes trained on the woman who is not so slowly turning my life upside down.

“Aah, fuck!” she curses, reaching to the side with her free hand.

My attention is stuck on the arc of her curves—the gentle swells of her breasts, the sinuous lines of her luscious thighs, and the tantalizing glimpse of her pussy, partially hidden beneath the movement of her hand.

I flinch as my phone vibrates loudly on the tiles, and a text pops up at the top of my screen.

Electric heat blooms behind my ribs, and I lean in to make sure it’s definitely Scarlet’s name there. I swipe down enough for the reply box to show up without opening the app. I don’t want to miss a whimper or a squirm.

Be honest, killer-boy, how many times a day do you think of me?

A smirk pulls at the corner of my mouth. I don’t have to imagine her thinking of me as she tries to make herself come. I get to witness it.

More than I should.

I didn’t have to be that damn honest.

The message disappears off my screen and lights up hers.

She scrambles for her phone, fingers still inside her aching pussy, the pad of her palm bearing down on her clit as she reads the text.

Her heavy mewl lands right on the tip of my cock, precum coating it.

I rub it over my length, imagining her spit coating every inch of me.

Another text flashes on my screen, and once again, I swipe on it.

Were you thinking of me tonight?

My dick has definitely taken over, because there’s no way my brain thinks the next word is a good idea.

Yes.

Her pleasure-tainted cries imprint on my walls, filling the air around me and sinking into my lungs, my mind, my nerves. My very fucking soul demands more of them.

She types with one hand, and another text pops up.

Was I on my knees or on top?

Jesus, she’s direct.

I like it.

On your back. Legs spread wide. My knife to your throat. Your blood running down my blade and between your tits. A thin thread down your belly…

This honesty can get me in fucking trouble. Only, on the feed on my phone, I don’t see panic. No disgust. No fear. Unhinged desires painted in pleasure and elation are all I see on her stunning face.

What have I stumbled into? How is this woman real?

Most would fear my honest words. Would fucking run screaming.

Yet there is Scarlet...smiling as she types the next text.

She slows the thrust of her fingers, but the movements harden.

Her rhythm grows passionate, finding those threads that bring true pleasure rather than frantic, desperate pleasure.

Down my belly…between the soft, wet seam of my pussy. Is that what you imagine, with your cock in your hand, late in the night? Does thinking of killing me make you hard, killer-boy?

I reply before I even finish reading it, pumping my cock harder, flicking the head with a tighter squeeze.

You’re taking liberties…such a greedy little slut, aren’t you? The thought of punishing you makes me hard, kitten.

“Aaah...” she moans so loud I’m compelled to join her, throwing my head back as my release inches much closer.

Tell me more of this punishment.

I would strip you naked. Sit you on my thigh, your side to my front, your ass hanging out. Your flimsy throat would be in my hand so I could feel your screams vibrate through my skin as I spanked you silly.

Like a good little whore, you would beg me to turn your pain to pleasure as your slutty little pussy drenches my leg, grinding to chase that release that I wouldn’t allow to come. I would slap your ass until thin threads of blood coat your creamy skin in crimson spiderwebs.

It’s official. I am going mad.

I could have said anything else. Like cut her fucking throat. Torture her. At least maybe whip her. Use any other instrument that would keep me at arm’s length from the reckless woman.

I could have.

But I wouldn’t have dared. Because the moment I get my hands on her, I want to do anything in my power to feel every single thing she feels. Her pleasure, her pain, her desperation. All of it. I couldn’t use an instrument and deny my own pleasure. My satisfaction.

“Oh god, yes! ” she cries on a wanton moan, bending her legs for better access.

She rubs that bundle of nerves with the pad of her palm, finger-fucking her pussy in punishment, demanding the rapture-divining cliff to inch closer.

Is that a promise, killer-boy?

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Is your messy little cunt dripping thinking of all the pleasure I could drown you in?

Yes. Oh god, yesss!

The reply comes so quickly, I almost come on the fucking spot.

Are you filling your pussy with your fingers, imagining my fat cock pumping it full of cum?

“Oh god, oh god! Oh...that filthy, filthy mouth. Fuuuck!” she cries out as she reads the text.

I’ve created a monster. Two, maybe...because I struggle to recognize myself. I’m a creature of logic, but right now, I’m built of lust alone.

Please…

I read that text two dozen times at least. Over and over. Until my cock aches to burst, imagining Scarlet beneath me, begging me to let her come all over me. Begging for every inch. For my cock to stretch her, my cum to fill her perfect little cunt.

Come.

She reads my command, and the phone slides out of her hand as she braces herself against the headboard. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide, and head thrown back, she cries out as the orgasm hits her head-on.

Bliss coats her pleasure-laced screams as she writhes on her bed, legs shaking uncontrollably.

Then she screams my name .

My goddamn name.

“Jesus Christ, woman!” My balls draw up, and my load shoots out in heavy, explosive streams all over the fucking wall as Scarlet’s voice echoes through my bathroom, crying out my name in pure ecstasy.

The threads of pleasure run deep, weaving around my goddamn soul as I step backward until my shoulder blades hit the cold wall.

This is a line I shouldn’t have crossed. There’s no coming back from this.

But I fucking needed this.

And I want so much more.

I was wrong before I opened the feed to her camera. This won’t become addicting. Because it already is.

Scarlet

I woke up with an almost painful smile on my face this morning. The music was on, breakfast tasted amazing, and all the birds seemed to be singing in the garden. The day looked fucking promising.

If I didn’t already have plans, I would have been at Carter’s door after I woke up, confronting him about all the texts from last night.

I would have made him face me rather than hide behind a screen.

Maybe I would have jumped him and ground against his beautifully carved body hiding underneath those tailored three-piece suits.

No maybe; I would have definitely jumped him.

Maybe put a knife to his throat for daring to try to fucking kill me.

But that particular pleasure will have to wait.

Today is mostly a surveillance day. The primary focus is my next target.

Dad and I have been on this guy for weeks now, and our window is opening tomorrow night.

It’s a bit of a different job than what we’re used to, and not because our target will be at home.

That just makes it so much more exciting.

I love a good challenge that gets the adrenaline pumping and the blood pressure spiking.

Everything is organized, and there’s no more planning to be done. Only surveillance of the man to ensure no changes to the plan are necessary.

I’ve been at it for hours, constantly carrying my laptop around. On the sofa. On the deck. While lifting weights in my spare bedroom. On the treadmill. In the natural pool out in the garden.

Too many hours of making sure his patterns and plan for tonight remain unchanged, and there won’t be any disruption to our plan for tomorrow night.

But even with all the side activities I’ve been doing, I’m going fucking stir-crazy. As much as I enjoy this part of the job, I’m restless today. I can’t stop thinking about a different plan I have, which has nothing to do with this heist. That prospect brings tingles right between my damn legs.

Until then, though . . . I need a break.