Page 31 of Carved Obsession (The Sanctum Syndicate #4)

Scarlet

I’m not sure how long we’ve been walking, but I’m convinced of one thing—Carter Pierce was born in utter silence.

It’s the only explanation for how comfortable he is with this lengthy silence.

He found out I’ve been breaking into his car, business, and house. That I’ve been following him. Messing with him. I stole from him. Caused this car crash. Stranded us in the middle of a forest during a damn monsoon. And he hasn’t spoken one word to me since we began walking.

Either he’s using this time to plan a fantastic revenge, or...

I got nothing.

I’m uncomfortable. Nervous. And, frankly...cold. This damn storm isn’t doing me any favors.

The ground beneath my feet is so wet, there’s no crunch when I step over the leaves, twigs, and whatever else lies on this forest floor. It’s dangerously slippery, and the last thing I need right now is to get injured. Again.

The dull throb in my side seems to intensify at times, and I can’t help but feel a little worried. I don’t care much when I hurt myself, but I’m not usually stuck in the middle of nowhere with no access to medical care.

I need a distraction.

“Can you slow down, please?” He’s only a couple of paces ahead, but in the heavy downpour, my words don’t travel. “Carter!” I shout.

He whips around, his gaze urgently searching the forest before he finally settles on me.

“Are you okay?” he asks, the words low yet alert.

“I just wanted you to slow down.”

“We can’t.”

“Well, I can’t walk as fast as you. You’re taller. You cover more distance with your gigantic steps, and I’m slipping all over the place.”

It’s too dark here to read his expression, but my imagination runs wild. Is he scowling? Rolling his eyes? Or maybe he’s sweetly sympathetic.

I almost audibly scoff at the ridiculousness of the latter.

Carter turns and continues walking. No answer. No acknowledgment. I smile when his pace slows, allowing me to catch up. But he’s still quiet, focused on our non-existent path ahead or his phone, and I’m getting more fidgety by the minute.

“Okay, can we get this over with?” I plant my feet in the mud, clutching my temples before I throw my hands to the sides as he turns excruciatingly slowly toward me. “I can’t take this anymore! This charged...silence. Just lay it on me!”

Lightning cuts across the sky, catching the exact moment Carter cocks a naturally sculpted eyebrow that fuels my frustration further.

“Seriously. Let’s get this out of the way,” I insist.

“I’m good.”

Frowning, I recoil, shaking my head in disbelief. “You—what? You’re good ?” I exclaim, rushing after him when he dares to turn around and walk away again.

Thunder blasts through the night, the wretched rain punishing my skin as I grab his forearm to stop him.

“Cut the bullshit, killer-boy. There’s no way you’re not bothered by this, regardless of your promise to let me live.”

His eyes move from my hand clutching his forearm to my body, traveling upward until they meet mine. If looks could draw pain, his would douse me in it. I’m a sucker for a challenge and I refuse to let go, though I’m a little hurt he’s so bothered by my touch.

“Do not call me that infernal name,” he seethes.

Tilting my head, I playfully cock an eyebrow. This is it. My opening to get him talking.

“Would you prefer I text it to you? You sure do like it when I text you. When I tease you.” I step in front of him, splaying my palm over his chest, searching for his heartbeat. “Call you that infernal name with my hands buried deep between my thighs. Touching. Stroking. Thrusting.”

My other hand is still tightly wrapped around his forearm, and I tip my head back to catch his gaze, despite the heavy raindrops.

“Where’s that man from the texts? The one who wanted to strip me. Spank me. Make my slutty little pussy drench him.” I drag my hand down his chest, over his abs flexing beneath my touch, until I hit the buckle of his belt and pause.

His nostrils flare, yet tensing his muscles is the only movement he dares.

“Where’s the man who wanted to make me bleed and come?” I reach lower and press my hand over his strained length. “Who imagined pushing this fat cock inside of me?”

He tries to shield the hitch in his breath, but his body betrays him, cock twitching and hardening under my touch, the hollowness beneath his cheekbones deepening.

“Where’s the man who asked if I slept well? Hmm?” I give him one hard squeeze as I lean into him. “Where are you, killer-boy?”

I could have blinked and missed it if it wasn’t for the air rushing over my skin, the rough bark digging into my back, the breath ripped out of my lungs, or his menacing grip around my wrist. It took one swift move to back me against a tree with one hand immobilized above my head as his body traps me here.

“Carter—”

He wraps his hand around my throat, trapping any remaining words there as it tightens.

“Stop. Fucking. Talking,” he says through gritted teeth, his intense gaze boring into mine.

I dig my fingernails into his forearm, shuffling against the tree as I struggle through the pressure intensifying in my throat. But with it, something stronger blooms behind my ribs. It threatens to spread. Lower.

“Is this what you were so desperate for?” His grasp clenches my throat. “Punishment?”

I writhe against his body, clawing up his arm as the strain grows, spreads up to my temple, and settles behind my eyes. A mesmerizing, borderline-terrifying dizziness follows. The air becomes grit as it barely manages to pass through my airways, and I squirm harder against him.

“Well, here we are, kitten. Your life in my hand, your punishment, my own dirty pleasure. Because, trust me”—he leans in further, his whisper laced with vengeful lust—“all I dream of recently is punishing you. I knew from the moment my car was broken into that you were the culprit. But you , wretched little thing, you made me doubt my instincts. Sent me on false trails. Derailed me. That is what I most want to punish you for.”

His body lines up with mine, his cock nestled against my lower belly, right in that spot above the pubic bone that brings a strange kind of pleasure.

His grip on my throat clenches tighter. My body fights back on its own.

My chest fills with terror as the strain increases until it threatens to crack me open.

What little air was able to pass through has now converged at the base of my throat. Lodged tight.

Almost . . .

Almost painful.

And something magnificent blooms through every single nerve and fiber of my being.