Page 18

Sean

Slipping into the storage closet, I gather a few more items. Though mostly, I escaped to this room in a feeble attempt to regain my composure. It’s splitting like a glacial crevasse. I’m completely and thoroughly fucked .

Leaning against the wall, I knock the back of my head lightly into the concrete. I shouldn’t have let her wrap those pouty, supple lips around my cock. I shouldn’t have fucking done it—but I did—and now I’ll never be able to erase the memory of the way she looked on her knees.

As incredible as it was to see her choke on my cock with tears streaming down her cheeks, I couldn’t help but imagine what she’d look like all done up with pretty crimson-painted lips wrapped around me. I want to see that solely for the opportunity to mess it all up, smearing her lipstick and mascara while she sputters as I fuck her face. I want to cut off her air and have those dark-rimmed eyes pleading with me to let her breathe, but I won’t acquiesce. I’ll hold out until she’s on the verge of passing out, and only after I come down her hot throat will she be allowed the oxygen she’ll crave.

Yeah, I’m totally fucked.

There’s no future for the two of us. There’s no version where she’s choking on my cock of her own free will in my fucking house, even if I, selfishly, want that. Nothing good can come of these thoughts.

I really shouldn’t be doing this, and I shouldn’t be imagining her outside of these walls.

I scrub a hand over my masked face. I’m not na?ve to the fact that there are prisoners here who get assaulted and raped, despite my zero-tolerance policy regarding my guys poking their dicks anywhere near the prisoners. Unfortunately, I’m not omniscient and can’t be everywhere, monitoring everyone at all times. It goes without saying that what I’m doing here is against the unwritten rules, not to mention my own rules. I’ve never forced a prisoner to suck my dick. That’s not me, but fuck, it is me where Lou is concerned. I’m becoming unrecognizable to myself.

Now that I’ve come, I’ve calmed down a notch. Not much, but a little. Enough to keep the darkness at bay…for now. Shoving off the wall, I reach for a uniform from the stack on the shelf and stalk back to the beauty waiting for me in the next room.

She’s like a damn magnet; I can’t stay away. Like a mythical siren, she calls to me, luring me closer, and I’m powerless to stop that inevitable draw, so my only choice is to lean into it.

Her nipples must be in agony by now, and after tossing the uniform on the lid of the bin, I eat up the short distance between us and tug on the chain between them. She growls, the sound low and feminine, shooting straight to my hardening cock. Smirking behind my mask, I circle her like the prey she is right now.

I like having her tied up for me like this. It’s superior to the cross in many ways, but I mostly appreciate the completely unobstructed access to her body.

Behind her, I trail a hand over the velvety soft skin of her shoulders and down her spine. Brushing her short sable hair to the side, I dip my head into the space where her neck meets her shoulder before skating both hands over the globes of her perfect ass and around to the front of her thighs. I inhale her sultry, brisk scent, breathing deeply, the smell reminding me of a snowy winter’s day. Even through the grime and sweat tacked to her skin, she smells so fucking good. I’d maim and kill to be able to lick a stripe up the column of her delicate throat to see if she tasted like that too.

She hisses a breath as I continue my in-depth inspection. Walking around the side opposite her snake tattoo, I find an ancient scar between two of her ribs about the dimensions of a knife, and I bark, “Who stabbed you?”

“A bloody prat.”

When I don’t respond, she clarifies, “A moron.”

I snort, knowing better than to think she’d have given me a name. There’s another faint scar several inches below the knife wound, this one longer,slithering around her side. It looks as though it might’ve been left by a whip, and I’m not sure how I haven’t noticed it until now. I gingerly run a finger over the mystery scar, as I inquire, “What happened here?”

“Something best forgotten,” she muses. It’s perhaps the most honest thing she’s said and something about that hits me like a bullet to the chest. It’s clear that whatever—whoever—is responsible for leaving this scar is a part of her past that she’s not willing to revisit. For some bizarre reason that I choose not to analyze, I don’t push it.

Standing in front of her again, I trace the intricate lines of her tattoo twisting up her torso. When the ink disappears beneath herbreast, I cup her, squeezing as she fills my palm. With my other hand, I unclamp the clip and she cries out, a tear sliding out from the corner of her eye. I grow harder at the sight.

As I roll her abused nipple between my fingers, she lets out a prolonged, shrill whine. The enhancement drug I gave her must be working in overdrive because another tear spills down her cheek just before she throws her head back. I knew it’d hurt more for the clamps to come off than when I put them on, with all the blood rushing to the over-sensitized region, but her reaction is far more intoxicating than I could’ve imagined .

She’s sobbing after I repeat the entire process on her right nipple, her cries filling the room, her tears giving me a raging hard-on.

She doesn’t appear to be in quite the agony I expected, though. Her eyes are cloudy, her gaze distant. She looks like she’s floating through space, and I wonder if she’s enjoying this. If that’s the case, I’m pretty sure that’ll ruin me.

I’m desperate to see if I’m right, though, and if I am, well, I’m going to stand amid the storm that’s sure to rain down around me.

“You’re such a little deviant, aren’t you, Lou? You like what I’m doing to you.”

Her head has lolled to the side, resting against the inside of her upper arm, but she glares at me as she bites out, “No.”

My head tilts, a hidden smirk creeping over my mouth, and I’d be willing to bet that she can see my mask tugging with the movement. Pulling on both of her nipples, I question, “You don’t like it?”

She groans before clenching her teeth. “No, I don’t.”

Lou, you beautiful, enchanting liar.

I wonder if she can smell her wet cunt because I can, like a decadent wine I want to indulge in…to excess. Darting my hand out, I slide two fingers through her entrance, coating my fingers in her slickness. She inhales sharply, and I weave my hand up between our bodies, twisting my fingers in front of her face as the evidence of her arousal glitters in the warm fluorescent light.

My voice is low and smoky as I explain, “Lou, baby, your pussy’s weeping. You pretend not to like this, but your leaking cunt tells me otherwise.”

If I thought I wanted to lick her neck, it has nothing on my desire to feast between her legs. I try to resist my next move, I really do, but the damn siren can’t be ignored.

I tug my mask up from the bottom just enough to shove those two fingers into my mouth. A taste that can only be described as so very Lou settles on my tongue as I find myself licking off every drop. Lou’s eyes are glued to my mouth as a moan vibrates in her throat. I’m not even sure she realizes the sound left her, but I revel in it, dying to hear it again.

Reluctantly, I remove my fingers from my mouth, righting my mask again before dipping a finger back inside her sopping cunt. Her brow creases and something akin to pain lances across her face as I pump my finger in and out slowly as her tight body bucks against the restraints. I add a second finger and continue my assault, then a third. She’s quaking now, but her body jolts violently as I brush up against her sweet spot. I do it again, eliciting the same gratifying response.

What the fuck am I doing? Why can’t I stop? More importantly, why don’t I want to?

If Louhi were a drug, I’d be deep into my addiction by now. Every part of her body simply seems to entrance me further, and now that I’m fucking her thoroughly with my fingers, I can’t seem to stop, no matter how bad this idea is.

“Digs,” she mewls.

“Yes, Lou?”

“Wh—what was the theory?”

The smile I crack beneath my mask is pure sin as I answer her honestly, “That I’d enjoy this more than making you bleed.”

“I…hate you,” she breathes, making me chuckle.

“I don’t care for you much either, but you can hate me while you come, can’t you?”

When the deviant minx doesn’t respond, I brush a thumb over her clit.

“Jeesus Kristus.”

“There’s no God here, only me,” I tell her, blindly stabbing at the translation of what she said despite the fact that I don’t speak Finnish or whatever language that was.

She’s writhing in her restraints as I continue to stroke that spot inside her. When I brush her clit again, it’s like getting a front-row seat to watching a bomb detonate: her deep brown eyes roll back into her head and violent tremors wrack her body. She gasps for breath, her slender, elegant fingers—at least the unbroken ones—wrapping around the rope binding her wrists. She screams through her climax, sounding like a dark angel in worship.

It’s nothing short of stunning to see her unravel, especially knowing I’m the one responsible for getting her there. I’m the one she’s worshiping.

Her legs are still quivering as she comes down from her high, but she lifts her head enough to look me square in the eye as she pants. Where I assumed I’d see pleasure, or confusion, perhaps even a sliver of hostility, there’s nothing. Her expression is downright enigmatic and that stings a little.

I’m not sure what I expected or wanted to see, but it wasn’t…nothing. It’s not like anyone else is bringing her this level of ecstasy.

That thought prompts another, and I find myself wondering when someone else last got her off. Was it the day before she arrived? Two days? Six months? Five years? And who got her there? Was it another man? Maybe a woman? Fuck , why do I even care about any of this, and why do I suddenly want to be the only one ever bringing her pain or pleasure again?

I will be, since she’s expected to die in less than four months. That thought sobers me up faster than a drunk driver being pulled over by the cops, and I step back from her lithe form. She blinks at me a few times as I retreat and rub a hand down my masked face, still able to smell her on my fingers, even through the fabric of my mask.

Snatching the fresh uniform, medical tape, and nail clippers from the bin, I carry them over to her, freeing her ankles from the restraints. I help her don the black pants before freeing her wrists from the chains.

Aware of the danger I’m creating by freeing her hands and feet, but for some reason, I’m not concerned. I probably should be, but if she wanted to slip my Glock free and land a round to my chest, she would’ve done so already. She sure had the opportunity to maim me when my dick was out, yet she didn’t take it. Why?

I tug the uniform top over her head, and once she’s redressed, I reach for her hand, her gaze wary as I tear off a long piece of medical tape, attempting to rudimentarily splint her broken fingers. I could spend hours, days, years analyzing the care I provide her, but I don’t know if I’d like the answer, so I don’t.

Daring to sink to my knees before her, I tap her ankle twice in a silent directive for her to lift it. Glancing up at her, I find her staring down at me before slowly lifting her left foot.

I’ve never been a foot guy—and I’m still not—but there’s something I deeply appreciate about Louhi’s delicate bone structure. Cupping her arched foot in my hands reminds me just how feminine she is.

Lifting the nail clippers, I begin trimming her toenails—at least the ones that are still attached. I didn’t anticipate doing this, but something about seeing her once black-painted toenails so long and unruly irked me.

When something grazes the top of my head, I bristle. My whole-body freezes, going rigid as I hold my breath, anticipating her next move. Though I’m still wearing the fitted mask, I can practically feel her nails gently scraping through my short, cropped hair, and I wish, not for the first time, that the stupid fucking barrier wasn’t between us. Although, neither of us makes a move to remove it, and I’m grateful for that. Fuck knows, I’ve had enough intimacy for one day.

Her hand remains on my head as I finish grooming her. When I finally tilt my head back, our eyes clash, and the intensity in her burning gaze tugs the tension between us taut.

Several beats pass and neither of us moves. Eventually, Lou slides her hand from my crown down my face, exploring my features with the gentle pads of her fingers, as if she were blind and aching to discover what I looked like. In some ways, she is .

The oxygen in the room seems to evaporate, and I hold my breath as she cautiously runs her fingers over the bridge of my nose—can she tell it’s been broken a few times?—and over the hollows of my cheeks before brushing her fingertips along my jawline. Her index finger trails over the seam of my mouth, and I glue my eyes to her, yearning to read her inner thoughts. The invisible mask she wears so well is firmly in place, so I don’t find what I’m looking for within those dark brown eyes of hers.

When her hand slithers back to her side, I ask hesitantly, “Will you answer some of my questions?”

I don’t know why I even tried, but I obviously just hacked into our bubble with a hatchet. Regret fills me as her face hardens to stone. “No.”

Sighing, I sit back on my haunches, holding her attention. “Lou, you have to work with me so I can help you.”

She laughs, a hearty real one. I know because the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkle, the sound filled with authentic amusement. Feeling the need to be on an even playing field with her, I climb to my feet. A foot and some loose change shorter than me, she tilts her head back as she smiles, the expression dripping with danger and something else. Regret? Wistfulness?

Her English accent sounds slightly more pronounced as she explains, “The list of people who could help me is very, very short, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re not on it.”

The sincerity within her words doesn’t do anything to lessen the bruising blow. Of course, what she’s saying is nothing but the truth. Why would I be on that list? Despite my offer, I’m not entirely sure what I’d do to “help” her either. Probably just give her a swift death, instead of drawing it out the way I usually would.

In light of the fact that I’m not on her short list , I have a suspicion I might know who is, and to verify that, I need Jace to come through with that file.