Page 49 of Haunted (Blackwood Brothers #1)

MIRA

T he knock comes at exactly eleven fifty-nine a.m.

One minute early. Of course, Xavier would be early—probably been circling the block for the past hour, counting down the seconds.

I know it’s him before I even look through the peephole. Three measured raps, perfectly spaced. A man who controls everything, even the rhythm of his knocks.

“Just a second!” I call out, my voice steadier than I feel.

My reflection in the hallway mirror shows someone I barely recognize. The woman staring back now has secrets. She’s been claimed by a Blackwood, and it shows in the way she holds herself and the shadows under her eyes.

I’m wearing jeans and a simple sweater—normal clothes for a normal day that will be anything but normal. The two suitcases by the door mock me with their practicality, as if I’m going on vacation instead of surrendering my life.

When I open the door, my breath catches despite every preparation.

Xavier leans against the doorframe in black riding leathers that cling to every muscle. His hair is slightly mussed from the helmet tucked under his arm, and his gaze scans me from head to toe.

“Ready?” His voice carries that familiar authority that made me surrender in the maze.

“I think so.” I gesture toward the suitcases. “I packed light, but?—”

“Leave them.”

The command stops me mid-reach. “What? But these are my things. Clothes, books, my?—”

“A driver will collect your belongings later.” He steps into my apartment without invitation, those eyes scanning every detail of my space. “You’re riding with me.”

Heat floods my cheeks as I process his meaning. The motorcycle.

“I don’t have a helmet.”

Xavier’s smirk is pure sin. “I brought you one.”

He produces a sleek black helmet from behind his back, holding it out like an offering. Or a leash.

“Xavier, I can’t leave everything?—”

“Rule one, Mira.” His voice drops to that dangerous whisper that makes my knees weak. “When I tell you to do something, you do it.”

I huff and snatch the helmet from his hands, my fingers brushing his leather gloves. The contact sends an unwelcome spark up my arm.

“This is ridiculous.” But I’m already following him toward the elevator, my feet moving without a second thought. “I have a perfectly good car downstairs.”

“Which you won’t need anymore.”

The elevator ride down feels endless. Xavier stands too close, his presence filling the small space until I can barely breathe. The scent of leather and cologne make my pulse quicken despite my irritation.

“What about my job? My editor expects?—”

“Handled.”

“You can’t just ‘handle’ my entire life, Xavier.”

He turns those eyes on me, and I see a flicker of amusement. “Watch me.”

The elevator dings, and we step into the lobby. Mrs. Lowell looks up from watering her plants, her eyes widening as she takes in Xavier. I manage a weak wave as he guides me toward the exit with a hand on the small of my back.

Outside, his motorcycle waits at the curb. The BMW S1000RR gleams in the afternoon sun, its red paint job gleaming in the sunlight. My breath hitches as it’s a beautiful burgundy.

“Put your helmet on.” His voice carries that edge of command that makes my core clench, but my mind wants to scream at him to fuck off.

I fumble with the helmet, my hands clumsy. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”

“There are two rules. Hold onto me.” He starts the engine, and it roars to life beneath him. “And don’t let go.”

I climb behind him, my legs straddling the powerful machine. The engine vibrates beneath us, a rumble that seeps into my bones.

“Hold on,” he commands over the engine noise.

My arms circle his waist tentatively at first, but as he pulls away from the curb, my survival instinct kicks in, and I press closer. My chest molds against his back, my thighs bracketing his hips. The leather of his jacket is warm from his heat, and I can feel the solid muscle beneath.

God, he smells incredible.

Leather and an inherent masculinity that is purely Xavier. My nostrils flare as I breathe him in, shameless in my hunger for it. It’s like a drug, this scent that makes my head spin and my pulse race.

I should be ashamed of how desperately I inhale each breath, but I can’t stop myself. Three days in his maze broke me, rewired my brain until his presence alone drives me crazy.

As we accelerate onto the main road, I’m forced to press closer. My hands flatten against Xavier’s abs, feeling the ridges of muscle through the leather. The vibration of the motorcycle travels through both our bodies, creating an intimate friction inside me that makes heat pool between my thighs.

This is wrong. I’m supposed to be an independent woman who doesn’t need anyone, doesn’t yield to anyone. Yet here I am, molded against Xavier Blackwood like I was made to fit against him, breathing him in like he’s my sole addiction.

The motorcycle leans into a turn, and my grip tightens reflexively. My fingers spread wider across his abs, and I feel his sharp intake of breath even over the engine noise. The knowledge that I affect him, too, thrills me.

Every breath fills my lungs with more of his scent. Every shift of him against me sends sparks along my nerve endings. By the time we reach the first stoplight, I’m practically drunk on the sensation of him—the heat, the strength, the intoxicating smell that makes rational thought impossible.

When the light turns green, and he accelerates again, I don’t fight the urge to press my face against his back and simply breathe him in. I’m an addict getting my fix, and Xavier Blackwood is my drug of choice.

The motorcycle veers right, tires screeching as Xavier pulls into an empty parking lot behind what looks like an abandoned warehouse. Gravel crunches under the wheels as he brings us to an abrupt stop, the engine cutting to sudden silence.

“What—”

Before I can finish the question, the kickstand drops with a sharp click. Xavier dismounts in one fluid motion, his movements urgent and swift. My heart hammers against my ribs as he turns to face me.

“Xavier, what’s wrong? Why did we?—”

His hands grip my waist, lifting me off the bike like I weigh nothing. My feet barely touch the ground before he yanks me against his chest, the force of it stealing my breath. The solid wall of his body presses into mine, and I can feel the rapid beat of his heart through the leather jacket.

“I can’t—” His voice is rough, strained. “The way you were pressed against me like you need me to survive.”

Heat floods my cheeks. He noticed.

His fingers work at the helmet strap under my chin, yanking it free impatiently. The helmet tumbles from my head, hitting the gravel with a hollow thud. His own follows a second later, both forgotten as his hands frame my face.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growls, his breath hot against my lips.

Then his mouth crashes onto mine with desperate hunger. His desire makes my knees buckle. His lips move against mine like he’s a starving man, and I’m the meal that grants his salvation, like he might die if he stops touching me.

My hands fist in his leather jacket as I kiss him back with equal ferocity. The taste of him floods my senses—dark and dangerous, utterly addictive. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming, then demanding, and I give him everything.

“Mira,” he breathes against my lips, my name a prayer and a curse rolled into one.

I arch against him, fisting my hands into the shirt under his jacket, needing more contact, more of this overwhelming connection that sets my blood on fire. His hands slide into my hair, angling my head so he can deepen the kiss further.

When the kiss breaks, we’re both breathing hard, our foreheads pressed together. The afternoon sun beats down on us in this empty lot, and the rational part of my brain screams that we’re completely exposed here.

“Xavier, we should go?—”

His hands grip my hips, spinning me around with shocking speed. Before I can process what’s happening, my palms slam against the warm metal of his motorcycle, and he bends me forward over the seat.

“Xavier!” I gasp, trying to straighten up. “What are you doing? We’re in public!”

His chest presses against my back, trapping me against the bike. I can feel the hard length of him through his leather pants, and my core clenches despite my protest.

“You love this,” he growls in my ear, his hands already working at the button of my jeans. “The danger. The thrill of being caught.”

“That’s not—” But my words dissolve into a whimper as his fingers slip inside the waistband of my jeans.

“Don’t lie to me, Mira.” His breath is hot against my neck as he yanks my jeans down to my knees in one swift motion. “I can smell how wet you are.”

My panties follow a second later, the cool air hitting my exposed skin makes me gasp. The motorcycle’s engine is still warm beneath my palms, the metal radiating heat that seems to echo the fire building inside me.

“Someone could see us,” I whisper-shout at him.

The sound of his zipper makes my pulse spike. “Good. Then they’ll know who you belong to.”

His hands grip my hips, and I hear his sharp intake of breath as he takes in the sight of me bent over his bike.

“God, I’ve missed this perfect cunt,” he growls, the crude words making heat flood my cheeks.

“It’s only been twenty-four hours,” I say.

“Twenty-four hours is too fucking long.”

Then he slams inside me without warning, filling me completely. My cry echoes through the parking lot as I stretch to accommodate him. The angle is intense, deeper than I remember, and spots dance behind my eyelids.

“Xavier,” I gasp, my fingers scrabbling for purchase on the bike’s surface.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Say my name.”

My fingers grip the warm metal of Xavier’s motorcycle as he drives into me with relentless force. Each thrust sends shockwaves through me, the bike rocking beneath us.

“Xavier, Harder,” I gasp, the word escaping before I can stop it.

Xavier’s laugh is dark. “You want harder?”

His hands tighten on my hips, fingers digging into my flesh as he changes his angle. When he slams into me again, I cry out, my back arching as he hits that perfect spot deep inside.

The warehouse looms ahead of us, its broken windows like watching eyes. Anyone could walk around that corner. A security guard, a vagrant, and some kids looking for a place to smoke. The thought should terrify me, should make me demand we find somewhere private.

Instead, it makes my core clench around him with desperate need.

“God, you’re so tight,” Xavier groans, his voice strained. “You love this, don’t you? The idea that someone might see you taking my cock like the perfect little slut you are.”

My cheeks burn because of the danger, the exposure, the debased claim he’s making in broad daylight—it all feeds the dark hunger he awakened in me during the Hunt.

A car engine rumbles somewhere in the distance, growing closer. My heart hammers against my ribs, but instead of fear, heat floods my system.

“Xavier,” I whisper urgently. “Someone’s coming.”

“Let them watch.” His pace never falters, each stroke more devastating. “Let them see who owns this perfect cunt.”

The car passes without stopping, but the brief threat of discovery turns me on. My fingers grip the bike’s surface so hard my knuckles go white, needing a solid anchor as Xavier drives me toward the edge of sanity.

His hand slides around to find my clit, circling the sensitive bundle skillfully. The dual sensation—his thick length filling me while his fingers work their magic—has me gasping his name like a prayer.

“That’s it,” he groans. “Come for me right here, where anyone could see. Maybe next time I’ll have an audience in place for you. You like that, being watched while I use this perfect body, don’t you?”

The pressure builds inside me like a dam about to burst. Xavier’s fingers find my clit and circle while his thick length fills me completely, hitting that perfect spot with each thrust.

“Come for me,” he commands. “Let go, Mira.”

The combination of his words, his touch, and the intoxicating danger of our exposure shatters me into a million pieces. My orgasm tears through me with violent force, my pussy spasming around him as I cry out his name.

“Fuck, yes,” Xavier groans, his pace becoming erratic as my inner muscles clench around him. “You’re so perfect when you come on my cock.”

His hands grip my hips tight as he chases his own release, driving into me with desperate need. I feel him swell, growing impossibly harder before he buries himself deep and comes with a harsh groan.

The warmth of his release fills me, marking me as his as if I could forget the contract. He flattens his chest to my back, his breathing ragged against my neck as he pulses inside me, giving me every drop.

We remain like that for several heartbeats, both of us gasping for air. The midday sun beats down on my exposed skin, and I’m suddenly aware of how vulnerable we are in this empty lot.

Xavier’s hands are gentle as he slowly pulls out, making me whimper at the loss. His cum immediately starts to trickle down my thighs, and the feeling makes my cheeks burn with renewed heat.

Before I can reach for my jeans, he spins me around with firm hands, pulling me into his huge frame. His eyes burn with satisfaction as he takes in my flushed face and swollen lips.

“Mine,” he says simply, framing my face with his hands.

Then he kisses me deeply, possessively, his tongue sweeping into my mouth all over again. When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against mine.

“My perfect little exhibitionist,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. “You were made for me, weren’t you? Made to be taken by me wherever and however I want you.”

The truth of his words settles into my bones like a brand, and I embrace it, knowing that I am made for Xavier Blackwood, no matter how fucked up that is.

He captured more than my physical form during the Hunt; he captured my very essence, and I don’t even want to break the chains he’s wrapped around me.