Page 49 of Savage Captor (Deadly Devotion #1)

Grey

S carlett’s exactly where I left her when I return to my apartment, lying in the precise same position I left her.

I have to hold still at the doorway for several moments, because Jesus fuck , she is tempting.

Now isn’t the place or the time to act on the temptation, though—I was pissed off at her today, so I pushed pretty hard with the punishment.

Twelve hours spent tied up isn’t going to be easy on her.

She’s still awake despite the late hour, and her gaze fixes on me for several beats.

She looks me up and down, assessing me, and then turns her head away with a blush.

She’s still naked, and spread open like a sacrifice for me.

The urge to climb over her and fuck her until we’re both screaming is so intense, I have to hold myself completely still and breathe through it.

Control , I remind myself. Control is important.

Control is good. Control will keep me from rutting on her like an animal.

Right now is the time to do what I neglected earlier; aftercare.

It’s been a solid, day-long punishment—and Scarlett will probably be feeling vulnerable, if she’s not shutting down like she was earlier. Either way, now’s the time to bond.

“Miss me?” I ask mildly.

Scarlett releases a low, humorless laugh. “Desperately. I counted the seconds until your return,” she says drily. At least her sharp tongue is back; that has to be a good sign.

I push off the doorway and stalk across the room, then get to work freeing her. She rubs at her wrists and her ankles, flexing her hands and wriggling her feet, trying to improve the blood flow. “Time to get cleaned up,” I tell her. “Then, bed.”

She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t look at me, either. When I offer her my hand, she takes it without comment, letting me pull her up from the bed. In her current state, I’m really not sure if her acceptance is a mark of progress or of such dissociation it’s worrisome.

Her silence remains as we shower together. The only real reaction she gives is when I wash her body, and even then, I only get a few winces or grimaces.

This won’t do. The chasm of distance between us, even with my hands on her body, is intolerable.

Max would remind me that now’s the time for some serious aftercare that’s more thorough than just a shower.

After I’ve dried her off, I settle both of us in bed, then pick up one of her small hands in my own.

She casts me a look of confusion when I gently start rubbing at the marks left behind by the restraints, and work my way through her hands, massaging them.

“What are you doing?” she asks, eyes shadowed with suspicion. She tries to withdraw her hand; I tighten my hold, preventing it and casting her a warning look.

“It looks like I’m giving you a massage.” When she jerks again and tries to scoot away, I band an arm around her waist and pull her into my lap.

“Stay,” I warn her. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. ”

A dubious scoff leaves her lips, and irritation flares to life in my chest. “How many times do I need to reiterate that I’m not going to hurt you again?

I thought you had a part in killing my fucking brother, Scarlett.

I was given false evidence to support that claim.

Since realizing I was wrong, have I done anything to hurt you? ”

Her lips pinch, and she glares at me. “You’re not a woman, so you can’t possibly understand this, but losing your virginity isn’t pleasant. Neither is having someone’s cock shoved so far down your throat you can’t breathe . My throat hurts right now.”

“Fucking your throat was a punishment you begged for,” I remind her. “As for last night, I didn’t know. If I had, I would’ve had a different approach.”

“Right. You’d have lit candles, scattered rose petals, and murmured sweet words in my ear while I cried and begged you not to touch me?”

“I would’ve ensured you were begging me to touch you.” I switch to her other hand, and her eyes flutter with pleasure as I start working it over. “And I would’ve told Cain to back off and paid a lot more attention to making sure you were dripping and ready for me.”

“Whatever you say.” She turns to look at the wall, cutting me off.

“Eyes on me,” I say. “Don’t zone out. You’re not doing anyone any favors with that shit, least of all yourself.”

“Why do you care?” she questions. “I’m a sex slave to you, aren’t I?”

“No, Scarlett. You’re just mine. Does that mean I’ll occasionally treat you like a toy, specifically in the bedroom? Yes. But that’s not the only thing you’ll be to me.”

She blinks at me several times, and her chest shudders with her next few inhales.

I frown, looking her over. Is she getting sick again?

Then, tears gather in her eyes, and I realize that she’s just overwhelmed.

Probably exhausted. She blinks several times, trying to hold the tears back, but then a single sob escapes her chest. She presses the hand I’m not holding to her lips, trying to muffle the sound.

Dealing with emotional women is completely unfamiliar territory to me. What’s even stranger is that I don’t want to walk away and leave Scarlett to figure shit out on her own. I want to make her feel better.

I release her hands and wrap both arms around her waist, pulling her into my chest. She struggles a little at first, but when I don’t loosen my grip, she surrenders and cries into my shirt.

Something deep inside me aches for her. Neither of us have gotten a particularly good lot in life, and now, she’s unwillingly bound to me.

I’m almost desperate to make that better for her, easier for her, and not just because I know this is the only way to keep her safe and alive. I want to help because I care.

“Shh,” I soothe. “Let it out. We’ll figure it out together.”

“I—fucking— hate you ,” she manages to say in between sobs.

I feel a frown tug down the corner of my lips. I don’t want her to hate me. I think I might actually want her to feel the exact opposite of hate for me.

“I know,” I say quietly. Moments like this, I hate me, too .

When I told Cain I’d claim Scarlett, I didn’t realize just how much I’d want to protect her, how I’d grow to care for her.

Even feel something deeper. The sight of her breaking down, the feeling of her tears seeping through the material of my shirt…

it’s too much. It makes me want to shield her from everything, even myself.

She cried last night and this morning, but her tears were different then; last night from pain, this morning from pleasure. Right now, she’s crying from being overwhelmed, exhausted, isolated, and not properly cared for.

“Why do you hate me so much?” she cries softly. “What have I ever done to you? ”

“I don’t hate you at all,” I tell her. “I care about you.”

“If this is your care—” a sob breaks her sentence, “—then I pity the people you love.”

“There’s no one left alive that I love.” But I think my fixation, obsession with Scarlett might be morphing into something else entirely.

Something that makes me want to apologize for how I handled today—only the words get trapped on the tip of my tongue.

If I show my weakness right now, she’ll pounce on it and twist it to her advantage. I have to wait until she’s settled.

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her. “It’ll be okay.

Tomorrow will be a better day. Try to work with me a little, Scarlett.

We can be happy together.” I feel personally responsible for her happiness, and I want to make sure she achieves it.

Now’s a rough patch, because while she’s coming to terms with her new reality, there’s only so much I can do to help.

I can’t let her out of my room because it isn’t safe—I don’t have enough power to have a garden built for her yet, either.

The time to kill Boyce and redo the Nighthawks can’t come soon enough . Not only because I want our boss dead, but also because I want to carve out a place for Scarlett here that makes her feel safe and complete. I want to do that for her very much.

“Just because you’re stuck with me does not mean I want you to be miserable,” I reiterate.

She doesn’t respond, but for once, she does relax in my hold a little. She might hate me, but she’s still willing to accept comfort from me—probably because I’m her only source of it.

For the first time since I brought her here, Scarlett falls asleep in my arms, willingly, after exhausting herself with a long, thorough crying session.

I hold her long after she’s fallen asleep, brushing kisses over her forehead, her cheeks, her chin.

Even though I want to badly , I don’t kiss her lips.

Instead, I gentle her onto the bed and draw her into my arms, gazing at this human that belongs to me, trying to sort through all the emotions she inspires.

Anger, frustration, occasionally blind rage…

but also respect, admiration, and even affection.

I hated her for what I thought she did, and as soon as I realized I was wrong, the landscape between us shifted.

I’ve spent the last weeks in a fog of uncertainty. Not really knowing how to approach or bond with her. I did not kick off our sex life to a good start. In the morning, I’ll have to rectify that.

I’m nearly asleep when knocks sound on the door to my apartment.

They’re loud enough to make Scarlett stir, and I’m immediately, immensely irritated.

This is the first time I’ve got to hold her as she sleeps, where she didn’t fight me off to the point of injuring herself, and I don’t want to break up the moment.

I also don’t want to wake her up. She fell asleep without the help of sedatives; that means I’ll probably be able to wean her off of them. The idea of breaking this moment, which feels pivotal, is repulsive.

Before more knocks can sound, I kiss Scarlett’s forehead one final time and slip out of bed, shutting the door behind me.