Page 33

I listen to the sound of the shower running, the pitter-patter of the water on the tiles mimicking the thoughts bouncing around inside my head.

There is no rhyme or reason to their direction, and like the water going down the drain, refusing to be captured.

I know tonight was hard for her, but I don’t think she has any idea how difficult it was to stand there and listen to her explain all the ways that that bastard violated her.

My growing feelings for the woman now hiding out from me beneath a spray of hot water have only reinforced my silent pledge to be the sword with which she ends that fucker’s miserable existence.

What worries me more than the murder of another human being, if you could even call him that, is the way she wouldn’t meet my eyes after our friends left.

The way she ran from the room, as though she couldn’t bear to see pity on my face, and there was pity.

But there was also pride and fear, and what I’m beginning to suspect is devotion of the lifelong kind.

Of course, I’m sorry for everything she went through, and if I could’ve spared her that, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

But she underestimates just how powerful she is.

How strong and resilient.

The fear came when she talked so flippantly about ending her own life, and knowing that there could’ve been a scenario where we didn’t end up together terrified me.

Then I remembered the scene I walked in on when I found her in that house.

She was still fighting, and the pride I feel in knowing she never truly gave up overrides everything else—all the negative emotions like pity and anger and sorrow.

There will be a time for revenge, but for now, I need her to look into my eyes and see the pride there.

I want her to see the devotion growing exponentially every day I’m with her.

She’s running from me, but even more so, she’s running from herself.

I need to prove to her that my opinion doesn’t mean shit.

She needs to accept herself wholeheartedly, flaws, and all, or she’ll always doubt my intentions towards her.

As the water turns off, I straighten and take a deep breath, heading down the hallway—no time like the present.

Coming up behind Siren as she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, I place my hands on her hips, pulling her back into me until her ass is flush against me.

Releasing her hips to coast my hands down the front of her generous thighs, I dip my left hand between her legs, cupping her while my right-hand runs up and over her exposed belly.

Leaning down, I press a soft kiss on the top of her shoulder.

As my right hand roams, she quickly grabs it, stopping me in my tracks. “Don’t.”

Eyes briefly meeting mine in the mirror, she quickly glances away again as she tries to angle her body away from her own reflection.

No, no, no.

This won’t do.

We’ve come too far and made too much progress for her to regress back to the girl who doesn’t want me to see her naked .

Sliding my hand out from under hers, I reach up, pinching her chin and angling her face back to the mirror so she can look at herself.

At us.

At how well we fit together.

Her petite stature is a direct contrast to my height—all her soft curves mold perfectly to my hard edges.

Ever defiant, she jerks her face from my grasp, glaring at my reflection in the mirror.

“What do you want from me, Deacon?” She asks.

There’s a flippant response, poised and ready, on the tip of my tongue, but I pull it back at the last second.

Going with my gut instead, I keep my gaze locked on hers as I reply, “Everything.”

Pressing the heel of my left hand more firmly against her heat, I elicit a small moan from her, her head dropping back to rest against my chest as I say, “This.”

Your secrets.

My other hand settles on her stomach again. “This.”

Your insecurities .

Dragging that hand up, I cup one breast in a firm and possessive hold, conscious of the way my thumb rubs small circles just over where her heart lies.

I wonder if she notices. “This.”

Your trust .

Releasing her breast, I run my hand up her neck before slipping two fingers past her slightly parted lips. “This.”

Your smart mouth.

She bites down on my fingers, not enough to hurt but enough to get my attention.

Oh, baby, you’ve had my attention for a long time .

Sliding my now wet fingers from her mouth, I track the tips up the side of her face until they’re resting against her temple.

“And this.”

Your mind .

Back down, my hand travels until it’s trailing down the side of her neck, over the back of her shoulder, and across the healing marks there.

“This too.”

Your pain .

She releases a heavy sigh, and I can practically feel the fight drain out of her.

I wrap my arms around her waist, enveloping her in a tight but unrestrictive hold.

Burying my face in the side of her neck, I kiss a path up to her ear before lifting my eyes to meet hers in the mirror again.

No singular moment has ever felt so important as this one.

“I still see you.

Not despite everything but because of everything, I see you, and I want all of it.”

At first, she appears unaffected by my words.

As if attempting to maintain the status quo, she says in a lighthearted tone on the surface, but I can detect a slight wobble in her voice, “This conversation’s getting a little heavy, don’t you think?”

I consider my answer carefully.

On the one hand, I don’t think I recognize the person standing behind her in the mirror.

He’s broody and deeper than my usual shallow puddle.

But, on the other hand, I think I’m beginning to recognize the feelings I see behind my eyes as they roam over her face.

Probably because of those new and unfamiliar feelings, my reply is anything but light.

“You’re strong enough to hold it.”

Her brows crease in consternation, and her following words come out in a barely discernible tone.

If I didn’t actually feel them climb up her throat, I’m not sure I would even hear her.

“I’m scared.

I’ve always been so easy to throw away.

Like trash.

I don’t know how to do this.”

Like a lance to the heart, her words cause a rush of emotions I don't know how to handle.

In the past, I’ve never allowed myself to get too close to a woman because all my energy has always been focused on revenge.

I didn’t want the inconvenience that came part and parcel with a relationship.

I didn’t want to have to answer to anyone else, depend on anyone else, or care about anyone else.

If I’m honest with myself, that was the crux of it.

I wouldn’t allow myself to care about someone on a deeper level because if anything ever happened to that person, I’m not sure I’d survive it.

Hell, look at me.

It’s been fourteen years since I lost the last person I cared about in that way, and I still carry that around with me every day, like a cement block tied around my ankle.

But Siren is different.

Without conscious consent, she’s become attached enough that I fear something happening to her would be heavy enough to sink me straight to the bottom.

In doing so, she’s brought new life to emotions I thought were long dead.

Emotions that have no place in my hollow chest.

It scares me, too.

But not enough to make me wanna give her up, and that, too, makes her different from every other woman who came before her.

Nuzzling her neck gently, I whisper, “Don’t think, just feel.”

I’m not sure if the advice is for her or myself.

Maybe both.

I know she’ll take a lot of convincing, but I have to prove to her with my actions that I’m nothing like Gaspari and that she’s safe with me.

That I’ll never intentionally hurt her.

Placing my forefinger on the side of her chin, I turn her face to meet mine.

Those chocolate brown eyes peer back at me, and I know what I’m asking of her is something monumental, but I’m gonna ask for it anyway.

“Trust me?”

She stares for a long time, breaths shallow, and I wonder if she’s about to panic and bolt for the door.

Instead, I watch her lip tremble slightly before she tucks it between her teeth and slowly nods.

I try my best to hide the pent-up sigh waiting for her answer has caused as I turn her in my arms until we’re face to face.

Hands grasping the backs of her thighs, I hoist her up, carrying her the few short feet to the bathroom counter before sitting her down.

Going back to the mirror, I turn it, angling the glass until we can see ourselves again.

When I look back, I find her gnawing her bottom lip, wariness written all over her face.

She’s embarrassed.

I open my mouth to speak when, like a switch being flipped, I watch her expression morph from one of anxiety to that of a seductress.

Leaning back on her hands, she gives me a smoldering look from beneath lashes that have lowered to half-mast.

Irritation flicks through me.

I know what she’s doing, and I don’t like it.

I don’t want the version of her that she gives to everyone else.

I want a version tailor-made for me, and I know the only way I’m going to get that is by trimming away all the bows and frills.

I want the raw material—the layers underneath that she doesn’t let anyone see.

“You don’t have to do that with me,”

I say solemnly.

A look of confusion passes over her features before she straightens, subconsciously bringing her arm up to block her midsection from view.

“Do what?”

She asks.

But I can tell by the look in her eyes that she already knows what.

I tell her anyway.

“Fake confidence you don’t feel.

You don’t ever have to do that with me,”

I repeat.

Putting my hands on her knees, I gently pry them apart, wedging my hips between them as I step in closer.

I swear I must have the willpower of a saint because I manage to keep my eyes from straying down to where she’s now open and exposed for me.

It’s a testament to how far we’ve come that she doesn’t move to close them again.

Making a split-second decision that may come back to bite me in the ass, I lean down until my mouth is close to her ear before revealing the secret I’ve been keeping while locked away in my office.

Well, one of them, at least.

“I’ve watched you, you know.

In here … and in the bedroom.

All around this house.

I’ve got cameras everywhere, and I’ve seen every inch of your body.”

Her breath hitches, and I’m sure at any second, she’s gonna haul off and slap me.

So I quickly continue before she has the opportunity because if I’m going to end up unconscious, I should at least try to plead some of my case first.

“I’ve got a little … problem where you’re concerned.

You’re under my skin; no matter how often I scratch this itch, it remains just out of reach.

And believe me, I’ve scratched plenty, even when you didn’t know it.

I’ve sat in that computer room and watched you shower, watched you when you’re changing clothes, watched you sleep, and …”

Pause.

“Watched you when you stare at yourself in the mirror, pinching different parts of your body that you think are a problem.

And do you know what I was doing each and every time?”

Another pause.

Her breathing is coming faster, and she’s beginning to squirm on the countertop.

Smiling devilishly, I lean in and nip her earlobe with my teeth.

“I was fucking my own fist and calling out your name.”

A tiny whimper leaves her.

Gripping her hips in my hands, I pull her forward until the hard ridge in my pants is grinding into what’s become an altar I’d gladly worship at for the rest of my life.

I’m so caught up in her, that my brain only momentarily pauses at that thought.

I’ll have to come back later and analyze that “rest of my life”

part in further detail.

Right now, I can’t think beyond the feel of her.

One stroke, two, three.

Every pull elicited a new sound from her lips, and the combination of friction and her moans is driving me up the fucking wall.

But I have a point to make, so I force myself to focus, at least for now.

“I’ve seen every inch of you,”

I say again.

“And what I haven’t seen, I’ve felt.

You’re perfect, and there’s nothing about you that I would change.

Not a single dip or curve.

Not a single bounce or jiggle.

You’re so accustomed to using and being used that you’ve lost sight of your true worth.

You’re not trash; you’re treasure.

I deal in valuables, remember? I know a gem when I see one.

Let me prove it to you.”

As she leans back, I brace myself for the hit I’m sure is coming.

Instead, she looks at me quizzically, her head leaning to the side as if she’s trying to work out a math problem, and the answer is eluding her.

Unfortunately for us both, I don’t have the answer yet either.

So I stand there, waiting patiently for her to decide what she wants to do.

Eyes bouncing back and forth between my own, I watch as she slowly lowers the arm that was draped protectively over her middle.

Fuck, yes.

That’s all the encouragement I need.

Swooping in, I capture her mouth with mine, swallowing her little gasp of surprise.

An idea takes hold as she reaches up and wraps her arms around my neck.

I grasp her hips again, lifting her and lowering her down from the counter until she’s standing between me and the bathroom sink.

Breaking the kiss, I slowly turn her around, returning us to our original positions, her back to my front.

Reaching up, I smooth her long, dark strands of hair over one shoulder, exposing her back to both my view and the mirror’s.

I feel her stiffen slightly, but she doesn’t protest as I run my hands over the mixed pattern of tattoos and scars littering her back.

I’m careful not to hurt her.

The wounds are closed now, but the pink skin is still new in many places.

This close, I can finally see every mark that that bastard put on her.

As I take a moment to inspect each raised inch of flesh, she stands straight as a board, allowing me to see everything she’s tried so hard to hide.

Anger like I’ve never known courses through me when I see the crude outline of letters and even a fucking heart.

I don’t let the anger show though; instead, I temper it by leaning down and running my lips softly over each mark.

What sounds suspiciously like a hiccup escapes her, and as my lips venture lower, she begins shifting on her feet.

I slowly lower myself to my knees behind her.

A move that puts my face right in line with her mind-blowing backside.

“Lean forward,”

I say huskily.

“But keep your eyes on the mirror.

I want you to watch. ”

For once, she does as she’s told, and I send a silent prayer to God, thanking him for making her bite that forked tongue of hers.

Bending at the waist, she leans her upper body forward until her front rests on the countertop, her face turned towards the mirror that sits just to the right of us.

She sucks in a breath when her breasts press against what must be cold marble.

I can’t help but wonder if the coolness of the stone has her nipples hard.

I’ll find out soon enough.

As I run my hands up the backs of her thighs, I palm the generous curves of her ass, massaging the flesh until it turns from pale cream to a pretty pink.

Speaking of pink.

I grip her thighs from behind before saying, “Feet apart.”

Again, without argument, she widens her stance.

The move opens her up, and I can’t stop myself from reaching up and running my thumb over her entrance, collecting the wetness that’s gathered there before using it to rub several deliberately slow circles around her clit.

She releases a moan, and I watch as her eyes begin to slide closed.

“Uh uh, eyes open, brat.

You watch what I do to you.

Not just where I’m touching but my eyes.

I want you to see that there’s no place in the world I’d rather be than buried between your legs.”

As our gazes clash in the mirror’s reflection, I grip the fronts of her thighs to hold her in place before leaning in to nip the globes of her ass with my teeth.

She lets out a sharp cry, and for a second, I wonder if I’ve hurt her.

That is until she widens her stance, arching her back and offering herself to me as if it’s my fucking birthday.

You know, I’ve always been a sucker for cake.

Releasing a deep chuckle, I run one finger up and down her slick heat before pushing that finger deep inside her.

Instead of pulling away, she pushes back against me, silently begging for more.

Always one to oblige, I add a second finger, pumping them in and out of her until she’s running her short nails across the marble counter, searching for purchase.

She won’t find any.

I fuck her with my fingers for only a moment or two before sliding them out of her.

Watching her face in the mirror, I bring them to my mouth, painting my lips with her taste.

As my tongue darts out to swipe across my bottom lip, I release a guttural growl that only eludes to the monster I’ve been keeping under lock and key.

As much as I’d like to let the demon out to feast, tonight is about her, and for once, I’m going to allow someone to see me as something other than one-dimensional.

Someone less concerned with their own pleasure and more focused on drawing out parts of her that she doesn’t even know exist.

Gripping her thighs again, I lean down and drag the pad of my tongue over her clit, swirling it through her wetness before spearing it inside her opening.

I alternate between the two until I feel her thighs begin to tremble beneath my hands.

As I tighten my grip, I bury my face in her pussy, sucking her clit into my mouth.

A high-pitched cry bursts from her, and I glance up at the mirror to see if she’s done as I asked or succumbed to the pleasure I’m giving her.

As my gaze finds hers, a rush of pleasure, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt, courses through me at the sight of her eyes, wide open and locked on mine.

Between this breath and the next, she falls apart and comes against my waiting mouth.

All thoughts of being patient and gentle disappear, and as the beast within me breaks free from its cage, I can only pray we both survive it.