Chapter 21 #2
His breathing was deep and steady, so I slipped inside.
Step by agonizing step, I moved closer to the bed. He lay on his back, one forearm draped over his eyes, the other resting on his abdomen. The sheets rode low over his hips, barely covering him.
And God help me—he took my breath away.
I took him in, all of him.
Sleeping, he looked different. Less brutal.
Almost beautiful. The hard scowl was gone, the deep lines between his brows smoothed away.
His neck was thick and corded. His arms were huge and powerful—one wrapped in a full sleeve of tattoos, the other marked with words I couldn’t read in the low light.
More ink stretched across his chest and over his heart, and even in the middle of my panic, I wondered what it said.
His body was obscene in its perfection. Muscle stacked on muscle. More abs than I’d ever seen on one man, a sharp V-cut disappearing beneath the sheet toward what had to be the mother lode.
And his hands.
Those massive hands.
The same hands that had gripped my thighs at the church.
The same hands I’d daydreamed about more times than I cared to admit.
I chewed on my lip, my chest tight, my mind screaming at me to move.
Don’t get distracted.
Do it.
Now.
That room—upstairs—flashed through my head. The cross. The table. The bed. The promises he’d made that had too much room in them for anything he wanted.
My thoughts skidded wildly.
Slit his throat.
No—stab him in the heart.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Can I actually do this?
I leaned over him, lifting the knife, my breath trapped in my lungs.
It’s him or me.
I went for the heart—
—and he exploded awake.
His arm shot up, grabbing my forearm mid-motion. In the same instant, his other arm clamped around my waist, wrenching me off balance. The world flipped violently as he rolled, slamming me onto the mattress beneath him, pinning my body with crushing weight.
My free arm was yanked above my head, trapped.
His hand snapped around both the knife and my fist—
SNAP.
The blade shot out with that vicious, mechanical crack—the sound of life or death—and buried itself in the pillow beside my head.
I froze.
My eyes darted from the blade to his face.
Mr. Shadowman loomed over me, all muscle and fury, his pupils blown completely black—no trace of green, just pure, unfiltered rage. He looked like a demon ripped straight out of hell.
And in that heartbeat, I saw it.
The same expression from the club.
The same moment before he’d launched himself off the wall.
Those eyes of the unholy.
And I understood—terrifyingly—that I had never stood a chance.
“Please—don’t kill me,” I begged. “I don’t want to die. Please, please don’t hurt me. I just—I can’t…”
He stilled.
For a split second, he was frozen above me.
“Scarlett? What the hell were you thinkin’, sneakin’ up on me like that? I could’ve killed ya,” he snarled, his Irish accent more distinct with rage.
My body shook beneath him, every nerve screaming. “I—I don’t know,” I cried. “I panicked. Please don’t kill me.”
That’s when I realized the position we were in.
My legs bracketed his hips. His cock was hard and pressed down over my slit. He was nude. I was bare. The awareness hit us both at the same time.
“You’ve been a very bad girl,” he growled. “Ya deserve to be punished. Bent over my knee and spanked till that creamy ass of yours is as red as your hair.”
I bucked against him, desperate to get away.
Instead, he rocked his hips—slow, deliberate—his cock sliding up and down my core. The slow drag lit my clit on fire. Pre-cum dripped from the head of his cock onto my belly.
Oh God.
I didn’t know what I wanted more—to escape or have him buried inside my aching core.
“You promised,” I whimpered. “You promised—”
In half a heartbeat, he rose onto his elbows, hips stilling, and snatched the blade from my hand.
“Aye,” he said coldly. “You’re right. I promised to leave you breathin’. But that doesn’t mean I won’t bend you to my will.”
His other hand pressed harder against my arm above my head, his hips pinning me down as he brought the tip of the blade to my jaw.
He wasn’t playing.
The heat of his anger seared my center. He shifted back onto one elbow, fisted my collar with one hand and sliced it open with the knife in the other, then ripped it straight down the middle, leaving me exposed beneath his gaze.
With a flick of his wrist, the point of the blade rested against my cheek.
“You understand,” he said, voice low and lethal, “that some men would slit your throat for tryin’ to kill them in their sleep?”
A shudder ripped through me.
The metal was cold against my skin as he dragged it down my jawbone—hard enough that if I moved even a fraction, it would cut me. I fought to keep my body still.
His jaw was locked tight, his nostrils flared. I realized—bone-deep—that I was lucky to still be alive. My life. My body. My ability to breathe. All of it was in his hands.
As the blade traced down my throat, an anxious whine escaped me.
Was this it?
Was his fury the last thing I’d ever see?
The steel crept further, passing over my jugular and pausing there long enough to make my vision blur. Tears slid down my temples. I was so afraid.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the blade continued its wicked journey.
My eyes stayed locked on his as it skimmed over my collarbone. How he hadn’t cut me yet was a testament to his control—his steady hand.
He didn’t stop, and the blade moved lower.
My lip quivered uncontrollably as my breath stuttered.
The tip of the blade circled the inner curve of my breast.
And that’s when I saw it—a flash of white-hot heat shimmering over his onyx eyes.
The steel circled my nipple. As it curved away, pressure followed, then a quick, precise nick cut into my skin.
I gasped.
He smirked, a wolfish grin ghosting across his features.
And for the first time since pinning me beneath him, his eyes left mine.
I didn’t have to look to feel the swell of blood.
With a snap of his wrist, he tossed the knife away.
Then his hand closed around my breast, fingers tightening into my flesh.
He leaned down, dragging his tongue slowly over the wound.
His cock pulsed against my swollen clit, and a high-pitched, unfamiliar sound slipped from my throat before I could stop it.
Somewhere between the fear and the sting, my body understood something my mind didn’t yet: he wasn’t hurting me to control me. He was guiding me toward a reaction he knew would bloom hot and undeniable beneath my skin.
With a groan, he sucked my nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the tight peak.
I inhaled deeply, desperate for oxygen. His hips rolled, his cock sliding through my wetness—close, but not entering me—the friction sending sparks straight up my spine.
“You like this, don’t you?” he growled. “You’re so fucking drenched.”
The vibration of his voice against my breast skittered through me, making me desperate for more.
Was it possible to come from this?
Why was I so wet?
I’d never felt anything like this with the men at the club—resorting to lube, learning how to fake it the way they liked it, how to give them what they wanted without giving myself at all.
Teeth closed around my nipple, biting down just hard enough to rip my thoughts back to him.
His other hand closed over my breast, kneading and squeezing, overwhelming me. It was too much. My mind spun, my breath coming fast and shallow as I started panting.
“Oh—oh,” I whined.
The pressure sharpened with each pinch and bite, until stars exploded behind my eyelids.
A scream tore from my lungs, echoing off the walls.
The stars dissolved into a wave that tore through me, shocking and exquisite—and I realized, stunned, that I’d never felt anything like it before. The truth landed hard: this was new, and it was incredible.
Somewhere in the chaos, the rush, my screams turned into broken cries, and my vision tunneled. I didn’t know how I ended up pressed to his chest, wrapped in his arms, my body shaking uncontrollably—but here I was.
“Shh,” he murmured. “There now, lass. I’ve got you.”
I curled into him and wept.
He held me, rocking gently, his hand stroking slow circles along my back. My breath hitched again and again until there were no tears left to shed, until the trembling finally ebbed.
Darkness closed in, soft and merciful, as he stilled beneath me and kept me there.