Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
Scarlett marched out of the kitchen toward the living room.
“You know I can’t let you leave,” I said, following her.
She spun on me so fast that I nearly walked into her. “But why keep me?” Her voice cracked with frustration. “I don’t get it. If I’m no good to you anymore because of what happened at The Black Ledger, why am I still here?”
“There’s more to it than that,” I said. “And you know it.”
Her laugh was bitter. “Oh, I know exactly what you’re up to.
Men are all alike. All they care about is self-gratification, regardless of the cost to everyone else.
” She stepped closer, eyes blazing. “I might’ve been drunk last night, but I remember how you touched me.
I know that’s why you haven’t sent me off already today. ”
She jabbed a finger at my chest. “You want to lock me up, strap me down, and use my body for your cheap thrills. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you look at me.
How hard you get for me.” Her lips curled, and she gestured toward the peninsula counter.
“Why don’t you just fuck me on the counter and get it out of your system? You know you want to.”
That did it.
I grabbed her by the shoulders and held her there.
“If I wanted to fuck you,” I said tightly, “I would’ve done it already.”
She sucked in a breath but didn’t look away.
“Get this through your head,” I growled.
“I don’t take anything that isn’t offered.
Just like last night. You wanted my touch.
Your body chased the danger, Scar—and you never once told me to stop.
You got off on the tussle. On the knife play.
” My jaw clenched. “You were drenched for the danger you sought.”
Her breath hitched.
“Your swollen little pussy gave that secret away. You wanted what you wanted—and I gave it to you.”
She drew a slow, angry breath, color creeping up her neck.
“Don’t stand there and act as if you did me a favor,” she shot back. “You wanted me just as much. I saw it in your eyes.”
“I didn’t take anything more than what was offered,” I said.
What I didn’t say—what I kept locked down—was that I knew I’d been the first man to give her an orgasm.
That she’d faked everything before, not just onstage at The Black Ledger.
But what I couldn’t figure out was why none of what Sofia did or the way she’d been manhandled had shocked her the way it had Margaretta.
Why did she seem numb to the spectacle, as if it were nothing new?
Those answers could wait. For now, she was yanking on my last nerve.
She shifted and leaned back against the counter, fingers wrapping around the edge.
“Fine,” she said. “I get it. I’m your hostage—one you might not even want anymore, now that my father’s pissed I blew my saintly-daughter act.
” Her voice wavered but didn’t break. “You’re annoyed because I’m not the easy mark you thought I was.
You’ve promised to keep me safe out of some code you mafia men swear by. ”
She huffed out a furious breath. “You won’t touch me unless I beg. And that’s only if you feel sorry for me. You’re just putting up with me until you can offload me to some schmuck in the suburbs.”
“You’re twisting my words and my intentions,” I snapped back.
“No, I’m not.” She shook her head. “I’m here because it’s your job to keep me. I’m not in your league. I’ve got nothing to offer.” She gestured vaguely at herself. “You probably pull tall, beautiful blondes. A different woman every time the need arises.”
Her voice dropped. “Of course a man like you wouldn’t lower your standards for a short, redheaded loser like me, with nothing but your shirt on my back.”
Her shoulders slumped.
The look on her face—pure defeat—hit me harder than any insult she’d thrown.
It pissed me off.
Not at her. At the lie she was telling herself.
I grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the counter, stepping between her knees before she could protest. My hands came up to her face, forcing her to look at me.
“Eyes on me, Scar.”
She tried to look away. I didn’t let her.
“You’re wrong. About all of it,” I said, holding her face tightly in my palms, needing her to understand that I meant every word.
“There’s nothin’ about you that needs fixing or excusing.
The way you look, the way you move—have gotten under my skin.
No one ever taught you how to see yourself.
That’s the real crime. Because there’s nothing about you that isn’t worth wantin’, worth choosing, worth staying for.
” My voice dropped. “And any man who’s ever made you feel otherwise didn’t deserve to look at you in the first place. ”
Her breath hitched.
“You’re built like sin. Skin so pale it looks like cream, with freckles scattered like God took his time with you.
Your hair is wild and beautiful, the kind a man fantasizes about when he’s alone.
And your mouth—those full lips—were made to be kissed.
” My thumb grazed her lower lip. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had my hands on. ”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“No one’s ever said that to me,” she whispered. “You’re just being kind because you feel sorry for me. I get it. I’m not good enough for you.” She swallowed. “It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend.”
She reached up and traced the healing cut on my bottom lip, her touch careful.
“I really am sorry I lost my mind and tried to stab you. I hope you believe me because that’s not the type of person I am,” her voice broke.
“You’re the only person I’ve ever hurt. I hate that I left a scar on your handsome face. ”
I huffed a quiet breath. “I’ve had worse,” I said, softer now. “Comes with the territory.”
Better a scar on my lip than one where it’d never heal.
“Look, you don’t need to apologize anymore. I get it. You’re being held against your will after spending years caged by your father. But I’m a better man than him. You can trust me.”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t. You’ll wash your hands of me the moment you can unload me.”
I studied her for a beat. Then asked the question I couldn’t let go.
“Why did you freak out like that?” I asked. “I thought you were going to bed. You seemed calm. What pushed you to try to kill me?”
She dipped her head. “I thought my only options were to kill or be killed. Or worse.”
“Worse? What could be worse?”
Her voice fell barely above a whisper. “Locked in that…that room upstairs. That BDSM torture chamber. It’s something out of a nightmare.”
“I’m not locking you in that room.”
She frowned. “Sure.”
“I’ve only lived here a few weeks,” I said. “The hedge-fund genius who built this place bet wrong and lost everything. I bought both penthouses because it was smart business. One for me. One for Lach.”
I paused. “And honestly—I do plan to use that room. There’s nothing wrong with it.
Nothing wrong with sexual experimentation,” I said calmly.
“People like power. Control. Surrender. Some like pain. Some like ritual. All of it is about consent and trust.” I met her eyes.
“That room isn’t a nightmare. It’s a place for people who know what they want—and who they want it with. ”
She scoffed. “It looks painful. Frankenstein’s lab meets creepy doctor’s office. Yuck. Who’d want that?”
A real laugh broke out of me. “You’d be surprised. The way you responded to a little knife play tells me your subconscious may have darker tastes.” My gaze held hers. “But for now, it’s not for you. No, it takes trust. And you don’t trust anyone.”
She let out a harsh breath. “Why would I? All I’m good for is being used and then ignored—as long as I keep my mouth shut and play my part.” Her shoulders sagged. “Just let me down. Call whoever you need to call. As long as he doesn’t hit me, it’ll be fine.”
She tried to slide off the counter.
I didn’t let her.
The thought of any man touching her made rage boil hot and immediate in my gut. How she couldn’t see what she did to me—how she affected me—only fueled it.
I grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the counter, crowding into her space.
“You’re so fucking wrong,” I snarled. “Open your damn eyes. I can’t even be in the same room with you without getting a hard-on.” I leaned in, my voice dropping. “I’ve wanted nothing more than to fuck you into oblivion since the first second I laid eyes on you at Our Lady of Lourdes.”
She frowned and rolled her eyes. “Okay. Sure. Whatever you say.” She put her palms out and pushed on my chest. “Now, can I get down?”
I stood my ground.
Then she shoved me harder and slid off the counter, but my body blocked her path.
The pressure of her against me snapped what little restraint I had left.
I lifted her and set her back on the edge of the counter, shoving her knees apart.
“God,” I growled, “those fiery curls have me so fucking undone.” I gestured sharply. “Look at that perfect pussy. Juicy. Tight.” My voice grew rough. “Look at yourself. I’m not lying to you about a damn thing.”
I pressed my palm over her mound and stroked her clit with my thumb.
A soft moan slipped out of her before she could stop it.
“You like the way I touch you, don’t you?” I said, watching her reaction.
I turned my hand and slid two fingers inside her slowly—and stopped.
Her hips lifted, chasing the movement.
I pulled my fingers back. “Look how wet you are for me.”
I dipped them in again and drew them out, causing her to whimper.
“Look at your fucking cunt swallowing my fingers,” I commanded.
Her eyes dropped to my hand, and her lips parted on a quiet gasp.
I took her hand and placed it over herself.
She froze.
“Go on,” I said. “Dip that middle finger in alongside mine.”
She chewed on her lip.
“Do as I say.”
She obeyed.
“Feel that? How wet you are for me. How tight you are, Scar.”
“That’s it,” I murmured, guiding our fingers in and out of her a few times. “Now stroke your clit. Show me how you please yourself.”
She stilled completely.
“Scarlett,” I said. “Show me.”