25. Ember
CHAPTER 25
EMBER
BITTER – PALACE
Anxiously tapping my foot, I watch the live feed streaming from Archer’s chest camera. It offers a lopsided view of blood-red carpet, ostentatious wallpaper and sparkling chandeliers that span the long hallway.
The excess and wealth that drips from the walls of the luxurious building makes me want to tear my own eyeballs out just so I don’t have to see it anymore. Not now that I know what was sacrificed in order to afford this fucker’s lavish lifestyle.
“This man has been taking bribes from the cartel to approve their shipments,” I growl angrily. “Gael’s money paid for those chandeliers.”
Pacing at my side, Hyland barely spares the live feed a glance. “And whoever else was bribing this asshole.”
“How far do you think the corruption goes?”
“I doubt this guy’s the only one aiding overseas trafficking gangs. Money talks, red.”
“We need to identify and arrest them all.”
“We will,” Hyland vows.
No one else pays our muttering any attention. Warner sits at the head of the cluttered table, deep in conversation with his support staff, including two members of Sabre’s intelligence team—Rayna and Fox.
Today’s target was a hand-wrapped gift courtesy of Miguel. The other lowlifes we captured from that warehouse didn’t have any intel to offer, but Luis’s thug eventually sang for his life under the threat of another thirteen-hour session with Hudson.
Tyler Perez.
We’ve found a puzzle piece.
Spreadeagled in an office chair, Axel remains glued to his phone screen. I’m convinced that something is eating at him. He’s been off throughout the last few days of back-to-back interviews, searching for a lead.
“What are you studying so hard?” I move to look over his shoulder.
Slapping it against his chest, Axel plasters on a smile. “Nothing.”
“Seriously, what’s going on with you?”
“Nothing, dimples.”
Unconvinced, I resolve to pin him down later when we’re not mid-assault on a hostile target. He’ll tell me what crawled up his ass and died. I can drag it out of him.
“I have no idea why the Falcon Team were put on this,” Hyland grumbles when I retake my place. “Perez is our target.”
“Archer’s team can handle it.”
“Like they handled letting Luis escape?”
“Come on,” I coax. “That isn’t fair.”
Shaking his head from side to side, he takes a moment to calm down. Losing Luis during that raid was a blow, but it seems Hyland is taking it hardest.
“They’ve got this, Hy.”
“Perez has been ensuring shipments fly under the radar for years.” Hyland tosses his hands in aggravation. “He’s behind all those containers filled with women.”
“And you’ve trained the Falcon Team yourself. Trust them to do their job. They want to redeem themselves.”
On Warner’s laptop screen, we all watch as Archer advances with his three teammates hot on his heels. They’ve already infiltrated the high-rise apartment block in upmarket Knightsbridge without arousing suspicion.
“Be glad that Miguel broke,” I reason, filled with an odd sense of hopefulness. “This is our first real clue.”
“That’s exactly why it should be us in there.”
While part of me can relate to Hyland’s frustration, I also understand why they’re taking the lead today. After the seizure, my medical clearance hangs in the balance. Not to mention the toll from questioning every last operative we apprehended.
Warner and Hyland took the lead on interrogating the remaining suspects while avoiding the topic of Madden still rotting in a dark cell somewhere in the building. They’ve been working flat out as I’ve rested.
“I’ve got Perez’s lease up.” Rayna leans close to squint at her laptop, dislodging lilac hair tucked behind her pixie-like ears. “It’s for apartment 32c.”
“You catch that?” Warner reiterates into his comms. “32c. You have permission to force entry.”
“Copy.” Archer taps his earpiece on the live feed.
“Take him quickly and quietly,” Warner instructs. “Perez can connect us to Gael. Or at least whoever receives the shipments on the other side. He’s integral.”
With all of my attention locked on the screen, I watch the Falcon Team inch closer to their target. Archer, Oscar and Josh hang back while Kyle lines up their handheld battering ram.
“On three.” Kyle’s deep voice warns his teammates. “Cover me.”
I’m on the edge of my seat as Kyle prepares to make his move. We know very little about Tyler Perez beyond his role in local government handling shipping permits and freight permissions for large-scale exports.
He could be sitting behind that door with a machine gun ready to unload it into the Falcon Team, and we’d be none the wiser. The real danger of working for Sabre is at the forefront today.
Overwhelmed by nerves that feel foreign to me, I curl and release my fists repeatedly, waiting for the bang of the door collapsing in. Hyland halts his pacing to stand at my side.
“Red.” His huge paw tucks around mine and offers a squeeze. “Take a breath.”
“Thought I was calming you down?”
“We can’t do that for each other?” He arches a brow.
“I guess I can take your anxiety if you’ll take mine, big guy.”
Moss-laced pools flicking over my face, he flourishes a tense smile. “Deal.”
Together, we watch the scene unfold onscreen over Warner’s tense shoulders. Kyle is fast and efficient, cracking through Perez’s front door in two rams.
The scene dissolves into a fast-moving blur, holding us all on tenterhooks. The team rushes into the apartment in close formation, weapons raised at the ready and screaming for surrender.
“Status report,” Warner booms into his earpiece, clutching the edge of the table. “Come in.”
Live feed settling, a view of a sleekly furnished, high-ceilinged apartment comes into view. The classical, Victorian mouldings and brass fittings shine despite the weak daylight filtering through drawn velvet curtains.
“Clear every room!” Archer shouts his orders.
Each member of the team splits off to infiltrate a different space. It’s a vast apartment, spanning multiple gold-laced marble floors and elaborately furnished sitting rooms. There’s even a private bar.
Clearly, Gael pays well.
What a surprise.
“He’s gone,” I whisper, dread gathering to form a brick in my stomach. “We’re too late.”
“We’ll find him.” Hyland’s hand cinches mine again in an attempt at comfort.
“The same way we’ve found Luis? Our leads keep disappearing!”
“This job is a long game, I’m afraid. You have to hold faith sometimes.”
“I don’t have a lot of faith left to give.”
“Then I’ll hold faith for you, red.”
Squeezing his hand back just as tightly, I’m struggling to summon an ounce of hopefulness after everything.
On the screen, Archer is advancing closely behind Josh to inspect what looks like the master bedroom on the second floor. Their guns are raised in an attack position, prepared for any eventuality.
His camera swings around the vast space, complete with a four-poster bed draped in unmade, white sheets. A few drawers in the mahogany sideboard are yanked out, while the door to what seems to be a walk-in wardrobe is ajar.
“Signs of a disturbance,” Josh whispers lowly. “I think someone tore through here.”
Warner’s spine curves as he leans even closer to his laptop to capture every detail on the feed. “Be careful.”
“Was Perez fleeing, or was someone searching for him?” Hyland ponders in a hush.
“Why would someone break into his apartment?”
“Perhaps they’ve been paid to tie up a loose end. Eliminate a potential rat and search his apartment for any incriminating evidence.”
After checking each corner and crevice, Archer and Josh head for the ensuite. My palm has grown so slick with sweat, it’s sliding in Hyland’s firm hand.
Unease is a powerful tornado firing alarm bells inside my overwhelmed mind. With Hyland’s gruff words playing on repeat, I feel like that tornado is about to sweep us all into its destructive spiral.
Pausing to flick the bathroom light on, the sound of Archer spitting out a shocked curse resonates from the laptop’s speakers. Josh is a couple of metres in front of him, blocking our sight.
“What is it?” Warner demands.
“Well… I’m not sure your perp is going to be up for making any phone calls to his boss.”
Encouraging a still-cursing Josh to move aside, Archer steps farther into the oversized, white-tiled ensuite. His chest camera offers a perfect shot of a slumped figure sitting atop a closed toilet lid.
White tile ends where a spray of dark, congealed blood begins. Only it doesn’t stop there. Crimson rivulets spatter across the walls. Floor. Nearby mirror. Bathroom sink. It’s been distributed in a wide geyser.
“Fuck me gently,” Hyland blurts.
“Is that… Tyler Perez?”
“Looks like it.”
The source of the blood is the blown-open skull of our target. His lifeless body is lolling forwards, revealing the hole that a bullet has torn through him. I can make out a silver gun loosely clasped in his limp hand.
“No,” I whisper in abject horror. “No!”
Perez is dead.
Unable to look away from the macabre nightmare, it’s like something out of a slasher movie. I’m no stranger to death, but seeing it laid out in its rawest form is sobering.
He was our one lead.
Now he’s gone too.
This man has benefitted from every last dollar, pound and peso funnelled through Gael’s cartel and likely many others. He’s taken victims from their captors, packaged them up and shipped them across the globe for a tidy profit.
The bullet was a kindness. I wouldn’t have given it to him. After we’d gotten the information we need from him, I intended to ensure his grisly end myself. Now I’ll never get the chance.
Axel joins us to more closely observe the death of our sole clue. “Fucking hell.”
“Suicide?” Warner wonders aloud.
“More like an execution made to look like suicide.” Axel studies the camera shot. “Look at the site of the bullet wound. No one can bend their arm that far.”
“The gun’s in his hand,” I point out.
“Deliberately so. This is sloppy work. Whoever did this knew we’d be able to tell it wasn’t self-inflicted.”
“Okay… to what end?”
“Because it’s a warning,” Hyland answers my question. “Gael’s leaving us a message.”
This was the one person who offered us a chance of tracing Gael’s exports. Reduced to little more than a warning shot. With Diego dead and Luis gone, the raid was for nothing.
Unless…
“We have no choice,” I announce with grim certainty. “Madden is our best chance to reach the cartel.”
Spinning in his seat, Warner hits me with an aqua stare. “Not a chance.”
“He can help us.”
“He’s lying through his teeth to save his own skin!”
“Then why is he still in the building?”
Warner falls silent, stumped by the truth.
“Why haven’t you had him shipped off to some hellhole he’ll never escape from?” I push further.
Watching his shoulders sink, I wait for a reasonable explanation that he can’t give. Warner could’ve gotten rid of Blaine the moment we told him about the proposed partnership. Yet he hasn’t done so.
“Ember has a point.” Axel stretches his ink-riddled arms and shoulders. “We’re fresh out of options.”
“Shut up, pup,” Hyland snaps at him.
“What? I don’t get a say in this?”
“You don’t know Madden like we do!”
“I know he made a very good point!”
“What fucking point?” Hyland argues.
“That Gael is ready to expend all of his resources to recapture his champion. We need to locate him before he finds Ember.”
“No one is finding Ember,” Warner inserts, pulling his earpiece out. “Sabre remains the safest place for her. By our sides.”
“We can only ensure her safety if we have the advantage,” Axel calmly reasons. “Madden knows Gael’s operations. He has a personal stake. He could be useful.”
“He’s a fugitive!” Hyland gestures wildly.
“Look at what we do for a living! If we didn’t have these jobs to justify our actions, we’d all be criminals. I for one know I would be!”
“What is wrong with you, Ax?” Hyland squares off against him. “Why the sudden allegiance to Madden?”
Something passes between them—a mistrustful tension that turns the atmosphere to ice. I watch Axel’s eyes drop as he sputters defensively.
“I don’t have an allegiance to him.”
“You’re the one who told us what he wanted.” Hyland refuses to take his eyes off him. “You pushed for Ember to speak to him. Hell, you’ve been off ever since you interviewed him alone.”
“I have not!” Axel cries.
“I call bullshit on that.”
“How dare you accuse me of having false allegiances? Who do you think you are?”
“I’m protecting my team!”
Their shouting is penetrating my skull, creating a sharp throb. I shuffle away before it builds into a full-blown headache. Hard to avoid stress when you work with a gaggle of hot-headed assholes.
As Hyland and Axel move chest-to-chest to continue their screaming match, I take the opportunity to slip out of the room. I don’t care to see them call forensics to handle Perez’s body.
Sabre’s corridors and ceiling-height windows blur around me with each numb step I take. Stumbling in an indecipherable direction, I’m consumed by the riot of conflicting paths ahead that I have no idea how to choose between.
Think about home, Gracie.
We didn’t go through hell just to die now, did we?
I told that terrified little girl to think about her home. Her sisters. The cookies she’d soon taste again. And not only did I fail to give her that fantasy, I’m still fucking failing her.
A na?ve part of me was actually stupid enough to believe that Perez would provide us with information. That somehow, he would’ve been able to tell me where Gracie ended up. No one else has a damn clue.
Now I’ll never know. The reason Gael’s web is so impenetrable is that nobody knows exactly where they fit in it. Every moving part remains blissfully ignorant while he collects profits from each distinct branch.
When the familiar walls of the training room settle around me, I realise where my heart has led me to. The boxing ring that’s become my home in recent weeks lies empty ahead of me.
Tearing my t-shirt over my head, I adjust my black sports bra then tighten my ponytail. In the corner behind the ring that we spar in, bags of various weights hang still.
The numbness perseveres until my unwrapped fists make contact with the blue bag. Thumbs tucked, knuckles firm, wrists tensed. Slipping into a fighting stance feels like crawling into bed after a long, exhausting day.
I batter the living daylights out of the bag until sweat coats every inch of my body. My ponytail sags, hanging over my sweat-slick shoulders and spine. The headache has receded as clarity takes centre stage.
This can’t be it.
We will find Gael.
There’s no way that Luis has left the country without the grand prize. Me. He wouldn’t dare show his face in Mexico empty-handed. Especially not after losing his right-hand man and several others along the way.
When he crawls out of the woodwork, I’ll be ready. He’s our central line to the house of cards we need to dismantle. Find Luis, and we find a moving part. Perhaps a vital one. Maybe even Gracie.
Throat burning in protest, I reluctantly take a break to locate the water machine. When I turn around, I realise that I have an audience to my ruminations.
“How long have you been standing there?” I pant breathlessly.
Shrugging, Warner keeps his strong arms folded over his chest. “Long enough.”
“That’s fucking creepy.”
“You left.”
“Didn’t care to listen to those idiots squabble like children.”
“I’m sorry, Em. Emotions are high. I’ve sent them to cool off and deal with the crime scene now.”
Brushing past him, I kick off my shoes then snag a pair of boxing gloves hanging on the edge of the ring. Hopping up onto the platform, Warner’s stare follows my every step.
“Are we going to talk this out?” he calls out.
“Nope. I’m busy.”
“I know you’re disappointed, Em.”
Ignoring him, I hope that he’ll take the message and give up. I should know better by now.
“We are too,” Warner emphasises. “But Perez wasn’t our last shot at Gael. We’re still identifying the bodies that washed up. And we have those potential locations for Gael’s estate too.”
I strap on the boxing gloves then bounce on my bare feet. To my delight, he accepts the silent invitation to join me in the ring.
The thought of sparring with Warner provides enough distraction from the disaster we just watched unfold. We haven’t fought yet. Though I’ve thought about what it would be like to face him many times.
“Fighting instead of feeling isn’t the answer,” he proclaims in a clipped tone.
“You want to talk?” I raise an eyebrow. “Let’s discuss that kiss in the hospital.”
Warner smashes his lips shut.
“Yeah… I didn’t think so.”
Advancing into his bubble, I make the first move. My gloved hand slams into his side, landing a fast blow. Warner twists his frame to pivot, allowing him to deliver his own strike to my ribcage.
Teeth gritted, I duck his next attempt by swinging myself low then throwing a fist up to catch his jaw. Warner anticipates the move, shifting sideways to avoid my punch.
The failed strike only stokes my inner fire. Irritation spikes through the ceaseless well of rage that’s kept me going this long. I can’t hit Gael. I can’t hit Luis. But I can hit him.
“Em,” Warner pleads.
“Shut up and fight me.”
“No!”
“Fine. Then I’ll make you.”
Focusing my mind, I launch another attack. This time, the roundhouse kick I deliver to his midsection lands perfectly, allowing me to flash forward and follow up with a powerful punch to the face.
Warner skids backwards, massaging the red blotches appearing on his cheek. Perhaps I should feel guilty. He came down here with some false hope of helping, and instead, I’m going to beat his ass.
Oh well.
He seems to snap, beginning to fight back. We parry back and forth, trading light blows. While he manages to land a few shots, I can tell he’s letting me off easy.
“You’re right!” he attempts to break through to me. “As much as I hate it… We need to give serious thought to cooperating with Madden.”
“You hate Blaine.”
“More than life itself.” He ducks my next swing. “That doesn’t mean we can’t use him.”
Rolling back my shoulders, I puzzle out his weirdly expectant expression. Hyland’s reticence makes sense. No one understands Axel’s brain or motivations. But I didn’t expect this from Warner.
“Why the change of heart?”
He tries to inch closer to me. “Something has to give.”
Foot connecting with his ribcage, I attempt to follow the kick with another strike, but he grabs my ankle. I’m pushed backwards, almost losing my balance.
“If working with our enemy will bring you the peace you need faster, then that’s a price I’m willing to pay.”
“And when Gael is gone?” I puff for breath. “Once Blaine’s father is apprehended? What happens to him?”
“That’s for me and the directors to discuss. Any cooperation would be legally binding.”
Body flexing, I escape the blow he attempts to deliver. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t expect Madden to help us for free; it will be a quid-pro-quo situation.”
Fists dropping, I gape at him, the meaning of his words clear. He’s going to strike a deal. That realisation causes a miasma of complex feelings that I’m too overwhelmed to even dissect right now.
Using my teeth, I tear off the Velcro on my boxing gloves then toss them aside. Fighting isn’t helping.
“I have to find Gracie,” I grind out.
“I know, Em. We will.”
“Even if she’s dead… I need to know. Then I can kill Gael knowing he isn’t taking her location to the grave with him.”
“And I promised to help you,” he confirms with a nod. “You know by now, I never break my word.”
The fire ants that pull at my skin haven’t eased. If anything, sparring with him has worsened this intense feeling of pressure. Every inch of my skin is alight with a battlefield of burning fires.
I feel so fucking powerless.
And I need him to fix it.
Closing the last step between us, my hands curl in the soft material of his dark shirt, twisting the fabric tight. Not even I can fathom what I’m searching for in his cautious blue stare.
“You swore to look after me. To protect me. To help me.”
His throat frantically dancing, Warner nods again. “I did.”
“What if I told you that I need more than you’re willing to give?”
“Please, love. Don’t do this again.”
“You kissed me, Warner.”
“That was a mistake,” he insists weakly.
“It sure didn’t feel like a mistake.”
Allowing myself to be sucked into the near-iridescent ocean that fills his gaze, I sink to the crushing depths of that watery expanse where he can’t possibly drag me back to the surface.
“When I’m with your team, this gaping hole in my chest feels just a little smaller,” I admit in a small voice.
“Em…”
“I can breathe again. It doesn’t feel like it’s going to suck me into a vacuum and crush my bones to ash.”
My head tilts, allowing me to search his conflicted expression. He may be fighting this, but I can see where desire collides with duty in his eyes.
“This isn’t a game, Warner.”
“Then why are you treating it like one?”
“I’m not. This isn’t me trying to tear apart your family. Truthfully, I didn’t mean to feel this way for any of you. I didn’t want to. But…”
“But?” He sounds like his throat is coated in gravel.
“But… I still do. I want what I can’t have. I want more than I should have. And I want it with all of you.”
Cursing under his breath, he grabs my wrists to prise my hands away from his chest. The incoming rejection only makes me cling onto his shirt even harder.
“I told you I can’t do this, love.”
“Because you can’t, or because you don’t want to?”
“I just… I can’t do it!” He vehemently shakes his head as if he can force his own feelings out.
“Forget about Tom for a second. Forget all the years we’ve known each other. Forget the rest of the team and this company.”
Pupils darkening the brilliant blue hue all around them, Warner’s breathing accelerates into a racing staccato.
“Tell me what you want.”
For several agonising seconds, I don’t think he’ll crack. Then he licks his lips before roughly answering.
“I want to tell you that I’ve battled tooth and fucking nail not to feel anything for longer than you realise.”
“And now?” I breathe out.
His words form a pained growl. “Now… I’m failing.”
Letting my hands release his t-shirt, I press myself into his firm chest. Every solid line of muscle provides a bittersweet taunt against my heaving breasts.
“I want to tell you that I actually don’t give a fuck if my teammates want something with you too,” Warner admits. “They’re good men. If you make them happy, I want them to have that.”
My lungs halt and seize.
“Frankly, the more protection you have around you, the happier I’ll be. I would die a thousand times over before letting anyone hurt you ever again.”
Hands wrapping around my waist, Warner presses the small of my back so I can feel every inch of him. The pressure is acute. He’s everywhere. Invading everything. Refusing to leave any doubt.
“I’m willing to raze this entire world to the ground to grant you justice.” His whisper is guttural. “Including this team and this company. All I want is to give you the peace you deserve.”
Overstimulated to the point of pain, I let my weak knees collapse inwards when he starts to guide me down to the floor. The shift from denial to desire is the headiest of highs.
We sink to the mat—my spine hitting the spongy material, his body bracing above mine, our hips lined up in perfect symmetry. My entire awareness is comprised of Warner and nothing else. Every sense. Every thought. Every emotion. He consumes it all.
“You’re determined to rip apart my life.” His fingers clasp around my chin and squeeze. “All of our lives. Just to fill that goddamn gaping hole in your chest.”
“Yes,” I confess shamefully.
“You want Hyland’s possessive shit? Axel’s violence and insanity?”
“Yes. I do.”
“You want my attention,” he says ominously.
“Please. Yes.”
“You want all the things I’ve longed to do to your tight, absolutely fucking gorgeous body for years on end, no matter the fractures it’ll cause in our lives?”
“Yes!”
Deliciously forbidden heat slams into me faster than I can push the words out.
“You want me to lay my hands on these soft curves and make you cry out with my tongue?”
“Please…” I whimper. “Yes. I do.”
“Or for me to strip your disobedient ass bare and bury my cock so deep inside your sweet cunt that I won’t have to listen to a second more of you talking back?”
Squirming like a wild animal beneath him, I’m genuinely concerned that if he doesn’t stop, something is going to tear free from my skin.
“I want all of it. I want the family you’re offering.”
“No, Ember. You don’t. You want a hell of a lot more than what I ever offered.”
Lowering his head, Warner doesn’t kiss me.
“But maybe… that’s okay.”
His lips ghost over my throat, neck, collarbone. Down the deep canyons between my breasts until his teeth are grazing the stiff peaks of my nipples pushing against soaked Lycra.
The slightest friction causes me to moan, wantonly bleating for more. His teeth bite down on my right nipple through the sports bra, sending pulses of hunger into my clenched core.
“You want me to share you?” His hand moves to seize a firm handful of my other breast. “To share the woman I’ve loved since we were kids with the men I call my brothers?”
“Yes. That’s what I want.”
His filthy words feel so right. Like fucking kismet. That utterly insane idea somehow sounds like the only thing that will make me feel whole.
Shifting down my body, Warner seizes the waistband of my workout leggings. I automatically lift my hips when he starts to drag them down, exposing my plain, black panties.
He’s moving torturously slowly. Examining every muscle, faded scar and inch of goose-pimpled skin like he’s seeing me for the first time. The leggings are soon tossed over his shoulder.
“What happened to that shy little girl?” His gaze roves over me.
Back arching, I push my trembling legs open for him. “She grew up.”
“And became a hell of a lot more demanding.”
Just when I think he’s going to relieve this endless tension sending my system into overdrive, Warner sits back on his ass. He has to lift and drag his right leg around to position it comfortably.
“What’s wrong?” I prop up onto my forearms.
“You’re asking for a lot from me.” He shrugs, though his ablaze eyes tell a different story. “First show me how much you want it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not going to touch you, Em. I can’t do that without losing control.”
Feeling the urge to punch him in the face again, I have to strangle my compounding rage. “Asshole!”
“Show me how well you take care of yourself.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
Aghast at his newfound cocky attitude, I merely stare. Warner doesn’t show a crack of hesitation. The evil son of a bitch isn’t going to touch me. Not that easily.
I’ve never been afraid to take what I want in life. If he wants to play this game, I can play twice as hard. Soon, he’ll be begging to crawl between my legs to make it up to me.
Holding intense eye contact, I trail my fingertips over my stomach and thighs, intensifying the lively tingles unfurling at my centre. Warner is completely focused on me.
Knowing he’s watching but preventing himself from laying a single finger on me adds a dimension to this charade that feels entirely new. I’ve never performed for a man before. Or so brazenly taunted one.
My hand travels beneath my panties, stretching the bounds of the elastic. I tug the soaked cotton to one side, revealing my bareness to him. With a curse, Warner scrunches his hands into fists.
“I could be yours,” I purr at the sight of his indecision. “I want to be.”
“Fuck, love.”
“Do you think I let many people own me, Warner?”
He quickly shakes his head.
“Yet I’d let you own this pussy. I’d let you make it yours.”
“God-fucking-dammit.”
Pushing my index finger inside my dripping slit, I throw my head back at the rush of relief. My digit slips in and out of my tight hole, on full display to him.
Swirling and circling, I know just how to pleasure myself. The invisible lines that I can cross to make my body sing. An audience is simply more ammunition that I’ll happily accept.
Slick moisture covers my finger as I work myself over, rubbing the heel of my palm against my clit with each pump. Lavishing the sparks that creates, I quickly lower my other hand to rub my throbbing clit.
“Perfect,” Warner praises. “More.”
Pressing down on the bud, flashes of excruciatingly sweet warmth settle over my sensitive skin. With each thrust, I pinch and roll my clit, finding a pace that satiates my need for indulgence.
“Another finger, love.” Warner greedily drinks in the sight of me fucking myself for him. “Stretch yourself wide for me.”
“Come do it yourself.”
“You’re doing a good job all on your own.”
Shoving a second finger into my entrance, I scissor the two digits inside myself to brush against my inner walls. A whiny moan pushes past my lips, filling the cavernous training room.
I’m needy enough to believe he’ll give in. Lower his hard body over mine and plunder my lips. Kiss every part of me. Latch his mouth between my thighs and let me come all over his face.
But Warner just sits there—patient, observant, letting me pleasure myself for his eyes alone. It feels like a test. I don’t know if I’m passing it as I quicken my hand until my fingers roughly fuck my weeping pussy.
“That’s it, Em. Keep going.”
Rubbing circles above my clit, I let myself fantasise about what it would feel like to be owned by him. The boy who held my sadness when no one else could. The man who rescued me from evil and gave me the safety I needed.
I think there’s more to his steadily devoted self. Beneath the sweet words, assurance and comfort… I think he’d fuck like a god and leave me broken by his ferocity.
Feeling myself tighten, I maintain the constant pace, determined to show him exactly what he’s missing. My walls contract and clamp down around my fingers, guiding me to a nearby cliff.
“Show me how you fall apart,” Warner croons. “I want to watch your pussy drip with all those sweet juices.”
“Fuck… Please. Please touch me.”
“No. Make yourself come. Now.”
“Goddamn you!”
Aggravation and dismay form a deadly bomb that doesn’t take long to detonate. Another flick of my clit and I feel my orgasm taking hold. It barrels over me without a second’s notice.
Every muscle locks up as I cry out for him, feeling moisture soak my fingers and palm. Each individual blast emanates from my centre and spreads outwards, decimating everything in its path.
The aftershocks are powerful and continuous, my legs shaking so violently, I wonder how I’ll ever walk again. It takes great effort to lower my head to the mat where I stare up at the ceiling rather than collapse.
I feel Warner move more than I hear him. A hand circles around my wrist, encouraging my fingers to pull from where they’re still deep inside my spasming pussy.
Hovering over me, Warner stares at my face as he brings my glistening hand to his mouth. I wonder if I’ll come all over again when he sucks my fingers between his lips.
Warmth engulfs the wet digits, tingling with the feel of his tongue flicking and cleaning every drop of bliss I’ve deigned to offer him. He sucks them dry, releasing my hand to lick his lips.
“You did very well,” he compliments, still clutching my wrist tight. “Such a perfect girl, aren’t you?”
Am I into this?
Preening at his words, it’s damn well evident that I am. I doubt I’d want to hear praise from anyone but him. The dynamic he’s creating is making me want every domineering tactic he has to offer and more.
“Clean yourself up. We have work to do.”
I sit upright when he awkwardly gets his feet beneath him to rise. “What work?”
“We’re going to go see what that cocky, criminal shit’s price is to help us end this.”
“Wait… we are?”
“Yes. Get up, Em.”
Head spinning, I struggle to catch up with his train of thought. I’m far too busy admiring the way his smart black trousers strain at the front, boasting an impressive bulge that looks in need of attention.
“Ember.” Warner barks my name. “Dress.”
“You make my head spin.”
“Join the club, love. I haven’t been able to think straight since the day you disappeared, and I realised exactly what I’d lost.”
With that revelation, Warner stiffly walks away from me to exit the ring. I’m left staring after him, wondering when exactly my brother’s best friend started to look at me differently.
And when I started to look back.