Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CARA
T he ache between my legs as I rouse awake makes me inwardly groan.
The frustration from my lack of release last night has left me feeling hornier than I ever have before.
Sunlight streams in through the windows, the bars creating a lattice effect across the wooden floor as I slump over onto my side, reaching out for the drawer in my bedside table.
Riding out the tension with my vibrator isn’t how I imagined I'd be starting my day, but needs must.
Scrambling around inside, my eyes still heavy with sleep, I find nothing but a scrap of paper torn from my diary.
Good morning, Red.
When I finally let you come, it will be from my hands, my mouth, or my cock. If you’re a really good girl, it will be a combination of all three. Now behave and resist the urge to touch that perfect pussy of yours; that belongs to me now.
PS: Stop pouting.
Ezra
I pull my lips together as I finish reading.
How that fucker knew I’d be pouting is beyond me.
I slump back into my pillows with a growl of frustration.
The moment his mouth was on me last night, I knew I was forever lost to him.
I move to rake my hands through my ratty blonde waves but find it has been plaited neatly and secured with the red ribbon that Ezra had decorated his gift with.
Fuck him with his cuteness and his edging.
I chuckle at the thought of his lopsided grin as he took care of me while I slept, this beefy bear of a man twisting my hair into the perfect braid before leaving me to sleep.
The warm fuzzy feeling doesn’t last long when I glance over at my alarm clock.
I stick a pin in all thoughts of him and that skilful mouth of his as I scramble out in a panic from under my covers, almost faceplanting the floor when I lose my footing.
Forty-five minutes late for work and likely about to get a telling off from Lenora Blackwood; I’m too wound up to deal with her shit right now.
“Do you own a clock, Miss Morgrieves?” I mock in a snippy tone as I rush into the bathroom.
I tell you what a girl could use right now: a six-foot-three mountain of a man with his tongue between her thighs.
My phone chimes out suddenly, and I rush to grab it before I continue to ready myself for my shift.
Raven: Hey Sleeping Beauty, Matron Bitch Tits is on the prowl right now I wish they hadn’t.
The breast pocket and most of my buttons are torn from my uniform as I snag the material on the door handle.
“Fuck. Universe, really?” I whine. Refusing to let myself succumb to the stress as I inhale through gritted teeth.
Cara: Make that ten, just had a little accident, need to stop by the stiff rub.
I type one-handed in a rush, autocorrect joining in the fun as it changes staff room to stiff rub . Even my phone thinks I deserve some action.
Raven: Ooh kinky, a ‘little accident’ huh? I didn’t peg you as a wild girl into wet play *winky face emoji*
I stop to adjust my satchel over my shoulder, using both hands to type out my response, letting all my frustrations out as I stab at the keypad.
Cara: The past eight hours have been anything but wet chaotically clean is and always has been my stance on organised mess.
Out of sight, out of mind. Crudely folded papers with the asylum logo etched into them like a notary seal hang out sandwiched between two romance novels that I’ve been buddy-reading with Suzy on my lunch breaks.
Stacking away the books with the half-naked men on the covers on the lower shelf, I glance around to make sure I’m still alone.
There are perks to being one of a few female staff members; there’s never a queue for the toilet, and finding alone time is always easy.
Unfolding the papers, I see a scrawled map with directions that seem a lot easier to follow than the last one I was given, with a scribbled note attached.
I wipe a tear from my eye from laughing so hard. Raven certainly has made it more bearable being here; to know I’m not alone means everything. I’m definitely taking her home to meet Suzy one day.
I see a grainy photo of Ezra, his hooded gaze and twisted grin painting him as the psychopath patient as he holds up a Blackwood Asylum numbered plaque like a criminal being booked on charges at a police station.
I hold the paper up to the light, trying and failing to read the redacted parts covered with black marker.
The three papers I’m holding barely constitute a file, the numbers at the head of the page telling me there should be more.
“Skiving, Miss Morgrieves?”
I all but shit my knickers when I turn to face Lenora as she looms in the doorway, that pinched expression on her face making my belly lurch.
The forethought to hide the papers behind my back when I turned means I look shifty—I know it, she knows it, fuck, at this point every inanimate object in this room knows it.
My phone chimes with a message, and I slide it out of my pocket to read the screen.
Raven: Matron Bitch Tits has flown the nest—I repeat MBT IS ON THE LOOSE.
We really need to work on her timing. Maybe the water boarding wasn’t the worst idea.
Sliding it back into my pocket, I am reminded once again that I’m a crap liar when I open my mouth and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Lenora, fancy seeing you here, girl.”
Too friendly, Cara.
“I mean, can I help you, Mrs. Blackwood?” I correct, using both hands to fold the papers behind my back. I side-step so I can use the cover of my locker door to slip it into my pocket.
“If you consider doing the bare minimum and getting on with your job help , then yes, helping would be appreciated.”
“Not a problem.” My plastic smile is forced as I fumble with the last button on my dress.
My cheeks heat as she continues to shrewdly assess every little move I make with an arched brow.
Intense as she is, there isn’t a hair out of place or line of age on her stunning face.
Pristinely put together are the three words that come to mind when I think of my boss.
‘Uptight and in need of a good anal session feels more fitting,’ the little voice in my head adds unhelpfully, and now I have to bite on my lower lip to suppress the real smile trying to break through.
Closing my locker and jumbling the coded lock, I approach her; Ezra’s papers burning a hole in my pocket as I wait nervously for her to ask me what I’m hiding.
She doesn’t say a word as she stands aside and lets me pass, watching as I hurry down the hallway to the stairs that will lead up into the breakfast room, my boot heels clacking on the ground loudly as I go. I don’t risk glancing back her way; I’ve had more than enough of her odium for one day.
Forty minutes I’ve busied myself with the patients, waiting for Ezra to arrive.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but when he strolls in, he barely even acknowledges me.
The fleeting glance he gives me lacks the warmth I now crave from him.
He pours himself a bowl of cereal and takes a seat at a table beside the archway window that looks out at the lily field.
The urge to walk over there, sit in his lap, and demand he soothe the ache raging between my thighs—the one that he caused—would be highly inappropriate, but it’s the only thought rolling around in my head.
Lust and desire die on my next breath when I notice Simon looming nearby, his presence the final nail in the coffin where my arousal now currently resides.
On a scale of one to ten on the creepo-meter, Simon is overachieving at a solid fifteen.
“Why do you like teasing me, Cara?” he asks as he studies my face, eating up the space between us as he nears. His words tickle uncomfortably at my skin like a rash, as though his lascivious intentions have wrapped around me in an unwanted embrace, his musty iron scent lingering in the air.
As auras go, Simon’s is the darkest vermilion I’ve ever seen, which is saying something; even while Doc sat across from me, ordering his men to hack off my fingers one by one to get his kicks, his aura still shone a bright ruby red.
I haven’t invited Simon’s advances, but I am also acutely aware that kicking him in the balls and standing my ground like my brain is telling me to do, could just spur him on.
I fear he would take something far worse than a few fingers if provoked.
His serpent forked tongue pierced on both sides slips out and runs over his yellowing teeth, his gaze tracking down to my chest and back up again as he seems to ponder something.
“You want me to spread those beef curtains and shove my meat stick into that needy little fuck bucket of yours?” Simon asks with a twisted grin as he leans into my space, so quiet I almost believe it’s a figment of my imagination.
The ick is strong with this one.
I shudder, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat.
Being a disgusting pervert with a filthy mouth seems to come so easily to this piece of shit.
As sentences go, that might easily be the most stomach-churning one I’ve ever had the misfortune of having directed my way, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten under my skin.
I’ve met too many men like Simon—more invested in the reactions my body gives without my permission.
Hopefully he can recognise the wave of disgust permeating from my pores because I’m as dry as the Sahara Desert between my thighs right now. If arousal was what he was aiming for, he’s severely missed his mark.
My skin crawls under his hooded perusal of my body; words I can deal with, but having him this close has me nervous.
Reaching out, he toys with the length of my plaited hair that is slung forward over my shoulder, his lips parting.
He doesn’t have a chance to say another word though before he is lifted clean off his feet and thrown down onto the floor with a bone-crunching thud that makes me wince.
Ezra grabs the two fingers Simon used to make contact with my hair in his fist and snaps them back effortlessly.
They crackle like glow sticks as Simon howls out in pain.
The beast of Blackwood is pretty quick when he wants to be.