TWO #3
Crouching, he reached for the straps that bound me to the chair and loosened the leather. Their absence hit me hard, as though the weight of freedom were heavier than the bindings themselves.
‘No,’ I protested, quicker than intended. ‘We still have half an hour.’
His movements paused, his eyes snapping up to meet mine.
Standing again, he stepped back with care as though the distance was the only thing keeping him in control.
‘It’s enough for our first time,’ he said, his tone even and gentle. The knife in his hand spun once, then slid into the sheath before he tossed it into the open duffel bag. The soft thud of leather against fabric marked the end.
‘Did I do something wrong?’ I asked, rising from the chair and closing the space between us. My steps were hesitant at first, but when he didn’t move, didn’t push me away, I dared to come closer. Close enough that I could feel the heat emanating from hi.
‘No,’ he forced out.
I reached for him absently, my hand brushing towards his chest, aching to feel the solid weight of him beneath my palm. But before I could make contact, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist tightly.
The pressure wasn’t painful, but it was uncompromising.
‘No touching,’ he ground out, his tone harsher in reminder of the rules we had both agreed upon. But there was something else in it, something deeper than the confines of the contract we had signed. It wasn’t just a rule – it was a shield, a wall he had built for himself long before tonight.
I studied him, my chest tightening at the tension in his body, the way his fist clenched. It wasn’t the tremor of weakness but of a battle fought and barely won.
Was he as broken as I was? As maimed? As torn? Was that why we’d found each other on this jagged ground?
‘Two days from now,’ he murmured, pausing.
His thumb brushed over the delicate ink of the sparrow tattoo on my left wrist.
He was such a contradiction: gentle, almost reverent, despite the tempest hidden behind his mask.
‘Same time,’ he added.
I tipped my chin in a small nod, unable to form words under the warmth of his touch. His thumb stayed against my skin a moment too long, turning it into a thread of possession I found I didn’t entirely mind.
And then he released me, his hand falling away, leaving a breath of cool air behind.
‘Walk away from me,’ he said. ‘I want to watch you.’
Self-awareness crashed over me, but my body responded to his command regardless.
Flushed and reluctant, I took a tentative step back.
The air turned thick and heavy, as if the smallest motion could snap the thread holding us both together.
Slowly, I turned, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
Every step away from him took effort, but I wanted to perform for him, even though I couldn’t bring myself to fully understand why.
My hips swayed with each step, my heels clicking softly when they hit the tiles, all the while his gaze seared into me from behind.
When I reached the door of the bathroom, I paused, one hand resting on the handle. The urge to look back was overwhelming, but I couldn’t resist.
The glance over my shoulder was a mistake.
A jolt shot through me.
He stood where I’d left him, his shoulders tense. But it was his hand that captured my attention – palming the dark fabric of his jeans, the motion slow, as if he were cataloguing the angles of my body with unbearable hunger as I retreated.
My fingers tightened around the handle at the sight. The ache inside me spread. Made me want to go back – to touch him, to give him everything he wanted.
‘Go,’ he rumbled with a desperation that mirrored my own. And then he dragged his zipper down.
The sound broke through the haze, startling me.
I turned quickly, slipped out, closing the door behind me with shaky hands.
My heart pounded as I leaned against the flat wood, the memory of his gaze and his touch still etched into my skin. My breaths came shallow and uneven, my body alive with a need I hadn’t felt in years.
A shiver slashed down my spine, heat blooming in its wake, my skin prickling as if his stare had teeth that left a mark. My own sank into my lip as I closed my eyes, trying to smother the smile tugging at my mouth.
I’ve completely lost my mind.
After a quick change of clothes, I entered a small, soundproof booth lit only by the glow of the touchscreen. Several questions were listed to make sure the contract hadn’t been breached. Then the last question blinked back at me:
‘Would you like to see Ghost again?’
I hesitated. My finger hovered. My heart nearly bursting out of me.
He could hurt me. Those scars on his body were not from a gentle past.
But…
He’d made sure I was in control the entire time.
If he’d torn me open, something told me he could’ve put me back together just as well.
I tapped ‘Yes’.
And my heart misfired from that leap – from taking that risk.
Not because he thrilled me – and he did – but because he saw the line, traced it, but never crossed it.
Because he wasn’t just a man.
He was my reckoning, and I wanted to face him again.