THIRTY-TWO
It spread like wildfire.
Recognition. Undeniable. Violent.
My eyes stayed pinned to that sparrow inked along the delicate underside of her arm, curved so fucking perfectly near the small notch of her wrist.
The wrist where I’d gripped Scarlett as I drove into her – again and again.
Where the skin had bloomed red beneath my palms, or beneath the cold bite of shackle when I’d bound her before I sunk balls-deep into her.
That same pulse now beat beneath Paula’s skin.
Helpless… mine.
Fuck, the memory of her slick tightness wringing me dry…
Was she? Now? Wet?
My gaze dropped to her bare knee crossed over the other, shielding the secret I’d already memorised – a cruel flashback that reminded me how little room I had left in these jeans.
That sparrow stood stark against the pale skin.
It stared back at me.
Paula. Scarlett.
Two names. One body. A single, brutal truth.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or roar when it finally hit, but the force of it split me open from the inside.
Everything I’d wanted, feared, and destroyed had been standing in front of me the whole damn time.
She was here. Real.
Jesus… she always had been.
Every breath she’d taken beneath that mask had been mine – every sound I’d worshipped blind.
All the restraint I’d shown around Paula, all the obsession I’d harboured for Scarlett – the burn in my bones, the way her submission ruined me—
It had always been the same woman.
There was no separating them now. No masks. No titles.
No. Fucking. Rules.
No. Fucking. Contracts.
Whatever line we thought we were toeing was obliterated the second I saw that ink.
That tiny bird, the symbols on my arms… they carried the weight of our entire sin.
I’d been feeding her my past in slow, measured drops, thinking I’d been in control. Hoping she wouldn’t run.
But she’d already sunk her teeth into me, swallowed chunks of me.
Drank every single drop of my pain – and my release.
And now she sat there trembling with lips parted, breath shallow, caught in her own flashbacks, her own fracture.
I was barely keeping myself from losing it completely. From slamming into her, body and soul, with all the force I’d buried for too fucking long.
Because this wasn’t just want.
This was recognition.
This was… us.
‘Jesus Christ.’ It tore out of me on a ragged exhale. I shook my head, refusing the answer even before the question had a chance to crawl fully into my skull.
Shutting my eyes only made it worse. Memories flashed – Scarlett, her mouth open.
The glint of silk as I’d tied the blindfold played behind my lids like a cursed film: her body clenching around me as she came, her gasps breaking over my mouth, dragging my name through hell and back.
Her moans… Jesus… It had been Paula all along.
When I opened my eyes again, I dragged my gaze to meet hers.
I hadn’t even said anything, and she was already shaking her head with disbelief. Shock leaked from every pore, her breath catching as her gaze climbed to my forearms. My tattoos. Symbols of permanence.
Traitorous.
I looked away, back to the speckled floor, the frayed edges of the carpet – anything that didn’t feel as if I were losing my mind.
If I’d kept looking at her—
Rubbing my palms together, the friction burned enough to pull me back into my skin.
Then I leaned forward, elbows propped on my knees, face resting on my steepled hands as if I were praying to something that didn’t exist.
‘What now?’ The words left me hollow, hoarse. I nearly flinched at how real they sounded.
‘God…’ she whispered, her breath shuddering. She exhaled as though she’d been holding her breath through the entire fallout, then turned her chin to the window as if it offered an escape.
A beam of sunlight sliced through the blinds and landed across her bare knee in soft, golden contrast to the darkness in her eyes. She tugged her dress over her legs with a quick, self-conscious motion.
I stiffened.
She noticed.
Our eyes met – a collision, not a connection.
Neither of us breathed—
And then the door burst open.
I cursed inwardly, shifting fast as I swung my ankle over my knee, and adjusted myself in attempt of subtlety. I needed any kind of motion to make me feel as if my limbs were still attached to me.
For the first time in a long time, I genuinely wasn’t sure I was going to make it through a fucking interview.
Vinnie handed me the coffee in a foam cup, his eyes narrowing before flicking briefly to Paula, then back to me – a silent question teetering in the space between us.
I wasn’t going to tell him. How the fuck could I?
After pressing the other cup into her hands, he withdrew like a tide wary of the moon, as if he could sense the tension combusting between us.
Genevieve reclaimed her seat in the armchair, pen poised, oblivious to the bomb ticking just inches away.
She started firing off questions. I answered automatically, voice even, while my pulse roared like living thunder under my skin.
Paula added a few words here and there – enough to sound professional, not enough to break eye contact for long.
Vinnie’s knee bounced, his nerves telegraphing what my jaw already confessed. He could feel it too.
I lost track of time. It could have been an hour or more before Vinnie snapped us out of the misery.
‘Paula,’ he said suddenly, too casually. ‘Do you need some fresh air?’
Genevieve bent to scribble something in her notebook.
‘No,’ I cut in before Paula could speak.
It cracked the air like a whip.
Genevieve’s pen froze. Both she and Vinnie looked up in surprise.
‘Let’s proceed,’ Paula recovered quickly, smooth as silk – a woman used to tension and unresolved feelings. ‘So we can have dinner sooner. We skipped lunch.’
The pressure eased – slightly. The room released a collective sigh.
As the reporter turned back to her notes, I found Paula’s eyes again – and this time we both held the moment.
In my mind, I peeled the brown contacts from Scarlett.
I ripped the blindfold from her face. The mask.
The pretence. And there she was – Paula.
Blonde curls, ocean blue and green eyes.
Her body arching, legs tightening around me, a remembered tremor shivering through her as I dragged my tongue along the curve of her neck while I fucked… her… raw.
Was she doing the same now? Was she stripping Ghost in her mind, tearing back each layer of illusion until all that remained was me?
The denim scraped punishingly against me. Every breath she took was a friction point, every blink another reminder of what we’d done – and the sense we’d lost.
And amidst the turmoil – all the pent-up need, the restraint… it all fed the thing inside me.
I clenched my teeth together until my molars protested.
‘I wouldn’t mind a quick smoke, if that’s okay?’ Genevieve announced, pushing herself up from the chair and gazing towards the balcony.
I didn’t look at her. I was chained to Paula. And every fibre of my being hummed at the idea that I would have her alone again. But this time—
Vinnie rounded the reporter, his hand landing on my shoulder in a quick pat.
‘You good?’ he murmured. Then his eyes darted to Paula’s. She nodded once, soft and composed – seemingly.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked under his breath, bending closer to me.
‘Take the reporter outside, Vinnie,’ I said, my tone slightly more severe than the moment called for.
He hesitated. Glanced between us warily.
‘Did you guys fight?’ he whispered, lowering his voice.
I shook my head.
He straightened his back, letting the moment settle, unsure whether to leave or stay.
‘Paula, do you want me to stay?’ he asked.
My knuckles cracked.
‘No,’ she croaked out.
Genevieve’s figure disappeared behind the balcony door.
Vinnie hovered for another intake of breath.
‘Whatever’s going on, figure it out. The reporter is here for another hour. No drama. Got it?’
‘Yep,’ I said quietly, never breaking eye contact with Paula.
He left. Too slow. Each footstep that followed Genevieve’s felt like the ticking of a countdown I couldn’t pause.
And when he closed the door behind him, peering through the glass, I couldn’t breathe.
Because my monster was out. Clawing, desperate.
Aching for her.
And I knew…
I wasn’t going to stop it from tearing out of me.
We weren’t alone. I wasn’t sure if I was grateful for it or terrified. Vinnie and that woman were just behind the door – close enough to hear if either of us made a sound.
Perhaps…
Perhaps I should run? The room felt too small, the air too thick, his stare pinning me like prey.
Like I belonged right there, pressed under him, unravelled.
Cain recognised the thought before I even twitched, his body tensing like a trap.
‘Don’t,’ he murmured dangerously, his voice a quiet edge that cut through every thread of reason.
I sucked in a breath.
He did too.
And then I bolted, the chair scraping back with a screech
I darted past Genevieve’s seat, panic and something hotter and more damning slamming into me.
He chased. Hunted. His steps barely made a sound as he closed the gap between us, his presence eating up all the air.
I swerved past the couch where Vinnie had sat. There—
A door. Any fucking door! Away from curious eyes and ears.
I grabbed its handle, shoved it open – stumbled—
Into a fucking, cramped, six-by-six-foot toilet.
The fluorescent light hummed mockingly overhead, casting everything in sterile white. The smell of disinfectant slapped me. No window. No air. No escape.
I clocked the door on the opposite side—
Cain’s hand clamped around my elbow and spun me until my back hit the wall. The door banged shut behind us with a finality that felt like a sentence.
With the other hand he ripped the silk scarf I’d tied around my neck to conceal Ghost’s kiss. And he froze, staring at the proof of what we both had known but still couldn’t believe.
Then his mouth crashed into mine.
It wasn’t a kiss.
It was punishment. Confession. Brand. Ownership.
Teeth. Tongue. Rage.
Memory.
The raw sound of our moans drowned out everything else.