Chapter 6
The Bride
T he question lands like a spark on dry tinder. My body betrays me with a subtle shift toward him, a movement so slight I’m not sure he notices until I see his smile widen.
Caleb knows I’m into anything that creates a fear factor. We’ve dabbled in CNC role-play, and he’s even broken into my apartment once. But masks are something I’ve never considered using.
“I’m into figuring out who’s behind them,” I reply, struggling to maintain my composure as his hand inches higher, approaching the spot where my black lace garter tattoo circles my upper thigh.
“Are you?” His voice drops to a register that vibrates through me. “Or are you more interested in what the mask allows?”
I don’t answer, and I don’t need to. He reads my silence with practiced ease. His hand slides to cup my face, thumb brushing across my lower lip.
“You know what I think?”
I raise an eyebrow, trying to reclaim some semblance of control. “I rarely know what you think, Caleb.”
He laughs, low and sharp, like my answer proved a theory about me. “I think you’ve spent so much time analyzing other people’s darkness that y ou forget to acknowledge your own.” Before I can respond, he angles his head so he can capture my mouth with his.
The kiss is confident, demanding, and I feel my body responding, heat pooling low in my belly as his tongue traces the seam of my lips.
For a heartbeat, I hesitate. A flash of black rubber and emotionless lenses superimposes itself over Caleb’s familiar features. The phantom sound of mechanical breathing floods my ears, making me dizzy with want—for the wrong man, for the wrong monster.
The moment passes, and I greedily kiss Caleb back, letting my fingers tangle in his icy-blond hair, anchoring myself to our very real connection rather than the ghostly alternative haunting my thoughts.
We break apart as the elevator doors slide open again, and a woman clears her throat loudly. I look at her, realizing we’re still on the ground floor.
“Did you push the button?” I ask Caleb, taking a step back from him.
He chuckles. “Nah, I forgot.”
The woman steps inside, side-eyeing us as she positions herself as far away as the metal box allows. Which, for the record, isn’t a lot of space. But whatever. I can’t help grinning at her when I catch her checking out Caleb.
“I don’t blame you,” I smirk. And I really don’t, especially not when he’s shirtless.
Now that we’re not alone, the elevator ride feels like a study in restraint. When the doors finally open on my floor, Caleb’s patience evaporates. His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing as he pulls me down the hallway while I one-handedly remove my bag so I can get the keys.
Unlocking the door proves to be quite the struggle when Caleb’s lips find the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. The key scrapes against the lock before finally sliding home.
As I turn my head, my gaze catches on something on my door. “The hell is that?” I mutter, running my fingers across the crusty substance.
“Stop stalling,” Caleb gripes, giving me a small shove.
We stumble across the threshold, and as soon as we’re both inside, he kicks the door shut and catches me around the waist, hauling me toward the couch. He drops me onto the cushions like a prize and climbs over m e, lips crashing into mine.
His mouth claims mine with a hunger that mirrors my own, his tongue seeking entrance as his hands slide down to cup my ass, moving us so I’m on top of him without breaking the kiss.
“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he confesses against my lips, his voice rough with desire. His stubble scrapes against my skin as he trails kisses down my neck, each one a small, delicious bite of pain that makes me gasp.
My head falls back, and I close my eyes while surrendering to the sensations. My hands roam his shoulders and back, loving the way I can feel his muscles shift under my touch. I shift when I feel Caleb’s hand roaming in his pocket.
“What are you—” He interrupts me before I can finish asking what he was doing.
“I wish we didn’t have an audience,” he smirks, nodding toward the mantle where my dad’s grinning skull watches us.
“I want him to watch,” I state. “If Hell exists, he’s rotting in it. Maybe part of his punishment is seeing all his hard work undone while you fuck me on the couch he used to sit on.”
Caleb chuckles as he slides his hands under my shirt, palming my breasts while he licks and nips his way down my throat, not stopping until he reaches my collarbone.
“Oh, God,” I moan, rolling my hips. His answering groan makes me huff with impatience, and I reach between us, cupping his erection. “I want this.”
He tips his head back and looks up at me while lifting my shirt to reveal the black lace of my bra. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “You don’t mind if I take a picture, do you? Got to keep a record of my conquests.”
The question is the equivalent to being douched in cold water. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as I contemplate the question. I’m not shy by any means, but that doesn’t mean I want pictures of me floating around.
“Don’t,” I warn when he raises his phone, holding it right in front of me. “If you need wanking material, call me. But don’t photograph me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls, eyes already scanning me like he’s pictur ing the shot anyway.
I huff with annoyance, gyrating my hips to get the spark back. And it doesn’t take long until the world again narrows to a series of sensations—the pressure of his cock between us, the tight grip of his fingers as they find my hips and pull me against him in a rhythm that makes my breath catch.
“I want you inside me,” I pant.
Caleb groans against my skin. “Fuck. Yes—”
Three sharp knocks at my front door split through the room like a gunshot, freezing us both mid-motion.
My heart, already racing from Caleb’s attention, kicks into a higher gear. A strange cocktail of dread and anticipation floods my system, making my skin prickle with awareness.
“Ignore it,” Caleb commands, his hand sliding between my legs to cup my pussy. “They’ll go away.”
His lips reclaim mine, more insistent now, as if he can physically distract me from whoever stands on the other side of my door. For a moment, it works—my body responds to him automatically, melting back into the pleasure of his touch.
But the knocks come again, the same pattern—three sharp raps that seem to echo through my body. I break the kiss, turning my head toward the door despite Caleb’s frustrated sigh.
“Don’t fucking think about it,” he growls, his voice a mixture of desire and annoyance. His fingers trace the line of my jaw, trying to recapture my attention.
I look back at him, taking in his kiss-swollen lips, the naked want in his eyes. My body aches for him, for the release I know he can provide. And yet… “What if it’s him?” The words escape before I can stop them.
Caleb’s expression hardens, frustration eclipsing any trace of desire. “The mask guy?” His hands slide to my shoulders, steadying me as he searches my face. “That’s what you’re thinking about? Now?”
I don’t have an answer that doesn’t sound insane—that something about him has rooted in me, quietly, dangerously. “I just need to see who it is,” I say. And while I pull my shirt back down, I glance down at the watch on Caleb’s wrist. It’s midnight. Exactly.
“ You can’t be serious,” he shouts. “Over my dead body,” he snaps, like my curiosity is just another thing for him to shut down.
“Listen to yourself, Caleb,” I scoff. “I don’t need your permission.”
As he runs a hand down his face, I get off his lap.
“It’ll just take a second,” I promise. I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince here.
As I move toward the door, Caleb’s hand catches my wrist, his touch gentler than I expected. “Eve,” he says, my name a question and a warning all at once.
I meet his eyes, seeing the concern there beneath the frustration. “One minute,” I say, offering a smile I hope is reassuring. “Stay right here, and keep this ready for me.” Licking my lips, I pointedly look at his very obvious erection.
Caleb releases me with reluctance. I can feel his eyes on me, heavy with accusation, as I reach for the handle. I hesitate for just a moment, heart hammering against my ribs.
Then, taking a deep breath, I pull the door open.
The masked courier stands motionless in my doorway, exactly as before. Unchanged. Unmoving. Like a funeral statue that wandered off its pedestal to deliver a final omen. Black gas mask with its vacant round eyes, military boots planted firmly, leather jacket zipped to his throat.
My stomach knots tight—not just with dread, but with anticipation that feels dangerously close to arousal.
In his gloved hands, he holds a black and orange envelope. His chest rises and falls with measured breaths that filter through the mask with a soft, mechanical whisper.
“You again,” I say, my voice breathier than intended.
The courier remains silent, arm extended toward me with the envelope. The lenses of his mask reflect distorted versions of me back at myself—two miniature Eves, wide-eyed and disheveled. One looks afraid. The other looks hungry. I don’t know which one I hate more.
“What is it?” I demand, making no move to accept it.
His breathing changes slightly—a barely perceptible shift in rhythm that suggests something like amusement. But his arm remains extended, unwavering, as if he could stand there all night waiting for me to accept his of fering.
Caleb appears behind me, placing a possessive hand on my shoulder, drawing me slightly back from the doorway while simultaneously taking a step forward.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demands, positioning himself partly in front of me.
The courier doesn’t acknowledge him, focus remaining fixed on me, arm still extended with that damn envelope.
“He’s the one who delivered the rose,” I explain, watching the courier for any reaction.