20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Dacre
The water runs over the freshly healed cuts on the back of my hands as the memory runs through my mind again. I came into the kitchen earlier than usual to make sure I cleaned up all my blood off the floor from last night.
Liam is my grandfather’s right hand man—the muscle. He’s his enforcer for everything and his closest “friend.” If you can call a man whom you employ to do your dirty work a friend.
I don’t know much about Liam’s background, other than that he was abandoned by his pack when he was eighteen and that he met my grandfather shortly after. I’ve never heard him mumble a negative word about my grandfather, but I’ve seen him punish my older brothers for doing it.
I knew the moment I saw him what he was there for. He didn’t outright say it was about Emma, but he hinted he knew things, even though he acted like nothing happened when he took me back to my grandfather’s for dinner. Uncomfortable dinners are nothing out of the ordinary in my family.
I can’t think of what would have happened if he had found her there, which makes my task of making Emma hate me and leaving the culinary club that much more important today.
It’s no surprise that they would target my sister if I stepped out of line. What I’ve yet to figure out is exactly what Liam knows.
Emma comes into the kitchen with a new hairstyle nearly every day, even if she has to hide it under the white cap, and today is no different with two buns sitting low on her head.
It doesn’t matter what I feel about her. Staying away from her is nonnegotiable at this point. If Liam is on my case, if he found out I talked to Parker about her . . .
The fact that I came out with no more than a flesh wound proves he doesn’t know the full extent of it, and he can’t find out.
Emma’s bright demeanor is stained by her dark under eyes. I didn’t get good sleep either.
“How are your hands today?” she asks.
I hide my hands in my pockets before she can see them.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like someone who likes jokes?”
“You’re really going to act like yesterday never happened?”
I say nothing, letting her sit with the shock, and a strange new feeling of guilt creeps into my stomach. There’s a level of betrayal in her eyes that hurts.
“You never told me you had a sister. I guess there’s a lot you haven’t told me about your family. But you could have. I know a lot about having sisters. Is she younger than you?”
“You need to get to work.”
Her brows dip. “Was that guy who apparently doesn’t exist going to hurt your sister?”
I lean down, partly because I need her scent in my nostrils, and partly because I have to make my point clear.
Stay away from me.
“Do I need to repeat myself, thief?”
“You can trust me. I promise I’m a good listener.”
I wish I could be her, full of all that optimism and hope.
“If you’re going to be in my kitchen, I expect you to work. If you’ve come to talk, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“You’re actually insufferable.” Emma bumps my shoulder as she stomps away with a grunt.
It’s going to be a long fucking day.
We make éclairs from sunup to sundown, and Emma’s are unsurprisingly flawless. She’s fast at it, too. She churned out more than anyone else in the class, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let her off the hook that easily.
It’s late when she shows me her final dozen éclairs, filled with fruit and covered in chocolate. I pluck one from the pan and take a bite.
“It’s great. Make it again. Your choux pastry is slightly undercooked. You pull all your desserts two minutes too early.”
“No way I’m making these again.”
“Oh? Now you get to make it two more times. I think you can get them more uniform, too.”
We’re the only two people in the kitchen as my watch beeps, signaling eight o’clock. All I’m doing now is watching her. There’s nothing better for me to do, and at least if I can watch her, I know she’s safe.
My phone vibrates, but I can’t talk to Florence now.
She throws her pan down. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a sadist?”
“That one is new.”
“You don’t torture anyone else like this.”
“Everyone else here has a year or more under their belt. I’m trying to help you catch up. You’re good, but you can be better.”
“Well, you could do it a little nicer.”
“How would you prefer your feedback? Praise only?”
She rolls her eyes.
“I don’t get you. All I want to do is talk about last night, and you won’t let me. Just talk to me minus the sarcasm.”
“Still not sure what you’re talking about. Nothing happened.”
“Who was that guy?”
“What guy?”
She groans, unbuttoning her white coat. “I’m not doing this with you.”
“Oh, did I finally piss you off?”
“Well, yes! What is it about me that vexes you so much that you like to torture me? I just want to help you. I want to understand you, and you won’t let me. I’ve never met someone this infuriating.”
Because I’m obsessed with you.
Because I can’t stop.
I can’t stay away from you.
With her jacket off, I have a clear view of her cleavage. I place a hand on the counter between me and the door.
“Are you finally quitting? I just want to make sure you clean out your locker before you go.”
She takes a long inhale. I fucking love that. Her body is reacting to mine as mine does to hers.
“As if I’d ever give you the satisfaction. I’d rather die.”
Her shoulders fall as she gets comfortably close to my chest.
“You like the way I smell,” I say. A part of me wants to hear her admit it. To know I have any type of effect on her, like she has on me.
She scoffs. “Too bad it can’t make up for your repugnant personality. I took my jacket off because it’s after hours, and I need some air. Are you going to reprimand me?”
“Is that really all it takes to get you a little flustered?” I tease.
“I’m not. Now move. I’ve got two dozen éclairs to make, apparently.”
Her arousal seeps into the air between us, and I tighten my grip on the counter. This is fucking impossible. How can this one woman have me so enthralled? Wrapped around her finger and wanting to satisfy her every whim?
When I don’t move, she sighs. “You really should be nicer to me.”
“Why is that?”
“For someone who wants to bite me so badly, I’d expect you to seduce me or something to get it.”
By her tone, I know she’s joking. But it’s the way her arousal springs forward into the air and takes all my sanity with it.
“Seduce you? You think I want you?”
“I think you want my blood.”
“Nothing else?”
Her heart races when I don’t so much as move an inch away from her.
She’s testing me, so I’ll test her. I run a finger along the crown of her head and down to her ear.
“If I’d known seducing you was on the table . . .”
“W-what are you doing?” Her heart is racing.
“Seducing you.”
There’s no attempt to step back. Not even a brief tensing of muscle as I trace her jaw. It’s all I could think about after last night. Tasting her skin once was never going to be enough for me.
“You’re the one who told me to forget about the contract.”
“So you would have done it . . . Let me drink from you?”
She shakes her head, not looking at me. “I don’t know. I mean, yes, when I thought it would get me what I want.”
“And now?”
I can’t stop touching this woman. Why can’t I stop? Why can’t I just do what’s asked of me?
I thought it was her scent, and it is. That’s an impossible, maddening factor in this equation. But now, it’s just her. The way she’s looking at me. The way I need to explore that curiosity in her eyes.
I tug at her chin. Does it feel the same way it does for me? As if she’s the only person who exists? The only thing that matters and will ever matter again? As if her scent is holding my head underwater, and I can’t resurface until I give in? Till I’m fully in her space, and she’s in mine?
“Why are you doing this?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I want to taste your blood.” I rub over the skin of her neck. “Since, according to you, I’m so obsessed.”
I trace the veins on her neck. “Will you let me?”
Her breath comes faster as I lean in closer. I won’t kiss her, but I think about it. Her lips are forbidden, tempting and wet.
“Where is all that fight, thief?”
She huffs, backing against the counter when I move my finger up her arm. It’s still not a retreat. There’s no indication she wants me to stop as her arousal slowly creeps into my head, and I forget where we are or why I needed to stay away from her in the first place.
“When are you going to stop calling me that?”
“When will you stop stealing my things?”
She watches me as I drag a finger down her sternum toward the hem of her shirt.
Say something, Emma. Come on.
“Stop teasing me and just do it.”
“Oh?” I unhook the button on her pants, and she sucks in a breath, glancing behind her. “Why is that?”
But it’s just her and me, alone with our echoing breaths. It’s the worst place we could be. I should have tried to prevent this, but I can’t bring myself to regret it, because she’s so fucking beautiful.
I rub my fingers over the warm skin below her belly button.
“I can’t deal with the whiplash anymore. Hate me or don’t hate me. Just take what you want from me, and then we never have to speak again,” she says defiantly.
She squares her shoulders while I rub my thumb at her waistline. Emma tries so hard to keep her lashes from fluttering with every pass of my finger over her skin, but her soft sighs betray her.
“See, I don’t think that’s what you want. You know exactly how to get me to stop. You could quit and never have to see me again but you stay in my way because you like the attention. You call me a stalker, but you don’t treat me like one.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know so many things about you. I know you wear blue glitter on Fridays only and that you love matchas because you have one every morning. I know you’re talented, but restless. Never satisfied.”
She’s studying me, and a soft whimper leaves her lips when my fingers stop.
“Tell me to stop right now. Because I’m not going to, unless you say something.”
Her fingers glide over mine, guiding them lower. When she tries to turn away, I turn her chin back toward me. I need to see her, and more importantly, I need her to see what I’m doing to her.
“This is embarrassing for you,” I whisper near her ear, and her breaths grow deeper.
“I don’t care.”
I don’t know what feels better. The fact that Emma trusts me, or the fact that she really isn’t scared of me after everything. She craves my touch.
“That’s what you want?”
I go lower, under her waistband, her underwear. Lower still—
What the fuck are we doing? Her panting urges me on. I didn’t know she wanted this. I should stop. Leave her unscathed, untouched.
She straightens when my fingers glide over the wetness between her thighs.
“Yeah, I think this is exactly what you want.”
She grabs hold of my jacket when I sink a finger into her, then two. Emma’s soaking my hand with every stroke. I won’t stop, not till I give her exactly what she wants.
“That wasn’t so hard.”
“You’re such a . . .” Her words disappear when I pick my pace.
“Yeah? You were saying?”
She rolls her hips into me, failing miserably at stifling the moan on her lips. I don’t care about the noise. I won’t do anything to interrupt this.
“Are you sure, Em? You don’t want me to stop?”
There are no words, but I don’t need any. Her scent, her wetness, say it all. That look of pure abandon is enough, and so is the fact that I’m the one giving this to her. There’s so much satisfaction in it. She came knowingly into my web, and now she’s tangled up, desperate for me.
“You’re so stubborn. You won’t admit you like this . . .”
“I don’t.” She attempts to square her shoulders but shudders when I pull out and slam back into her. She opens her mouth, and her eyes flutter shut.
“Ah . . . Come on . . . Fight a little harder. Tell me to stop.”
“Shut up,” she moans through gritted teeth.
She is riding my hand, and I’m giving it to her, everything. I don’t want to tease her. I need her to crave what I’m doing so she’ll let me do it again and again. Because I have to do this again.
I watch while she builds up the willpower and then watch it crumble again as I curl my fingers in and stroke. Her head falls onto my shoulder.
“Please.”
“Please, what? Please, let you come?”
“Don’t stop.”
“If you keep riding my hand, I won’t.” I stroke her cheek. I can’t believe how much I’m enjoying this. How it feels to comfort her. To be this person for her.
When we’re this close and she’s flooding my senses. I thought it would be agony to finally touch her, but having her in the palm of my hand is pure bliss.
“Hips forward. Just like that. Good. Eyes on me.”
The closer she gets to her orgasm, the harder her fingernails dig into my skin. There’s a desperate pull as I pin her to the counter. This is all that feels right, but we shouldn’t be doing it.
My attention drifts to her rapid pulse as the blood flutters at the side of her neck.
“Are you going to come on my fingers while I drink from you?”
She tips her head to the side, allowing me access to her neck.
“I don’t know if I can. I’ve never . . .” She moans again.
“I can make you.”
I swirl my thumb on her clit, and another moan leaps from her chest. Her arousal swells with each stroke, and I know she’s close. She cries out, her legs shaking, clenching around my fingers.
“Tell me if it hurts, and I’ll stop,” I whisper in her ear before sinking my teeth into her neck.
Hot blood floods my mouth, and cosmic relief floods my senses. It’s so sweet. So perfect. Mine. It’s all mine.
When she gasps at my positioning, I give more.
Her fingernails dig into my scalp. “It feels . . . so . . . good.”
I thought tasting her blood would be like scratching an insatiable itch, but every taste is the most satiating, delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.
It’s peace I’ve never had and could never imagine.
“Say my name, and I’ll make you come.” I lick her neck, then her jaw.
Her hands run over my chest, and she’s growing wetter with every stroke inside her.
“What? You promised . . .”
“I know. I’m evil.” My mouth salivates at how close I have her, how there’s so little between my lips and the blood pumping underneath the surface. Her blood is pure bliss.
“I hate you.”
Her head tips back as her orgasm mounts, and so does mine. I can’t stop imagining being inside her, perfectly snug and engulfed in that beautiful, sweet scent.
“I can’t fucking stay away from you.” I add another finger, and she’s so stretched and full that she gasps.
I’ve tried as hard as I possibly could, but how can I ignore this?
“We should stop. Tell me to stop.” I don’t know what will happen after this. I don’t know if I can stay away from her.
“Don’t,” she begs.
I rub my thumb over her lips and across her cheek. “Say my name, Em.”
“Dacre. Please.”
I press her into the counter and sink my teeth into her neck until her orgasm snaps—and so does mine.