Chapter 23 #2
The thread singes and burns away, and I jerk my hand back before the fire can sear my skin, yet Grayson holds his finger there a moment longer. Shadows dance across his features, something primal darkening his gaze.
“Touching you is like daring the fire to burn me.” He taunts the flame, finger swiping the wick until it’s nearly extinguished. “Only I crave your pain, London.”
He returns his hand to the counter, his thumbs skimming the sensitive skin of my thighs—the barest touch, but the impact rocks through me. I inhale deeply, breathing in his scent and the lingering smoke, emboldened as I widen my legs. A dare. My own fucking taunt.
Grayson craves my pain—I can give him pain.
“Fuck, you’ve always been too tempting,” he says, voice thick, his accent roughened with need. “Did you know seduction is one of your sins? Are you aware of the power you have over me?”
I lick my lips, hyperaware of the way his gaze tracks the movement. A fierce throb settles between my thighs. I’m treading a dangerous line, testing just how far I can push him without tipping him over the edge.
“I’ve never felt weak until you,” he says coarsely, tone frayed with restraint. “That alone is maddening. The constant want, the relentless craving.”
His hand moves higher, sliding the towel up my thighs, exposing me inch by torturous inch. And this time, I don’t resist as I link my bandaged wrists around his neck.
His hand travels up my back, fingers threading into my damp hair. Restraint unleashed, he fists my hair and tugs, exposing my neck. My body arches into his as his mouth claims my skin, tongue tasting, teeth scraping lightly over my pulse.
I let my hands fall down his chest, fingers exploring his toned, scarred flesh, and dig the tips beneath the band of his jeans. All the doors might be locked from the outside, so he’d need to keep a key close—likely on him.
Growing bolder, I lock my thighs against his hips, subtly searching for something solid, when he thrusts forward, grinding his erection against my center. The rough graze of denim against my sensitive skin draws a sharp breath from me.
His movements halt as his mouth settles over my ear. “What game are you playing, London.”
My eyes open, heart crashing against in my ribs. “I told you, I’m tired of the games.”
“Then stop playing and show me you.” His grip in my hair tightens, and with his free hand, he seizes my ass, dragging me flush against him. A deep, aching pressure flares within my core.
“I don’t know what you want from me, but I want out of this sick mind game—”
His mouth captures mine, swallowing my words in a ruthless kiss. I shove at his chest, hating the way I notice his tense muscles, loathing how my body surrenders to him, my hips pressing forward to meet the hard friction of his erection.
His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my backside. My nails find purchase in his skin, clawing in frustration—the same way I clawed at the crate. He absorbs my attack, feeding off the pain. My fist lands against his bandaged shoulder, eliciting a low growl as he breaks the kiss.
He drags the rough pad of his thumb across my swollen bottom lip before he takes my hand and flattens my palm to his chest, covering the fresh scratches. “You’re here, London. Right here. There is no out.”
“Not like this…as your captive,” I protest, breathless. “Not as your victim.”
He exhales harshly, nostrils flaring. “What did you imagine for us? That I’d be another one of your dirty secrets?
Your kept serial killer? Fucking between inmate sessions and visitations?
” His chuckle is hollow, bitter. He thrusts his erection hard against my center, his voice lowering into a gruff rasp.
“I hardly think that’s good enough for the respectable, renowned Dr. Noble. ”
“You think you know me,” I fire back. “You have no idea who I am. What I like, or want, or need—”
“Is that right.” He shoves a hand between my thighs, drawing a sudden gasp at the feel of his fingers pushing just inside. A wicked smile curls his mouth as he caresses me. “Goddamn, there’s my filthy girl—soaking wet, my London telling me exactly what she needs.”
Incensed, I lash out at his chest, my strikes wild. “God, I hate you.”
He captures my fist, eyes blazing. “You hate everything but me.”
With a deep groan, he hauls me off the counter. Before I can summon my fight, his strong arms have me backed against the wall. The impact steals my breath as he traps my bandaged wrists above my head.
“You think I don’t see past those little suits you use to conceal yourself, playing dress up,” he says against my lips. “Blouses buttoned high, hair pulled neatly back, glasses to hide behind…all to mask the vile things you truly crave.”
Keeping my wrists locked in one hand, his other drifts down my arm until he reaches the edge of the towel. With a harsh tug, my only barrier from him drops to the floor.
I tremble under the raw hunger in his gaze as it prowls over my naked body. He leans in, his lips brushing my ear, his heat branding my skin as his bare foot nudges mine apart.
“Admit it,” he whispers darkly. “Admit how much you hate the bullshit, that I know exactly exactly what you crave. Say you want this—that you want us.”
He pushes a hand between my thighs, and I quake beneath his illicit touch, hips canting toward his hand, chest rising with shallow breaths.
“No matter how hot you get my body, I’ll never say those words to you, Grayson,” I seethe, clinging to my defiance even as I fall apart beneath his touch.
The air charges around us, an electric current humming, a threat to ignite every molecule in this room.
“Hmm, you need to play dress-up, need to be seen as the good doctor, even as those deep brown eyes plead for me to talk you through it. Fuck, you love it, just so you can keep being the good doctor.” He releases my wrists and drags a single finger along my neck, tracing the frantic flutter of my pulse.
“You don’t have to ask for a thing, baby.
I know what my good doctor needs—just like you know I need my prey to put up a fight. ”
Suddenly, his hand seals over my mouth.
Then the unmistakable sound of his zipper lowering stalls my breath, my heart slamming violently against my ribs.
His hand moves between us, gripping himself, the head of his cock sliding against the bare skin of my stomach. “Let me show you how perfectly we fit together, love.”
His knee forces my legs farther apart, and I pant against his palm as he strokes himself. He relinquishes a dark groan as he slips the hard length of himself down my pelvis.
I arch off the wall, my breasts aching for contact, craving friction as they brush against the hard planes of his chest. He drags the smooth tip over my clit before he thrusts between my thighs, seeking my slick, wet heat—teasing, but refusing to enter.
“Fucking Christ, you’re soaking me, and I know you can feel how hard I am…how badly I want to take this sweet pussy…make it mine.”
His rough groans send a shot of arousal coursing through me as he pumps mercilessly between my thighs, each ruthless thrust driving the ache deeper. His palm muffles my protest, yet it can’t hold back every breathy moan, betraying my need as the ache builds into a sharp, painful throb.
“I love everything about you,” he whispers, a coarse friction over my skin, “even your sickness, all the bad things you’ve done. You caught me in your web, and I want you to bleed me dry, London. That’s how twisted you’ve got me.”
As his words brand into my flesh, I catch our reflection in the mirror—and the tattoo etched between his shoulder blades. An intricate keyhole filled with indecipherable marks I can’t make out.
“Look at me.”
At his harsh command, my gaze locks onto him, taking in the heated intensity in those blue eyes, the corded tendons in his neck, the flexed muscles in his arms as he continues to stroke himself against me. I’m hit with a wave of lust so shattering, I nearly break beneath him.
Grayson lowers closer, his lips grazing my ear. “I want you to beg me to fuck you,” he says, the gravelly lilt of his accent making my shiver.
Want is a dangerous emotion. When it’s strong enough, all others fade into the background. I nod breathlessly against his palm in surrender.
As he drops his hand, I drag in a breath, then give him a wicked smile before I bite my lip in defiance.
He releases a deep chuckle that does something dangerous to my insides. Then he drags his thumb roughly down the center of my lips, eyes darkening. “Oh, I can bite, too.”
Instantly, his hand collars my throat, pinning me in place as his teeth sink into my shoulder, eliciting a strangled cry. His thrusts slow, dragging his cock along my sex with long, controlled moves.
“You’re shaking, baby,” he murmurs, “your thighs trembling, soaked… Goddamn, all you have to do is ask.”
Nails digging into his shoulders, I meet his eyes, desperation pooling like liquid fire in my belly. My mouth parts—
And a dark gleam sparks in his eyes right before he cuts off a growl and pulls back. “Jesus, fuck—” He grips himself, jerking his cock with fast, hard strokes. The feel of him against me is torturous, igniting a painful throb in the neediest part of me.
His other hand fisted in my hair, his groan reverberates through me as he shudders, and warmth spills across my stomach.
His hot breaths drop against the angry pulse in my shoulder as I’m left trembling with denied gratification, my belly cold from his release. Shame burns through me as I try to shove against his chest and reach for the towel. He grabs my jaw and flattens my back against the wall.
“I love making a filthy mess out of you, London,” he says as he runs the smooth head of his cock through his mess coated on my belly. My breaths turn ragged at the feel of him pulsing after release.
He takes a forceful step back, his gaze roaming deliberately over me as if admiring his work. Then he retrieves the towel and tosses it at me.
I barely catch it, fumbling to cover myself as lingering desire and humiliation war within me. “Such a psychopath,” I say. “All you do is use me.”
He tugs his jeans in place and zips up slowly, smirking. “Now we’re even.” He winks, smug satisfaction curving his lips.
“If we’re keeping score, then you have one coming six feet under.”
He licks his lips. “You should work harder on mastering your passions, doctor.”
He leaves the room, and I watch his reflection fade from the mirror. I clutch the towel tighter and step toward the vanity, blowing out one of the candles, desperate to extinguish the lingering shame with the dark.
A faint rattle alerts my senses, and my pulse quickens as I rush toward the door, only to find Grayson there, handcuffs in his hand. I barely have time to recoil before his arms lock around my waist, the cold metal biting into my bandaged wrists.
“No—”
He says nothing as he drags me deeper into the house, deeper into the shadows. Any courage I gathered is stripped away with each forced step into the unknown. Grayson guides me through a darkened doorway and closes it behind us—sealing me inside with him.