Chapter 21
ADELINA
“I know you want to message him. You and your pervy… whatever he is,” Dorin remarked from the kitchen counter, watching me pace.
“Shut up, you don’t know shit.”
He did know. I wanted to message Cezar so bad it was embarrassing. Especially after all the research I’d done. I was buzzing with ideas. With something I didn’t have a name for yet.
Fuck it.
Hey, creepy perv, I want another sandwich.
I stared at my phone like some giddy schoolgirl who’d lost every ounce of dignity. Dorin left me alone, probably because he wanted zero part of whatever emotional meltdown I was spiraling into. What I felt wasn’t just want. It was need. A need to hurt Cezar and… a lot more than that.
Only minutes passed—which felt like hours—and then my phone buzzed.
Rude af, I’ll be there in 5 minutes and make the best damn sandwich ever.
I’ll even feed it to you.
I didn’t reply. What the hell was I supposed to say to that? Did he think I was some helpless little birdling? And where the fuck was he that he could be here in five minutes? The thought crossed my mind that he might be watching me.
Strangely, I didn’t mind that possibility.
I watched out the window. And there he was—walking straight up to the door like he lived here. Didn’t knock. Didn’t hesitate. Just let himself in. He greeted Dorin and Vali, who were being couch potatoes, before heading straight for the kitchen.
Cezar leaned against the doorway. “Who’s the creeper now?” he teased, a wicked little smile curving his mouth. How he’d seen me from outside—no clue.
“Whatever,” I muttered, rolling my eyes and folding my arms across my chest before I could look too eager.
I didn’t want a sandwich. The moment he crossed the threshold, hunger took over.
I grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the back of the house, hoping the walls were thick enough for what I had in mind.
He didn’t resist. Cezar always followed me, no matter what direction I pulled him in. I was pretty sure I could tell him to jump off a bridge, and he’d ask if I wanted him to swan dive or cannonball. I didn’t understand him at all.
More and more, I wanted to.
I shoved the door open to my room and tossed him inside. He righted himself easily and flashed those perfect teeth at me. Then he saw the black bag sitting on the bed.
“What’s in here?” His eyebrow arched as he moved toward it.
“Hold up. First—take your weapons off and put them over there.” I pointed to the table, fully aware that if things got heated, the last thing I needed was Cezar accidentally (or enthusiastically) stabbing me. He collected daggers like people collected keychains.
He obeyed without hesitation, moving to the table and unloading weapon after weapon after weapon. It was… obscene, truthfully. I just stood there for a second, staring at the growing pile. I knew he liked blades. I didn’t know he carried a small armory at all times.
“Enjoying the show?” he asked, his smirk practically dripping arrogance.
I walked over to the table, eyes sweeping over the collection. There were far too many daggers for one person, yet each one was gorgeous in its own deadly way. One had a rose carved into the handle—almost definitely connected to the clan that his father had stolen from me.
“You like that?” His fingers laced through my hair before I could dodge, sending a full-body shiver ripping down my spine. Butterflies swarmed my stomach like they were trying to eat my insides.
I brushed his hand away, trying—and failing—to hide the heat crawling up my cheeks. “Yes, it is very pretty. Just like that mask you favor. Where did you get these? They seem well-made. Are they custom?”
He guided me to face him, fingers under my chin, gentle in a way that always felt dangerous.
“I made them,” he said with a proud smile.
I blinked, speechless. He snorted. “Is it that shocking? Damn. I mean… I do stuff, you know. Besides murdering people.” He turned back to sort the rest of his arsenal.
I never imagined him as a blacksmith, yet the craftsmanship proved it—clean edges, balanced weight, the carved rose detail on the handle subtle enough to go unnoticed without a closer look.
“They’re beautiful, Cezar,” I admitted, tracing along the metal. My voice came out softer than I expected.
He stopped mid-movement, staring at me as if a compliment from me was something he wasn’t wired to handle.
“What? I’m not that terrible. I can admit things, you know,” I snapped, the irritation more embarrassing than anger.
“I love that you love them.” His intoxicating smile widened. The sincerity of it unnerved me.
I wasn’t about to confess how badly I wanted one of his blades for myself.
“So,” I asked, fingers gliding along the hilts, “what other talents do you have besides being a blacksmith and murdering people?”
“Being a creepy pervert, apparently.” He grinned like he was proud of that shit. “That’s pretty much it. I’m really not that interesting. I got into this whole thing a long time ago, and it’s been an outlet for me ever since. Calms my mind.”
I knew that feeling too well—the scramble to quiet the noise.
I had never really found my place in this world either.
The things I enjoyed—besides food—always slipped through my fingers.
Planning destruction was the only constant I had.
I lived in the details. One day, maybe I’d let myself enjoy something just for the sake of it.
Maybe.
“So, what’s in the bag?”
“Go look.” I leaned against the table and watched him approach. A white T-shirt and sweatpants—definitely not dressed for anything productive. Either he’d been lounging at home, or parked outside waiting for me to need him. My money was on the latter.
Cezar dug into the bag, pulling out one toy after another.
A muffled laugh. A grunt.
He was amused.
“I went shopping,” I announced.
“I see that. A black bag of fun,” he said, turning back toward me with a teasing spark in his eyes. “You want to play with me, Petal?”
“Don’t move.”
I walked to the table where his daggers lay in a perfect, deadly arrangement. I picked up the one with the rose—a piece of him he’d created with his own hands—and stepped in front of him.
His gaze locked onto me like he’d been waiting his whole life for this. Hunger consumed him. Pure, unfiltered want. The bulge in his sweatpants told the whole damn story. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Didn’t dare ruin the moment.
He wanted me to use it.
Starting from the bottom, I moved the dagger upward, slicing through his shirt until the fabric opened.
The tip hovered dangerously close to his neck, yet he didn’t flinch.
He just smiled—eager and completely unbothered by the blade threatening to mark him.
I nudged his head back so I could finish, the thrill settling warm and wicked in my chest.
His eyes stayed on me, urging me forward, telling me exactly how badly he needed this.
I had to look like I knew what I was doing—even if half my knowledge came from late-night research spirals that would’ve made Dorin combust on sight.
I reached into the bag and pulled out what looked like a tangled heap of straps, though he knew exactly what they were meant for.
“Set this up. And take off what’s left of your shirt.”
He complied, stripping the fabric from his body and moving to the bed. He lifted each corner, sliding the ‘X’ of the restraint system beneath the mattress with ease. When he laid the cuffs out at each corner, it hit me. He clearly knew what he was doing.
Has he been tied up like this before?
The bed was big, and he was even bigger, but the straps were adjustable, and I refused to let him slip free. He finished the setup and looked at me with that desperate obedience that made my pulse race.
I patted the mattress beside me, and he sat down.
“Cezar, you remember the safe word?” At his nod, I continued, “Good. We’ll use a gesture too, since you won’t be able to drop anything. Snap your fingers if you need me to stop. Show me.”
He snapped with confidence. The sound lingered in the room.
“Now, lie down.”
He stretched across the bed, settling into place, belonging there. Like he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to tie him down and take everything from him.
How can one trust someone enough for this?
I circled the bed, starting with his wrists, tightening each cuff until he couldn’t move. Then his ankles—spread wider than expected. His fists clenched, jaw flexing, lips curling into that starving grin he tried to hide. He was ready.
Climbing on top of him, I felt the pajamas cling to my body. Too tight and too short—exactly how Cezar liked it. His eyes dropped lower, darkening. He was hot and fucking needy.
I rocked my hips over him—barely. Just enough pressure to make his breath stutter, enough to make him fight the restraints. Even bound, he managed a subtle buck of his hips, desperate for more contact.
Leaning in, I brushed my lips against his ear. “Mmm… Cezar… Cezar… Cezar…”
His whole body shivered beneath me. My breasts pressed into his chest, and he tried to swallow down a moan, but I heard it. Felt it.
I moved my hand down his torso, fingers tracing the scars that told his story long before he ever would. Then I bit his nipple, hard enough for him to gasp. His exhale caught, and when I licked over the bite, he groaned again, deeper this time.
God, he tasted good.
“Ah fuck, Petal…” he breathed out, voice crumbling. He was dangerously close already—I could feel it in the way his cock pulsated against his pants, in the way he held his breath, trying to control himself. Adorable.
I grabbed his chin, forcing his gaze up to mine. “Cezar, how does it feel knowing you can’t do a damn thing right now even if you wanted to?”
His brows perked. “You definitely have me in your hold. Think that’s enough?” he challenged, the cocky edge creeping into his tone. He was asking to be put in his place.
“Oh, Cezar,” I whispered, leaning close, letting my breath hit his jaw. “In the end, I know how to destroy you, and that is all I need to control you.”
Then I slapped him. Hard. Again and again. His head snapped to the side, and a thin ribbon of blood ran down the corner of his mouth. He licked it slowly, letting me see his tongue drag across the crimson. Baring those sharp canines, trying to control himself.
“Well then, Petal,” he rasped, voice thick with anticipation. “Destroy me.”
“Beg,” I ordered, threading my fingers through his hair before dragging my nails down his chest. “Beg me like a fucking good boy.”
Cezar begged like he was begging for his fucking life.
“Please, Petal, I need you to play with me. Use me like a fucking toy. Whatever you want, anything and everything. I am yours.” His body strained against the cuffs, muscles exerted under the weight of his own desire, veins rising along his forearms as he pulled against the restraints.
I stepped off the bed and approached the black bag, ready to take things further.
“Let’s begin.”