Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CARA
“ I ’m a lot of things, Cara—patient isn't one of them,” he growls from behind me, chuckling darkly when I squeal as I jump two feet in the air.
I stumble back, my knees weak as he steps out of the shadows.
He flicks his coin, catching it in his palm, and repeating the move, my gaze tracking it as it flies through the air.
I’ve seen how that coin can sway his actions when he popped out Simon’s eyeball with very little effort, so I wonder what options he’s debating right now.
He promised that if he found me, he’d punish me.
As though he can read the deepest depths of my mind, he begins, “This can go one of two ways. Either way, you’re getting fucked, Little Red, this just tells me how long I get to torture you before I let you come.
Maybe…” A playful spark glitters in his eyes.
Whatever he was about to say, he decided to keep to himself.
The idea that strikes him clearly pleases him as his gaze rakes over every dip and curve of my body ardently.
“Maybe…?” I stumble with the simple word—not knowing if I really want to know my fate.
One swipe of his fingers inside me, and I fear I’ll be lost to the orgasm that has been lingering beneath the surface since I woke up this morning.
The invisible chain link binds that have wrapped around my heart, tethering my soul to his, constrict in my chest. He flips his coin again and holds it in his fist as he approaches me.
I sway on unsteady legs, my body desperate to be wrapped around him the closer he gets.
He makes a point of keeping some space between us, reaching out and stroking my cheek with his thumb.
My head dips to his touch, but all too soon, he rips it away.
He holds it up and turns the coin in his fingers, so I can get a look at both sides. “If it’s the sun and moon, I’ll make it quick, get your first release out of the way, and then play with you to my heart’s content. That would be the kindest outcome.”
“And if it’s the fallen angel?” I ask, finally finding my voice, knowing that the flip of his coin rests heavily on Ezra’s desire to use my body and less on the fate of a spin. Where I’m concerned, I don’t believe much with this man is left to chance.
“The fallen angel promises darkness and depravity. Unrelenting pleasure. How dark is too dark for you, Red?”
“I…I…” I struggle to form a response, my mouth dry as I stare up into his eyes that flicker with a twisted promise of things I don’t know whether I will be able to handle.
But I know I can’t deny him, the pull between us too strong, too intoxicating, too enthralling.
I watch with bated breath, my feet rooted to the spot, as he leisurely circles the metal bench to the other end of the room, his gaze never wavering as he seems to mentally note every minor shift in my expression, clearly amused as his grin dents his cheek with the cutest dimple.
“What if I told you that from the moment I met you, all I’ve wanted to do is claim you as mine?
To imprint my mark in your skin for all to see, so any man who ever touches you will know who you belong to.
” The remark is off the cuff, too relaxed to be warranted as a threat, but I notice how he bristles at the notion of me lost to another man.
The roiling anger that I see simmering beneath his surface as he runs his coin across his knuckles and massages the nape of his neck with the other hand makes me feel cherished, wanted, desired—in that way I know I never have before.
“Not that they would be alive long enough to ponder the thought. I don’t share my toys, Cara,” he adds pointedly, punctuating his last sentence so I know he means every word.
I wonder what Ezra would do to the men who came before him, the men who treated me like worthless trash.
The ones who marked my body with bruises, wounds, and an invisible second skin—all the trauma they left behind after they used my body stitched together like a patchwork quilt that will never warm me, the weight of it tugging at my limbs like an anchor.
Acting as a constant reminder of who I really am.
I want to be the girl I see reflected back at me in Ezra’s eyes, to be the everything and more he believes I can be.
“Take off your clothes, sweetheart,” he orders, his back to me as a drawer whines on its runners as he yanks it open.
I don’t move, but instead watch the ripple of his muscles as he dips and searches for something.
When he finds what he’s looking for, he reaches up into the cupboard and pulls out a bottle of whiskey, uncorking it with his teeth.
He had this planned down to the second.
“Did I stutter? It wasn’t a suggestion, Red,” he addsas he inspects the capped scalpel he’s found, the dull light glinting off the steel handle, his other hand secured around the neck of the whiskey bottle as he tips his head back and swallows a mouthful.“The good stuff.”
My nipples could cut glass with how hard they are, my heartbeat picking up speed as it punches against my ribs.
As I watch him set aside the bottle and inspect the tool with nimble fingers as he approaches me, the fight or flight impulse should be kicking in; instead, all I feel is the intense liquid gold rush of need coursing through my veins.
Knowing I’m right where I want to be, I find the inner temptress this man so clearly adores.
He watches as I slowly unhook the buttons on my dress. “You like to tease me, don’t you sweetheart?”
“Just making sure you get a good look, Mr. Wolfe. Wouldn’t want you to miss something.
” Now I’m teasing him. His brow lifts towards his hairline, pursing his lips to stifle the small smile forming.
I drop my dress, and the material pools around my booted feet.
The groan of approval from Ezra has me straightening my spine with pride; he clearly likes what he sees.
The waxing, the preening, the choice of the red lace underwear set and matching fishnet stockings, it was all worth it to see the look of awe on his handsome face.
Him like this—wanting me, needing me, desperate for me—it’s an addictive feeling.
I reach around and unclasp my bra, letting the straps slide down my arms, catching it and holding it out to him before I drop it to the floor. I run my gloved hands down my body, the leather gliding effortlessly like a hot knife through butter as I trail them down over my hips.
I grip the thin straps of my thong, but before I can work them down, Ezra clears his throat and shakes his head. I immediately do as I’m told and hold my hands up in the air, leaving my thong where it is on my body as per his wishes.
“Good girl,” he growls, and fuck me if his praise doesn’t set my body alight. Goosebumps cover every exposed inch of me as my pulse quickens.
“Do it, mark me, make me yours.” My breathless plea pleases him, the imprint of his hardening cock growing as he grips onto the scalpel.
I step into his space, gazing up at him as I place my palms against his chest, revelling in the staccato thump of his heartbeat as it picks up pace.
Hesitant isn’t a word I would use to describe Ezra—he takes what he wants when he wants, without apology—but right now, I see a glimmer of something akin to trepidation fill his expression.
I eye the scalpel with a hitched breath, sharing my glance with his brooding stare when I say, “Of all your red flags, your obsession with me is my favourite, Mr. Wolfe. You have my permission.”
And that’s all he needs. He pulls his shirt off with one hand, his heavily tattooed torso heaving as he ponders his next move. Reaching down, he pulls out the spoon he has tucked in his boot.
“Bend over the bench, Cara. Hands behind your back,” he instructs firmly.
I don’t hesitate to follow his order, too intrigued as to how this is going to play out to second guess it.
The cold steel bites at my nipples as I make contact.
My heated body shuddering, anticipation unfurling inside me as I relax into this new position.
I watch as he unbuckles the strap of my glove—first one and then the other that covers my disfigured hand.
He’s seen my hand, the need for the gloves he made me is proof of that, but still, I recoil at the thought of having him see it up close and personal like this.
Sensing my unease, he stops what he’s doing and runs his fingers down my spine, slowing to caress each dip he comes across. “I’ve seen every inch of you and loved every second of it. Someone took something from you, they didn’t break you though. If you remember nothing else, remember that.”
I sigh at his warped brand of comfort, loving how his acceptance of me makes me feel so seen.
He resumes his work on the buckles with deft fingers, but he doesn’t remove the gloves like I’d thought he would.
The clinking of metal on metal, and the inability to move my hands as they rest against the base of my spine, the taut position tugging painfully at my shoulders, alerts me to the fact that Ezra didn’t custom make me these leather gloves for comfort and concealment alone.
I’m shackled with my hands behind my back, and the only way I’ll be getting free is if Ezra decides to unbuckle them.
“Leather, lace, and ligatures—you look good enough to eat, Red,” he sing-songs, crowding my back so I can feel the impression of his thick cock against my bare arse as he bends and sinks his teeth into my shoulder.
I cry out, my hips jolting against the table as he laps at the mark he’s made with his tongue, featherlight kisses extinguishing the searing burn in my skin.
He impatiently knocks his army-issue boot against each of my ankles in turn. “Spread your legs, sweetheart, and show me my prize.”
I obey without question, parting my thighs and groaning when the cold air hits me at my core.