Chapter Twenty-Five Saylor
Chapter Twenty-Five
Saylor
The last thing I remember before sleep claimed me was Blue’s hand smoothing my hair back from my face, promising he’d handle
the cleanup downstairs. I wake up disoriented in a bed that’s definitely not mine, sinking into a mattress so soft it’s like
floating on toasted marshmallows. The sheets beneath me are actual silk, not the cheap knockoff stuff from discount stores.
Heavy burgundy curtains block most of the light, and I have no idea if it’s evening or the middle of the night. A fireplace
crackles across the room, throwing shadows on walls covered with oil paintings of shipwrecks and ravens. Everything about
this space screams expensive but also mysterious.
How long was I out? The last clear memory I have is driving a carving knife through Leroy Crow’s hand and watching his blood
paint the white tablecloth. Then my stomach decided to stage a rebellion, and apparently my brain followed suit by shutting
down completely.
The shower is running in the adjoining bathroom, steam drifting through the partially open door along with the sound of water
against tile. I sit up slowly, testing my stomach’s current stance on being vertical. Better. Still shaky, but no immediate
threat of losing whatever’s left in my system.
My dress is wrinkled but still intact, my hair probably resembles a bird’s nest, and I can still taste that metallic tang
of adrenaline on my tongue. But I’m alive, conscious, and Leroy Crow is hopefully still bleeding somewhere in this house.
The water shuts off with a decisive click, followed by the rustle of towels and Blue’s low humming. Something that sounds
vaguely eerie but in a way that’s oddly soothing. Steam billows out as the bathroom door opens wider, and then Blue emerges
wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and water droplets that catch the lamplight.
Jesus Christ.
I’ve seen him partially undressed before. Felt his hands on my skin, tasted the salt of his sweat. But this is different. This is Blue in his natural environment, completely at ease in his own skin, and the sight of him makes my mouth go dry.
His chest is a masterpiece of controlled power, lean muscle and definition without being overly bulky. The tattoos I glimpsed
in my dressing room cover his torso in intricate patterns that seem to tell stories I’m dying to read with my fingertips.
Dark ink swirls across his ribs, over his shoulders, down his arms in patterns that make me want to lick every single one.
Water beads along his collarbone and trails down paths between muscles, and I find myself following those droplets with my
eyes. His hair is slicked back and darker when wet, making his bone structure appear even more defined.
The way he moves around the room is casual, confident. Completely at ease.
“You’re awake,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
“I just stabbed someone in the hand and then passed out with all the dignity of a Victorian lady with the vapors.” I pull
my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “Very dignified. I’m sure Leroy was impressed by my follow-through.”
Blue’s mouth curves into what might be amusement. “Leroy is more concerned with his hand at the moment. Hans had to call in
reinforcements to stop the bleeding.”
“Good.” The vicious satisfaction in my voice surprises me, but I don’t try to hide it. “I hope it hurts.”
“Well, about that . . .” He moves to the dresser, water still dripping from his hair onto those incredible shoulders. “They’re
currently enjoying the hospitality of my basement. All three of them.” Blue says this like he’s discussing the weather. “Turns
out they weren’t quite ready for the evening to end.”
I should feel something more than satisfaction. Horror, maybe. Guilt. These were human beings, and now they’re locked in a
basement because of choices I made. Because I picked up that knife and drove it through Leroy’s hand.
But all I feel is relief. They can’t hurt anyone else now. Can’t kill another father in front of his daughter.
“Is that where you went?” I ask. “To get them?”
“Just the three who joined us for dinner. Leroy, Jack, and Victor.” Blue opens a dresser drawer, rifling through whatever’s inside. “Hans got word on where they were hiding. After what happened in the greenhouse, I thought the least I could do was bring you a gift.”
Three of the five from my list. Leroy with his gold tooth. Victor with his limp. And Jack in his expensive suit—the one who
gave all the orders that night.
“And the others? The rest of the Crow?”
“Still breathing, unfortunately. But not for long.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “One problem at a time.”
The matter-of-fact way he discusses hunting down the remaining members of a criminal organization should probably worry me.
Instead, it makes me feel safer than I have since Dad died.
“Blue, about earlier.” I start, then stop when I realize I’m not sure which earlier incident needs to be addressed first.
The snooping through his private floor, the sex, the stabbing, or the fainting. “I mean, about the third floor. I’m sorry
I went up there when you specifically asked me not to.”
He pauses in his search through the dresser drawers, his back still to me. “Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Sorry.” He turns to face me. “Because breaking into locked areas of my house means you’re either not sorry at all, or you’re
sorry you got caught.”
The distinction shouldn’t matter, but somehow it does. “I was curious. I was exploring this massive place and . . . well,
I’ve never been good at being told no.”
“And what exactly did you discover during your unauthorized exploration?”
“A lot of locked doors and a serious addiction to decorative keys.” I try for lightness, but his stare is too intense. “I
didn’t actually get into any of the rooms.”
“No, you didn’t.” His tone is conversational, but there’s steel underneath. “Although not for lack of trying.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I said I was sorry.”
“You did.” Blue opens another drawer, his movements deliberate. “But breaking rules has consequences, Saylor. And a punishment is in order.”
“Punishment?” I let out a short laugh. “You’re joking, right?”
Instead of answering, he reaches into the drawer and pulls out something that makes my brain stutter to a complete stop.
Handcuffs.
Not toy handcuffs from some novelty store, but real ones. Heavy steel with chain links. He holds them casually, testing the
weight in his palm.
“Wait, what?” I scramble backward on the bed until my spine hits the headboard. “What are those for?”
“Your punishment.”
“For examining locked doors?”
“For disobeying a direct request when I specifically asked you to stay away.” Another step closer. “For breaking into areas
of my house that are explicitly off-limits.”
“I didn’t break into anything. I just examined . . .”
“You tried every door handle in that hallway.” His voice drops lower. “You knelt down to peer through a keyhole. You invaded
my privacy after I specifically asked you not to.”
Guilt and arousal war in my chest, creating a cocktail of emotions. He’s right. I did exactly what he’s accusing me of, and
I’d probably do it again given the chance.
“What are you going to do with those?” I nod toward the handcuffs, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Whatever I want.” The promise makes me clench my thighs together. “I warned you I don’t do gentle. I’m not the vanilla, strawberries-and-champagne-by-candlelight
kind of guy. The question is whether you’re going to make this easy or difficult.”
I stare at him—standing there half-naked with handcuffs, having just captured three people—and realize I’m not afraid. An
ordinary girl would be scared shitless, but what I feel is anticipation.
“That depends,” I say. “Are you planning to hurt me?”
“Only in ways you’ll enjoy.”
The way he says it makes something clench deep inside me, urgent and needy and completely at odds with any rational response to this situation.
“Blue . . .”
“Hands,” he commands, moving close enough that I can smell his shower soap mixed with something I desperately want to lick
off him.
I don’t hesitate, not really. I flatten my palms together, wrists daintily crossed and held out in front of me like a damsel
or a saint awaiting the sword.
The metal is icy against my skin, biting down when he clicks the restraint shut.
“Up,” Blue says, and hooks his fingers under my chin. The mood in his eyes is menacing, but I don’t look away.
Then his towel is gone, peeled off and tossed to the floor. His cock is impossibly thick and hard already, flushed at the
tip, and the sight of him standing over me, fully naked and utterly in control, flips some secret breaker in the caveman part
of my brain.
The world goes soft at the edges. He sits on the bed and pulls me into his lap, my cuffed arms caught between our chests.
My knees straddle his hips, the fabric of my dress riding up so far it’s practically a belt. Blue pushes the hem even higher,
rough hands sliding under to find bare skin at the backs of my thighs.
“You didn’t obey,” he says, mouth against my ear. “You’re going to pay for it.”
“Yeah?” I want what’s coming so badly my body aches. “How?”
He reaches behind me, finds the zipper. One tug and my dress peels open, the angle awkward with my arms stuck in front of
me. He yanks the straps off my shoulders and exposes my bra, black-and-lace, probably twisted and misshapen from the night’s
misadventures. The way he stares at my chest makes my nipples pebble beneath the thin mesh.
He tugs the straps down, pulls the cups lower, palms my tits like he’s weighing them for a recipe. Grazes his thumb over the
nipple until I gasp. Then pinches. Hard.
“Ow,” I say, and squirm, but my hips roll into his lap on instinct.
His teeth are at my throat, scraping gently, then sinking in. “You’ll take exactly what I give you.”
His hands work the dress and bra off me, tearing what’s left to get over the handcuffs. He makes a sound deep in his chest, a little snarl, then flips me flat onto the mattress, face-down, ass high in the air.