Chapter 30
Thirty
NOW | SISK
He takes forever to answer. I regret asking, because if he says yes, I’m going to have to burn this entire apartment down. If he says no, I’m going to have to burn this entire apartment down out of sheer embarrassment. The question hangs between us now, impossible to take back.
Finally, “No.”
I’m about to say it was a joke when, “Why the fuck would I need to tie someone to my bed to keep them in place?”
I swallow hard.
“You’ve seen what I can do. If I wanted someone to stay still…” He leans closer, his mouth brushing the edge of my ear. “They wouldn’t so much as twitch without my permission.”
I inhale.
“I could pin you with a thought. Lock every limb in place. And I wouldn’t even have to touch you.”
My skin prickles. My thighs clench.
He pulls back slowly, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. The brush returns to my hair, steady now—but I can feel the shift. “Why?” Another brush stroke. “Is that something you’re into?” The question is a blade pressed to my throat.
“Maybe,” I test my luck.
“Maybe,” he echoes.
I shrug one shoulder, the movement causing the towel to shift slightly. “With the right person.”
“The right person,” he grits out. “Someone already try it on you?” The brush stills.
I don’t answer.
“You let someone tie you up?”
The possessiveness in his voice is enough to make me wet. I don’t flinch. “Would it matter if I did?”
In front of me, on the vanity, a glass trembles. I hear Scotch whine nearby. I can feel the tension radiating from Jax. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough, barely holding it together. “It would.”
“I didn’t,” I say softly.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t relax.
“But since you know…” I go on, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “You have no interest in me. Isn’t that what you said last night? That you don’t want this?”
I can feel it happening—feel the room responding to him. A drawer in the corner creaks open on its own. A corner of the rug lifts and drops. I press on, reckless now. “I might actually have to go looking for someone to explore this… dark side of me.”
The bait lands. The brush doesn’t fall—it launches to the floor, flung by a force stronger than gravity.
In the next breath, his hand is in my hair, the other at my neck. He yanks my head back, so hard and fast that I see stars. My neck arches at an impossible angle, my scalp screaming, my throat exposed. The world inverts, all I see is ceiling. Then him.
Jax looms above me, upside down, every line of him carved in fury. A beautiful, brutal god of control, of rage, of something darker than either. I don’t even try to pull away.
His hand comes up, his thumb hooking the corner of my mouth, pulling it open, then his index finger joins, prying my jaw wider.
I’m helpless, trapped, my mouth a perfect, willing O.
He lowers his head, lips hovering just above mine.
His breath ghosts over my tongue—hot, furious, controlled only by inches.
He spits in my mouth. His palm is there a second later, smothering any reaction, pressing my jaw shut. It's like the room inhales with him, every dust mote suspended, waiting to see what I'll do with what he's given me. I swallow.
Shame and desire, twisted tightly, rush through me. I should be disgusted. I should scream. Instead, I nearly come on the spot.
Only then does he speak. “Look at me,” he commands, and my body responds. His red eyes, furious and glowing, stare down into mine. “This is mine,” he says, thumb dragging down my lips like he’s marking territory. “This throat. This voice. These breaths.”
A small tremor shakes the table near the bed.
Something on the shelf tips—then rights itself.
His thumb presses again, light but commanding.
“You want to play games?” He leans in until our noses almost touch, “You play them with me.” He grazes my lips with his tongue.
“If someone is going to tie you up and fuck you until you forget your own name…” A pause.
A pulse. The towel at my waist flutters—without touch. “It’s going to be me.”
I can’t speak. My throat locks with shock and want. But I sure as hell think to myself: mission accomplished.
He straightens me up slowly, releasing me and the pressure in the room. The towel pools fully at my waist, like it knows better than to move without permission. The brush lifts—without his hand. It floats for half a second, then lands on the nightstand.
“Arms up.”
I obey, raising my arms overhead like I’m surrendering to more than just him.
He slides a t-shirt over me—his shirt. The fabric drags over my skin sending goose bumps to my arms. His hands are no longer gentle.
He's dressing me like I'm his to take care of. The cotton is soft, worn, and it smells like him: smoke and clean soap. It swallows me, the hem brushing mid-thigh. I want to ask for panties, but something tells me he won’t grant me that tonight.
Now that I’ve opened this door, I can see he’s right where he belongs. And what does it say about me that I like him that way? That the possessiveness, the raw edge of violence, the barely leashed magic in his blood… turns me on.
His hands linger on my hips and I wonder if he’s done making his point—or if he’s just getting started. “When I walked away last night,” he admits, his thumb pausing on the inside of my thigh, “it was the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done.”
The lamp beside us flickers.
“And I have done some horrible things,” he adds.
He hovers over me. “The way I want you…” His voice catches. “…it scares the shit out of me.”
The lamp flickers again, but neither of us blink.
“Because,” he goes on, slower now, like every word is a weight, “it’s impossible to stay in control when you are around. And if you ever let someone else touch you the way I want to touch you…”
A pause thick enough to drown in.
“…I might actually kill them. The curse is getting stronger and I can’t stop it if you push me.”
It’s not a threat, it’s a confession, and it wrecks me more than any warning ever could.
I’m torn between the urge to run—and the overwhelming desire to climb into his lap and beg.
His voice dips lower, “And I think…” he says, his palms still rest on my thighs, “that you knew exactly what you were doing when you asked me that question. Didn’t you?”
I nod.
He grips my hips, fingers digging in like he’s trying to anchor me to the bed.
“I have tried to let you go. I have actually tried to walk away, to let you be free and happy and untouched by my curse. I’ve even started to count the cost of killing every single one of your past partners just to be the only one who’s ever touched you. Fuck, I still think about it.”
He looks at me. “But I can’t hold back anymore.
It might be the tar, it might be the moon, but it might be all me.
And if you give a single fuck about their lives, you’re going to stay put.
You’re going to obey me. You’re going to let me do whatever I want you to, even if that means leaving you sore until you can’t walk.
If I tell you to eat, you’ll eat. If I tell you to sleep, you’ll sleep.
And if I tell you to stay the fuck away from another man—or woman, you will.
” His lips graze the shell of my ear. ”Unless you want to watch me bloody their pussy-ass faces. ”
His hand slides up to my neck. “From now on, you’ll listen.”
I don't argue.
“This mouth,” he murmurs, his thumb dragging across my lips, pressing inside just enough for me to feel the edge of his nail.
His other hand flattens possessively over my stomach before sliding lower, his fingers delving through my wet pussy.
I gasp as he sinks one knuckle deep, then two, “This pussy.” His other hand moves, and I feel a slick, probing pressure against my other entrance.
“And this ass.” He tries to slide a finger inside, an inexorable invasion that has me arching off the bed.
The dual sensation is overwhelming, a fullness that steals my breath.
He holds it there, his fingers pushing in both places, a claim staked in the most intimate way possible.
“All of it,” he growls. “Because make no mistake, I’ll be your first again.”
I shake slightly. “How do—?”
“Of course, I can tell. I can feel it in the way you clench around my finger, how tight you are. You’ve saved this little hole for me, haven’t you? I’m going to take what’s mine. Again.”
He pulls back just enough to see my eyes, his own burning with a dark promise.
“It’ll stretch for my cock. And no, there’s no need to worry.
I’ll make sure you’re ready. I’ll make sure you’re dripping.
And when the time comes, I’ll make sure you come so hard you’ll be screaming my name into the pillows while I claim that last piece of you. ”
He pulls his hands away. “You’re mine, Sisk. And I’m done sharing.”
I think this is it—I think I’ve finally won. That I’m going to get what I want from him. That he’s going to break, but he pulls back. His eyes darken with restraint. “I have no fucking idea how to handle any of this,” he grinds out, frustration warping every word.
He exhales through his nose like he’s trying to push down whatever’s surging under his skin. “So tonight, I need you to be good.”
The bed creaks faintly beneath us.
“Eat your dinner,” he says. “Go to bed. Can you do that?”
I don’t want to say yes.
“I need time, Sisk. Time to get control over…” He gestures between us.
At the space practically humming with tension.
“This. Myself. I know you know I want you. I can’t fucking hide it.
But this is very complicated, dangerous, and I won’t risk hurting you again.
Do you fucking hear me? For your own safety, you’ll need to obey me. ”
I nod again, because what the hell else can I do?
Jax holds my gaze a moment longer, like he’s testing the edges of my obedience, like he doesn’t fully trust I’ll listen.
He leans forward, brushing his lips against my temple. “Good rabbit.”
And with that, he’s out the door.
I sit there for a while, wrapped in his shirt and the leftover heat of what almost was. I breathe, slow and even, like I’m trying to fool my own body.
Be good, he said. Eat dinner. Go to bed.
So I do. I eat the food he brings me, slowly, mechanically, just enough. I turn off the light and I lie down on the bed. And I try, I really do try, but it doesn’t take long before the ache creeps in again. My body pulses with every breath. I try to cross my legs. Clench.
The memory of his voice slams back into me. If someone is going to tie you up and fuck you until you forget your own name, it’s going to be me.
Goddammit.
I roll onto my back, my thighs pressing together instinctively.
I can ride this out, I tell myself. I’m wrong.
My hand slides under the shirt to find myself already wet, already swollen, already desperate.
Biting my lip to keep quiet, my fingers work slowly, teasing myself with the same restraint he showed earlier.
I picture his hands, his voice, his breath on my neck.
It takes no time at all. The orgasm is sharp and shameful and not enough.
The guilt comes next, curled up in the aftershocks—not because I touched myself, but because I wanted him to catch me.
I throw the blanket off, needing to get up and move before I lose my damn mind. I slip down the hall, keeping my movements light even though the crutches give me away, my fingers still sticky with proof of what I just did.
The living room is dark except for the glow of the window and the tip of his cigarette. I wasn’t expecting him to still be awake. I wasn’t expecting him to be shirtless. And I definitely wasn’t expecting him to look like that. He doesn’t turn, just exhales smoke into the dark, slow and silent.
I can’t help it—my eyes trace every line of his strong back, the shift of muscle, the dark lines of his tattoos telling stories I’ll never know. I know what I feel for him goes way beyond what his looks do to me, but I would be lying if I said he wasn’t the most beautiful man I have ever seen.
“Did it help?”
I startle. “What?”
He turns his head slightly. “You’re not that quiet.”
I stare at him. The humiliation hits hard. But underneath it? A darker thrill.
“I—” I start, then stop. I have no idea what I’m even trying to say.
He flicks the ash.
“Next time you want to come thinking about me…” He turns toward me now, full frame, every line of his torso lit in low amber. “You ask.”
I shift.
“You ask, and you beg, and maybe—if I think you’ve earned it—I’ll let you.”
I swallow hard. My whole body pulses.
“But you do not go behind my back to fuck yourself in my bed again. Understand?”
I hum in acknowledgment.
He steps in and snatches my hand, and the crutch doesn’t even wobble, just hangs there held by his magic.
I barely register it because he’s already shoving my fingers into his mouth, his tongue hot and rough as he makes this low “mmm” sound in his throat, sucking off every trace of me.
It’s so fucking filthy, the way he’s savoring it, his teeth scraping against my skin.
He pulls back with a wet pop, his lips glistening.
“Is this the kind of game you want to play?”
My voice is a shattered whisper. “Yes.”
He takes a long, slow drag from his cigarette, then leans in, and blows the smoke directly into my face.
I cough, my eyes watering, but he doesn't back up an inch.
His free hand comes up to grip my jaw, fingers digging in just enough to make a point.
Then he presses the filter to my lips. “Breathe it in,” he says, his voice a low rumble.
I do, deep and slow, the smoke filling my lungs, a strange calm settling over the chaos.
He watches my exhale, his thumb stroking the corner of my mouth.
“Bed. Now.” His voice leaves no room for argument. He turns me by the shoulders and lands a sharp, stinging slap on my ass. “Don’t ever pull shit like that again without my permission.” I do as I’m told, walking away with a grin I can’t wipe off my face.