Chapter 16
Butterfly Man
She finally falls asleep. After hours of shivering and crying and breaking apart, her body surrenders. I’ve kept the heater running all night. Watched the tension slowly drain from her face as warmth seeps back into her bones.
I haven’t moved from this stool in six hours.
Haven’t looked away. I can do this forever, watching her.
The way sleep softens her. Her mouth parts slightly.
Her breathing deepens. The furrow between her brows smooths out, and for the first time since I brought her here, she looks like the girl I fell in love with all those years ago.
Before the world taught her to lie. Before she learned to weaponize words and hide behind fiction.
My Reagan.
The pins catch the light when she breathes. I did that; I marked her in a way no one else ever could. My declaration of ownership. My little butterfly. So fucking beautiful, and she’s all mine.
My cock has been hard for hours. Painfully hard. Holding her as she cries in my arms, feeling her break and rebuild, hearing truths spill from her lips that she’s never told—it’s better than any high, any kill.
I stand over her. Her lips move in sleep. A soft sound escapes, just breath shaped by dreams. My hand moves to the mask. For a moment, I consider removing it, letting her see me while she sleeps, while she can’t run or judge or reject.
Don’t. What if she wakes up? She hasn’t earned it yet.
I lean closer. The bottom half of the mask splits with a soft click, and I can’t help stealing a breath of hers. Big mistake. One breath, one kiss, one taste isn’t enough. My mouth waters for more.
She shifts a little, but her eyes remain closed. I reach for the straps at her ankles, loosening them just enough to spread her legs wider. After last night, my queen deserves pleasure. Both of us do.
I position myself between her thighs. Then I lower my head and taste her.
It doesn’t take long for her to get wet. Her body knows me even when her mind doesn’t. My tongue strokes her long and firm. A soft moan builds in her throat, and her hips shift. God, her body arches toward me, seeking more.
I increase the pressure. Circle. Suck. Her breathing becomes ragged. Her fingers curl against the straps. Another moan. Louder this time.
She’s gonna wake up any second now, happy and grateful. She’s gonna thank me, and she’s gonna forgive me, and she’s gonna love—
“Mason,” she murmurs.
My tongue freezes. My hands clench on her thighs hard enough to bruise.
Mason.
MASON.
Who the fuck is Mason?
Rage floods through me. She’s here, with me, my mouth on her, my hands on her body, and she’s dreaming of someone else?
No. No, NO, NOOO.
I attack her clit. My teeth graze sensitive flesh. She gasps, her body jerking. “Ah—what—” Her eyes fly open. Confusion hits. Then horror as she sees me. Where my mouth is. What I’m doing. “Stop—”
I don’t. I work her harder, faster, punishing, claiming, determined to make her feel only me.
Her back arches. The pins move with her, and she cries out.
My cock throbs at her pain that precedes pleasure.
Pleasure I’ve planned to give, but now, just as her breathing speeds up and her clit swells in my mouth, just as she’s so close, I pull back.
She gasps at the loss, her hips chasing my mouth uselessly. “What—why—”
“You asked me to stop. Wish granted.” I click the mask back into place and look at her flushed face, her dilated pupils, the way her chest heaves.
“You’re such a fucking asshole,” she rasps.
“Who is Mason?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play stupid. You just said his name. While I was eating your pussy. While you were moaning. Who the fuck is Mason?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“We had a deal, Reagan.” My hands brace on either side of her head. “If you lie to me, I fuck you. Do you remember that deal?”
Her throat works. “I’m not lying. I was asleep. I don’t remember—”
“Stop! You whispered his name. Clear as day. Now you’re going to tell me who he is and why you were dreaming of him when a tongue was on your clit or I’m going to make good on my promise.”
“Please…just… There’s a new burning in my arm.” Panic flashes as her gaze lands on her left arm for a split second before her eyes dart to the right one, where I’ve hooked a drip.
Smart girl, trying to distract me.
“That’s an IV,” I tell her, moving to her side. “Saline and nutrients. You haven’t eaten in two days.”
Her eyes widen. “Two days?”
“When I brought you here, you stayed unconscious for about fourteen hours. Then we had our talk yesterday. After that you slept through the night, and today is a new day. I’ve kept the heater on all night for you. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Disoriented, she swallows. “Th-thank you.”
“You gave me something real. You deserved a reward.” I brush hair back from her forehead. “You had a lot of sadness last night, my sweet butterfly. So today, I wanted us to have some fun.” I twist the pin in her shoulder. “But you whisper another man’s name in a wet dream,” I yell over her scream.
“FUCK YOU!”
“In a minute, darling.” I move to the bench, pick up the item I’ve been saving for this moment. I hold it up so she can see. “Remember this?”
She pales as she recognizes her rose toy. Red, well-used and smelling of her cum.
“I do, my naughty little butterfly.” The memory of that night tightens my balls.
“I took it from your drawer before I carried you out of the house. Couldn’t resist.” I turn it over in my hands.
“Do you remember? When you thought you were alone in your bedroom, touching yourself, making those pretty sounds. But I was right there. Watching. Learning exactly what makes you come. You told me you were thinking about me. Was it true or just another lie?”
“I wish it weren’t true. I wish I’d been lying.”
My eyes close behind the mask. She wishes she could erase me from her desires.
Scrub me out of her fantasies like I’m a stain instead of the inevitable conclusion her body has always known.
Why, Reagan? Why, when I love you in ways no one else could?
Why, when I shed blood, drink your piss and rip my own heart out for you? Why would you not want me?
“You wish you’d been lying. You wish you’d been thinking about someone else. The detective, maybe? The man with the motorcycle? Or this mysterious Mason you’re trying so hard not to tell me about?”
“I…I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, you didn’t, but that’s exactly what you feel.
” I activate the toy at her favorite rhythm.
The soft pulsing sound fills the room. “Even when your body tells a different truth. You were so wet for me that night. You came for me harder than you’ve ever come.
” I move between her legs again, holding the toy just above her clit, close enough that she can feel the vibrations, anticipate them.
Her tongue darts to lick her lips as her thighs clench in response.
I smirk. “Look up, my sweet liar.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
She tilts her head back. Her expression is everything I’ve hoped for and more. The widening of her gaze when she sees the mirror I installed while she slept. The horror that crosses her features, the shame, the anger. They’re nothing but a camouflage that hides what she really feels.
The thrill of excitement.
The ceiling-mounted mirror is angled perfectly so she can see herself. Naked. Strapped. Pinned. Spread open and completely helpless under my mercy.
I don’t need to dip a finger in her pussy to feel how wet she’s become. Her secret is already spilling down her inner thigh. My horny little slut.
“I want you to watch.” I place the rose against her clit. The pulsing jerks her whole body. “I want you to see how beautiful you are when you’re honest.”
“No—please—”
“Who is Mason?” I keep the pressure steady. Her hips try to twist away, but there’s nowhere to go.
Nothing comes out of her pretty mouth but gasps and moans.
I increase the intensity. “Let’s try an easier question. Who gave you your first kiss, Reagan?”
She writhes. Her back arches off the table. The pins stab deeper in her flesh, and she screams again. “I—I can’t—”
“Who gave you your first orgasm? Was it Shane? Was it Mason? Some other man you’re protecting in that beautiful, twisted head of yours?”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Look at yourself, Reagan. Watch what I do to you. Watch how your body responds to me even when you wish it wouldn’t.”
“Stop.”
“Is that what you really want?”
Her panting catches. Flush spreads down her chest. Her toes curl. A tremor builds in her thighs.
I remove the rose.
“Jesus fuck,” she breathes shakily.
“First kiss. First orgasm. Tell me.”
“I don’t understand. You already know. Why are you asking these things? Why are you digging up the past I want nothing but to forget?”
“What do I know, Reagan? That you’ve only been with two men, two husbands, Shane Fletcher and Blake Abel?”
“Yes.”
The answer is too fast. No thought or effort put behind it. Like the truth. I circle her in slow steps, once, twice, three times, studying her body language, her expression, learning her tells. Then I stand behind her, gazing into her unwavering blues, and realize the truth.
I switch off the heater.
Her teeth clench. “No, no. Why did you do that? I answered your question.”
“You don’t have a tell.”
“What?”
“You have a tell when you’re angry, when you’re horny, when you try to hide your tears, but you don’t have one when you lie, darling.”
“I’m not lying. Why can you not believe me?”
I stand at her feet and use the toy on her pussy again until she’s on the edge. “Who gave you your first kiss, Reagan?”
“Shane,” she gasps out. “Shane gave me my first kiss, I swear.”
“What about Mason? What did he give you?”
“Who the fuck is Mason?!”
“Bloom.” I turn off the vibration, and silence suffocates the room. She stills, no tremors of cold or rage or chasing orgasms, not even a breath. “Mason Bloom, Reagan. Do you remember now?”
“How do you know that name?”
“A little bird told me.”
She darts daggers at me with her gaze. “Like the one who told you about my favorite restaurant, my favorite flower and colors, Detective?”
I pinch her clit with a vengeance. She makes a sound I’ve never heard before, one I’ll enjoy hearing again and again.
“Who gave you your first orgasm, Reagan? Mason or Shane?” I let the toy work on her one more time.
“If you answer truthfully, I’ll let you come.
If you don’t answer at all, I will…right down your throat.
And if you lie…” I stroke my hardness for her to see.
“God, I hope you lie, my sweet butterfly.”