This isn’t me. The Mira Sullivan who spent months researching the Blackwoods before taking a job at Purgatory four weeks ago doesn’t melt at the first touch from a criminal.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Xavier murmurs. “Stop fighting your desires.”
The blade moves lower, cool metal contrasting with the fire building within.
“I hate you,” I gasp.
“No, you don’t.” His voice is pure confidence. “You hate that you want this. There’s a difference.”
His thumb finds my clit again, slow and deliberate, and I bite down hard—metallic heat blooming on my tongue. The restraints bite into my wrists as I strain against them, needing resistance, needing release, as he pushes me closer to the edge that I can’t stop chasing.
The part of me trained to observe takes it all in—the blade brushing close but never breaking the skin, the way his fingers find every nerve like they were made for it.
But the woman under his hands doesn’t care about evidence. She cares about the heat pooling between her thighs.
“Come for me,” Xavier commands.
Before my brain can catch up, pleasure engulfs me in waves that leave me thrashing against the restraints. My orgasm is violent and all consuming.
The knife disappears from my skin as tremors course through me. Xavier’s touch turns gentle, fingers stroking through the wetness he coaxed from me with devastating skill.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the red marks the blade left across my collarbone. “You take it so perfectly.”
His mouth is warm against the sensitized skin where metal had traced moments before. Each kiss burns, not from pain but from the tenderness that has no place in this fucked up scenario. The gentleness feels more dangerous than the knife ever did.
“I knew you would.” Another kiss, this one to the mark along my shoulder, where he dragged the blade in a perfect line. “From the first moment I saw you, I knew you’d surrender beautifully.”
Every brush of his lips against abused skin drives me wild. The restraints keep me upright as my legs tremble, muscles weak from the orgasm he wrung from me.
“Shh,” Xavier soothes when I try to speak, his mouth moving to trace the red line across my throat. “Just feel.”
The kiss there is barely a whisper, reverent in a way that makes my chest tight. His hands smooth over my sides, checking for actual damage despite the care he took with the blade. Finding none, he continues his path of gentle kisses along every mark he left.
A sharp cry echoes through the chamber, distinctly feminine and raw with pleasure. Through the haze of my post-orgasmic state, I catch glimpses of movement—a green mask and dark hair, bodies moving with brutal intensity against the far wall.
Lia’s voice rings out again, demanding and desperate. The sounds of their coupling are violent, all slapping skin and harsh breathing. Yet even from this distance, even in my compromised state, I can tell she’s driving the encounter as much as he is.
“Don’t watch them,” Xavier commands softly, histhumb brushing across my cheek to turn my attention back to him. “Watch me.”
His eyes are intense, studying my face with the same focus he had given to manipulating my pleasure. Another kiss lands on the mark below my ear, so gentle it could almost be called loving.
If this were anyone else. Anywhere else.
But it’s not, and the tenderness feels like another form of manipulation.
His fingers trace one final path along the red marks decorating my skin, touch impossibly gentle after what he put me through. The contrast makes my head spin—this tender Xavier feels more dangerous than the one wielding the knife.
“You’re perfect like this,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing across my bottom lip. “Marked. Mine.”
The possessive edge to his voice sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. My body still trembles from the aftershocks of what he forced from me, every nerve ending sensitive to his touch.
“So responsive. So willing to give me exactly what I need.”
His praise feels like poison wrapped in silk, each word designed to burrow under my skin and take root. I want to reject it, want to spit defiance in his face, but my tongue feels thick and useless.
“Such a good girl,” Xavier continues, his fingers trailing down my throat to rest over my racing pulse. “Taking everything I give you.”
The endearment makes my stomach clench. I’m nothis anything, good or otherwise. I made a tactical error, nothing more.
