She’sperforming.
I pull my fingers out, my pace slowing, my movements deliberate. My gaze locks on hers, and my free hand grips her jaw, forcing her to meet my eyes.
“You’re lying to me, kitten.”
Her breath catches, her mask of pain faltering for the first time.
“N-no.” Her faint voice trembles, not with fear, but with effort.
Cocking my head, I watch her as I lower my hand to find one of the crimson welts on her skin and trace it with my thumb. “You’re faking it.”
She hesitates, her lips parting and closing, but no words come out.
“Scarlet.” My tone sharpens, brooking no argument.
Finally, she exhales, her composure shifting to straighten, mask falling like she flipped a switch. “I can’t feel pain,” she says softly. The admission shatters like glass between us. “I have CIP—congenital insensitivity to pain. I can’t feel it, Carter. I never have.”
I freeze, the words sinking in, my mind dissecting their meaning with clinical precision. The world narrows to just her words, and the implications slice through me.
No pain.
None of the usual methods I use to break people will work on her. None of the responses I feed on will ever come from her.
How fascinating.
She breaks people to see the pain strung through their eyes, and I break them to rip out their emotional responses. We both feed on opposite sides of the spectrum. Sides we will never relate to.
For a moment, I wonder if we’re too different. But I quickly realize...we’re exactly what each other is missing.
Stepping closer, I grip her chin firmly, forcing her to look at me. Her pupils are blown wide, her lips swollen, begging to be kissed.
“Why?”
“I wanted—” Her voice breaks and she shakes her head. “I wanted to feel something, Carter. Anything. I wanted what I see in others when they’re with you. The pleasure born out of pain, that visceral sensation that seems to send them to another world.”
The words stab at something deep inside me, unfamiliar and sharp. I’ve built my world on pain, on control, on feeding off the reactions I draw from others. Learning from them. And yet, here she is. Unyielding. Untouchable in the way I know best—and somehow still the mostrealthing I’ve ever encountered.
I drag my thumb over the curve of her lip again, my grip on her jaw tightening just enough to hold her steady and crush my lips to hers in a bruising kiss that imprints on both of us.
“You don’t need what I’ve given others. What you get from me from now on, Scarlet, will only ever be yours. I’ll give you pleasure that will make you fucking proud you can’t feel pain.” I kiss her again, punctuating those words to make sure they sink in. “Only yours. Only for you.”
She nods, her breath shallow, her body straining against the bonds like she’s trying to reach me. I release her slowly out of them, then hold her to make sure she can stand.
Maybe she can’t feel pain, but her body still bears the effects of it. I sit her down, clean every single welt I left on her body. I rub soothing lotion on each red mark the crop left. She quietly shifts and turns as she drinks her water, letting me take care of her.
The more we sit in silence, the more my mind reels. I knew she was fascinating, but fuck me, the universe had something in store for me. I have some research to do.
But first, I need to take her home.
Chapter 29
Scarlet
I didn’t know what I would feel once I finally revealed to him what is both my strength and my weakness. Turns out, it’s relief.
Only, as Carter clutches the wheel, driving us away from Metamorphosis, he looks anything but relieved. He’s sterner and stiller than usual, his gaze cold and penetrating.
In an instant, I deflate when the reason for his cold demeanor crosses my mind—his desire is to inflict pain. He draws pleasure from it. And I can’t offer him that.
