I wonder if we can convince her we need a bed bath?
I don’t let the idea ruminate because imagining Cara soaping me up has yet more blood rushing to my cock, and I’m going to need some of that to power my brain.
Her finger brushes against my tongue, and the visceral shiver I see travel through her body has me ready to get on my knees to worship her. She pulls her hand back like I’ve burned her.
I swallow the pills, knowing I have no idea what they are but not giving a fuck. Whatever they are, it was worth it to see her react to my touch that way.
“Raven was right, you are feisty.”
The colour drains from her face when she responds, “You heard that?”
“My mother was deaf,” I sign the words as I speak. Staring at her mouth, I wait for her to talk; I don’t even have to look up at her face to see the second realisation strikes, her mouth falling open.
“You read my lips?”
“Yep. It’s amazing how forthcoming people are when they don’t realise who’s paying attention.”
Her awkward smile is cute as I imagine her brain cataloguing all the times we’ve been in the same room, all the instances when she’s caught me looking her way. Panic creeps over herexpression slowly, like a lapping tide against the shore, the imprints in the sand cleared away as another memory hits her. I know more about this little vixen than she realises.
I don’t tell her that my mother wasn’t born deaf, that she lost her hearing after a particularly brutal beating from my father. I also don’t tell her that I would mimic deafness as a kid any way that I could to relate to my mother, and that’s why I am so good at reading lips. I want to tell her everything—but this carefree Cara with the reddened face gnawing nervously on her lip, I’d like to stay with her a little longer. I don’t want her pity.
“I knew a girl once. From my old job.” Cara holds up her hands, looking right down into my soul before she continues, “Her name was Hope D-a-n-i-e-l-s.” She signs the woman’s name the best she can; Hope is easy enough, but Daniels gets a little lost in translation as she uses her fingers to sign each letter individually, opting for the letter M rather than the N she was going for and completely losing the S. “She taught us some of the basics.Please, thank you, dickhead.” She laughs, offering a sign with each word out of her mouth; of the three, she naileddickheadto perfection. “The curse words are always fun to learn, and it turns out, I’ve met a lot of dickheads,” she tags on.
The silence drags on and she stumbles to fill it. “You know, some of the patients here would love to have the attention from a woman like Doctor Mayfair.” She busies her hands and then seems to change her mind, straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders to look me dead in the face. Her turn to read me, I guess. Jealousy looks good on my girl. I blink away the fuzziness in my head, likely the meds kicking in, desperate to stay in this light-hearted moment with her.
“They also think the walls are whispering to them,” I counter.
“Are you saying you don’t like the attention?”
“Attention is like a compliment, Red—it means nothing unless it’s coming from the person you like.”
“And pray tell—who do you like, Mr. Wolfe?” I see the wariness that eclipses the strength in her expression, her hand sliding onto her hip.
“See, feisty,” I remark, shaking a finger at her, purposely not answering her question.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EZRA
Leaving the books she likes on her shelf, attaching the lock to make her feel safer, calling her sweetheart and mine, that whole back and forth yesterday after therapy—I’ve done things over the past two months that are so out of my comfort zone, I almost don’t recognise the man looking back at me in the mirror.
‘You’ve got that porn addiction,’a little voice in my head pipes up—the more naive of the three currently competing for my attention.
His assumption isn’t entirely incorrect—Cara is an addiction—but to my surprise, and that of the alter egos that reside in my head, it isn’t sex with her that is my driving force.
‘Use her body, take what you want, leave her needy.’
‘That’s unhelpful, fucknut inner voice number two, but thanks for the input.’
I want to adore Cara, to make her feel special, to earn her smiles.
‘Pussy whipped—that’s what you are,’inner voice number one snaps in a panic like my life depends on the fact that this woman obviously has me wrapped around her little finger.
‘Don’t start getting share happy with the group,’the third voice bellows gruffly, and I take stock that he’s even joining the conversation; he usually only has input when I’m staring at a pleading victim waiting at the end of my axe blade. He is the reason I find comfort in maiming and murdering. My bloodlust has a voice, and usually it’s judgemental and snarky unless I’m actively punishing someone deserving of my wrath.
‘So, we’re keeping her!’voice one states rather than asks.
‘That seems to be the long and the short of it,’the second confirms.
