‘You crave. You take. You ruin.’
I let the memory of my father’s words settle before I glance back down at the angel standing before me. Tracing the line of her jaw, mesmerised with the flicker of heat that appears to skitter across her skin as she arches into my touch, I decide thoughts of my past are no longer welcome here with her. She doesn’t deserve to be tainted by what I really am. Because if I’m sure of anything, it’s that Cara could never look at me like this again if she knew the truth.
“On your knees on the bed, Red,” I order, and she doesn't hesitate, hopping up onto the comforter excitedly.
“Now we’re talking,” she caws, licking her lips, and that noise hits my ears again as my lips part.
The staccato thump of my heart that picks up pace when faced with this woman has a warmth filling my gut. The curve of my smile tugs at my cheeks—it’s so effortlessly simple to be in her presence, to block out where we are and why I’m a prisoner here. I revel in her purity, bathing for a time in her goodness before life as I know it comes crashing back down, because I know I can’t keep her, not forever like I want—not for an eternity like I’ve promised. I don’t know how long it’d take, but I’d inevitably break Cara eventually; my harsh edges and broken psyche too much for anyone to bear. So for this moment, I allow myself to merely exist here with her, in a state of unbridled happiness, where I get to believe that I’m the root cause of her joy.
I like this feeling.
Taking a step towards her, I spin two fingers in the air, motioning for her to turn around. A breath hitches in her throat, a rosy flush accompanying the warmth in her eyes. The enthusiasm illuminating her face dies away into a full-on sulking pout when I hold up the plasters and ointment from my pocket that I had taken from her bathroom cabinet.
“Spoilsport,” she counters but does as I’ve asked, shuffling around and wiggling her arse in the air. I clear my throat and silently beg my cock to calm the fuck down as it rages on all cylinders like a heat-seeking missile, direct coordinates leading home, right between Cara’s thighs.
“I look after what’s mine, Cara. Now lean forward, or I might just have to take a more forceful step to get you to do as I say.” My palm twitches around the ointment tube, aching to connect with her skin again, the other hand running through my mussed hair.
“I’ve got one perfectly good arse cheek, big boy, that isn’t nearly red enough; show me what you’ve got,” she taunts with a cheeky grin, looking over her shoulder at me. I fumble with thelid, and Cara turns to face me, crawling to me seductively, every stunning inch of her bare body begging to be tasted as the soapy bathwater still clings to her flesh.
Done with the games, she squeals as I lift her up and throw her over my shoulder, swatting her good arse cheek when she wiggles as I put the tube lid between my teeth and yank it off, applying the cream to my name carved into her skin that I’m hoping scars nicely. With the bandage plaster applied, I throw her back down on the bed, watching her with a longing smile as she rolls in her blankets giggling.
“It seems that manhandling you is the only way to get shit done around here, Red.”
“You’ll hear no complaints from me; I’m a big advocate for your powers of persuasion.”
“As I said: tease.” I make my way back to the bathroom to pull the plug on the bath and turn off the lights.
A sense of disbelief lingers at the normalcy of this moment as it hits me square in the chest. I watch her throw on an oversized t-shirt and scramble under her covers to get comfortable, leaving a space wide enough to fit me when she snuggles into the pillows on the far side.
“Is that?” I ask, brows furrowed as I see a flash of the Blackwood Asylum logo printed on the back of the t-shirt.My t-shirt.
“It’s amazing all the hidey-holes hidden away in this place. Would you believe there is a secret room just behind that mirror?” She beams with faux shock etched into her features. Gesturing towards the two-way mirror that I’ve watched her through for the past two months. Biting down on her lip to suppress a smirk.
I don’t say anything, I just smile right back at her. Sneaky Cara is a force to be reckoned with. She lays her head onher pillow, pulling up the fabric around the collar to her nose, inhaling my scent as though it offers her comfort.
I never let myself believe that I could one day feel this way.
To truly understand what I've been missing. To have for the moment, at least, someone like her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CARA
Rising onto my knees, I hold out my hand, coaxing Ezra closer.
Shuffling forward, his big hand enveloping mine, I tug him to climb onto the bed, but he plants his feet. He tries to wiggle his fingers free as he takes a step back, but I refuse to sever the connection and grip a little tighter onto his hand. I can see the fear twisting his features as his brows pinch. He doesn’t want to deny me, the visible ache of walking away from me is evident in his dipped gaze.
I’ve realised it’s in the softer moments between the two of us where Ezra’s unease surfaces. The endorphins, the adrenaline, the lust—when we’re locked in moments where those are the prevailing emotions, he can hide away thoughts of his feelings.
Here, at this moment, there’s nowhere for him to hide. I see his vulnerability as he struggles with what to do. I’d read Ezra’s file, or at least what Raven had found of it. Ezra doesn’t remember what he did that night. I think he’s scared he will black out and lose control with me. I gently tug his hand again.
“I can’t.”
“You can. You won’t hurt me.”
He glances down at the bloody tissues on the nightstand from his clean-up of my wound, and I reach up to tug his chin front and centre, imploring him to look at me.
“No more than I can handle. No more than I’ve begged for.”
