His body wasn’t without flaws, though. There were scars. Seeing them made my mind go blurry, so I blocked them out—all save one. That ugly red one on his right thigh was too new, too fresh.
And I’d put it there.
Guilt crept through me and I shoved it aside, unwilling to dwell on it right now.
He was so much better to dwell on.
“Men like you shouldn’t be allowed to exist,” I said.
“I’m aware.” He held out a scrunchy. It was mine. I recognized the pattern.
Snatching it from his hand, I made a face at him. “Arrogance isn’t sexy.”
“Was I being arrogant?”
Scooping my hair up with practiced motions, I held his green eyes. “You’re too fucking pretty, you’re hung like a horse, and your body looks like something a master sculptor created in a fever dream. Men like you exist to make others feel inferior while giving visual orgasms to women. It’s not fair to the human race, therefore you shouldn’t be allowed to exist. And your comment? I’m aware. Yes, you’re being arrogant.”
His lids drooped, his gaze on my hands as I finished tucking up my hair. But he finally met my gaze again. “I’m glad you like my body. I’m strong because it serves me to be strong, considering the life I’ve chosen to lead. My body is a weapon. Like all weapons, it performs best when kept in prime condition. As to my cock...” He shrugged. “That’s genetics. I think I’ve more to be arrogant about when it comes to how I made you scream when I went down on you. I don’t give a shit if I make anybody feel inferior or if I give...how did you put it...” His lips quirked. “Visual orgasms. Although perhaps it’s an interesting idea, watching you come, I’d much rather be more...directly involved, Tia.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it. After a few more seconds, I finally said, “I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met who is blunter than I am. Okay, if you being a walking orgasm and the unfairness to all other men isn’t a reason against your existence, what were you talking about?”
“I’m a monster, Tia,” he said, his eyes going cold and remote again. “Why don’t you shower?”
He turned to go. I grabbed his arm. “With you.”
He wanted to refuse. I saw it in his eyes.
But there was something else, something I’d realized was lurking behind that cold, icy remoteness.
He was lonely.
Stop it with your Stockholm/Casper fixation, Logical Tia said.
Usually, Logical Tia won arguments like this. Instinct wasn’t as reliable as things that could be proven with simple fact, after all. But what facts backed up his claims of being a monster?
A monster would have taken the job and killed me. Or left me alone so somebody else could do the job. His methods were...odd, but I wasn’t sure I could see the monster he thought I should see.
“With you,” I said again, walking backward and drawing him along with me.
And he let me.
The shower was a thing of pure luxury, multiple jets from multiple angles. There was a larger one overhead, but he made a few adjustments and it turned off completely, allowing me to keep my hair out of the water. Yet another small kindness that so many would overlook. Sleek dispensers in the wall held soap and I sagged against the wall as he worked a thick lather over my body. When he would have done the job for himself, I pushed his hands aside and washed him, then before he could rinse off, I slid my hand down between us and wrapped it around his penis. He was hard, had been since he’d started slicking the soap over me. Pivoting us around, I nudged him toward the wall until he was leaning against it, then I began to pump.
“I’ve never had a man come on me before until you did. I think I liked it.”
His lashes dropped until I could see only a sliver of green.
“I want to make you do it again.”
His arms hung loose at his sides, but now his hands curled into fists. “Keep it up and that’s what will happen.”
His cock jerked in my hand, as if to add emphasis and I smiled, rather delighted with the way he reacted to me.
A shudder racked him from head to toe as I passed my thumb over the head of his cock, then stroked him again, keeping the pace slow. He slid his hand down and gripped his balls, tugging. My mouth went dry and my pussy, still swollen and slightly sore from earlier, pulsed in hunger. “Why did you do that?”
“It feels good.”
I met his slitted gaze. “Then let me do it.”
“I’m not stopping you.” His hand fell away and I covered his sac with my hand, squeezing as I’d seen him do.
“Like this?”
“Harder.” He covered my hand with his, squeezing down in instruction. “Pump me harder, Tia. Squeeze my dick.”
I did, my knees going weak as raw hunger thickened his voice.
He shoved off the wall, but before I could protest, he had me pinned in the corner, my hand between us, still gripping his cock and he began to thrust into it, fucking my fist.
“Tighter...fuck, yes. Like that.” He muttered the words against my lips before kissing me, his tongue demanding entrance, stabbing into my mouth in echo of the way he thrust his penis into my hand.
It was erotic and edgy and every bit as intense as what we’d shared in the bed, even if I wasn’t on the receiving end. My clit pulsed and I echoed his movements with my own hips, hungry for him, but hungrier to make him come. He shoved back abruptly and grabbed my shoulder. “Look...watch. See what you do to me.”
I looked down, breath stuttering out as he ejaculated, heavy white jets of come ribboning out onto my belly, breasts and hands. We weren’t in the criss-crossing sprays of water so the semen slid slowly down my body.
“Fuck, Tia...” The words came in a low growl and he dragged me against him. “Give me your mouth.”
I whimpered as he kissed me, a drugging kiss that left me feeling as if he were trying to reach the very core of my soul. When he broke away, I tried to pull him back but he had started on a path downward, kissing the slope of my neck, down to my collarbone, then lower, lower. He kissed his way through the lingering trail of come on my belly and kept going, kneeling in front of me as he grabbed my left knee and pushed it up, opening me.
“Casper...” I gasped as he slid his tongue around the swollen bud of my clit. His teeth scraped across it and it was like being lashed with velvet lightning.
Then he tugged my clitoris into his mouth and began to suck.
The strength drained out of me and he caught my other leg, bringing it up. He draped my thighs over his shoulders as he knelt there on the marble floor of the shower, feasting on my pussy. Liquid heat flowed from me and he lapped it up, groaning in appreciation. He slid his fingers over the sensitive patch of skin separating my pussy from my ass and I jerked, startled at the touch.
He did it again, then again, stroking the wetness from backward and I tensed, wondering if he was going to—
He pressed against my anus, gently.
I squeaked in surprise.
He lifted his head and stared up at me over the length of my body. “Do you want me to stop?”
“I...” Swallowing, I considered, then said honestly, “I don’t know.”
His eyes held mine as he pressed more firmly. My body took over and I pressed down, yielding to him. Aided by gravity and the lubrication from my own pussy, I sank down, taking just the tip of his thumb. I shuddered.
“Now do I stop?” he murmured, leaning in to flick his tongue over my clit.
“Nuh...nuh...no. Please don’t.”
He licked and sucked at my clit, stabbed his tongue into my pussy, and slowly penetrated my ass with his thumb, again and again until I was the one rocking against his hand and seeking more.
The climax was quick and rough, my brain snapping another one of those mental portraits, him kneeling in front of me, supporting all my weight while I practically rode his face and shoved my pussy against his mouth and he penetrated my ass with his thumb. I’d get wet later on just thinking abou
t it.
“YOU’RE NEVER STICKING your cock in my butt,” I told him after we washed a second time. “You’re too big.”
“You might not be able to take all of me, no. But the muscles stretch and if done right, there’s pleasure in it. But you’d have to want it, to trust me and be willing to learn. If not, it would only bring you pain.” A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, although his eyes had gone remote again on me. “If it causes you undue pain and little to no pleasure, it holds no appeal for me.”
He turned off the water and grabbed a towel from just outside the shower, wrapping it around me.
It was heated and I shivered at the small luxury, then all but melted as he began to rub me dry, even kneeling in front of me to stroke the towel over my lower legs.
Monster, my ass.
He wrapped the towel around me then stepped out, holding the door for me. I glanced over and saw the towel bar and the small light on the end, glowing red. There wasn’t a second towel. Heat still clung to the one around me and I went to offer it but he’d grabbed a folded one from a bamboo table a few feet away, drying off with a few cursory motions. There were about a hundred things I wanted to say to him, but I didn’t even know where to start.
“I...um...I’m going to get dressed,” I said, averting my face.
“Wait in here a minute.” He left and I breathed out a sigh, both grateful and resentful as he walked out. I needed to get my head on straight. I was also developing an insane fixation—Stockholm Syndrome, Logical Tia insisted—that demanded I be around him so I could figure him out.
He was back within a few minutes, carrying a large tote bag. He angled his head in a follow-me gesture and I padded out of the bathroom, clutching the towel at my breasts. He put the bag on the bed. It gave under the weight.
“What’s in there? A baby elephant?”
“I didn’t see one in your house so I didn’t think you needed one,” he responded in that cool, neutral voice that revealed so very little.
I didn’t need to puzzle out his words, either, because he had the bag unzipped and stepped aside so I could look.
“My stuff,” I said, looking inside to find the compartmentalized interior full of rigidly organized piles of my belongings—who could organize a tote bag like this? There were five pairs of shoes in one compartment, the plastic caddy that held my hair stuff in another, and the spare satin scarf I used when I washed my favorite one, along with the toiletry kit from my bathroom closet. The last two compartments held art supplies.
“Your suitcase for fall is over there.”
I looked up and saw the carry-on that depicted an autumn scene sitting by the door.
Before I could say anything, he turned and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, face washed and moisturized, my hair dealt with, I was dressed in a bright-red tunic and my favorite pair of leggings—black and emblazoned with miniature Mjölnirs. I found him in the kitchen, with Valkyrie standing guard at the door.
She pricked her ears at the sight of me and came ambling over. I knelt in front of her, studying Casper from under my lashes while talking to my dog in a low voice.
She watched, listening to every word.
I was convinced she understood each one. Leaning in closer, I murmured to her, “I’m glad you’re here. This whole thing is driving me crazy, girl.”
She deigned to lick my wrist as I pulled away and padded along at my side as I went into the kitchen area. The main part of the cabin was open, the living, dining and kitchen areas flowing into one with no walls to obstruct the view. There were windows everywhere, offering a panoramic vista all around.
A large set of double doors opened out into the back, showing a deck with a firepit.
A ladder went up one wall at a slight angle to a lofted platform that went around the entire room, a mezzanine-like effect. A doorway on one wall led to the bedroom and bath, which were located above the garage. There were windows on that level, too, identical to the ones below on the ground floor.
It was an unusual design, as open as the man who lived here was contained.
As curious as I was to explore, the man in the kitchen held too much of my attention to let me. He’d shaved his scalp bare again and he wore lethal, deadly black. Facing away from me, he stood at the stove, but I knew he was aware of my presence.
Something about the set of his shoulders made me tense and the unsettled feeling got worse when I saw several black cases spread out on the coffee table.
“I’ve got breakfast,” he said.
He was back to his I’m-Spectre-the-Assassin-and-you-will-do-as-I-say voice.
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I looked over at the plate next to where he stood at the counter. “Thank you.”
I grabbed it and the glass of juice next to it, then went over to the table to eat, my mind whirling.
“Tommy sent two of his men to your house looking for you.”
I jerked at his words.
He slid into the seat across the table from me and stared at me, his gaze compelling me not to look away.
“I guess it was a good thing I wasn’t there.” Picking up the juice, I took a sip. My throat had gone dry and I wanted to guzzle it, but decided that would be a bad idea. Putting it down, I scooped up a small bit of scrambled egg and took a bite, chewing mechanically, not really tasting it. “Is this where I say thank you?”
“I’m not looking for your thanks, Tia.”
Tucking my hands into my lap, I stared at him. It was hard again. I hadn’t thought about it, but for a while there, it hadn’t been so hard to meet his gaze. It was now.
“There’s something you want to tell me. Get it over with.”
“Eat first.”
I started to argue, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
I was stubborn, but I had learned long ago, after a lifetime with my mother, that it was important to pick your battles. I needed to eat. I needed to drink something. I didn’t do my best when I was running low on energy anyway.
Five minutes later, I’d eaten a little more than half of the food on my plate, but ignored all the pile of bacon. Normally, I loved bacon, but the eggs and toast were all my nervous belly could handle right now.
“You don’t like bacon,” he said as I carried the plate to the sink.
“I love bacon. I’m just not in the mood for it.”
He said nothing to that, only extended his phone with an implacable look on his face.
I sighed and took the phone, half-expecting him to remind me of the no-details rule, but he only said, “Keep it short. You’re safe and you’ll be home soon.”
“Mac won’t like the lack of a firm date,” I hedged.
He cocked his head. “Within ten days. Probably less.”
“Ten...” I blinked and shook my head. I’d asked. The tension creeping into the air was weirding me out and I suddenly wanted to be alone in one of the rooms here in this big cabin, or maybe up on that mezzanine-like platform, alone with my sketchbook and charcoals, losing myself in broad strokes and shadows. “Okay.”
“One more thing.”
I glanced at him.
His jaw was tight, a muscle pulsing in his cheek. “You have a friend, Bianca.”
“I...what?” My hand was suddenly slick with sweat and I tightened my grip on the phone.
“She went to your house to look for you while Tommy’s men were still there.”
I lunged for him, swinging out.
He could have dodged the blow. Mac had taught me how to punch, but that wouldn’t mean much to somebody who’d bluntly said that his body was a weapon. He didn’t dodge, taking the hit on his chin and rocking back slightly before grasping my arms. “She’s alive, Tia.”
“I’m going to kill you!” I shouted, his words falling on deaf years.
Next to me, Valkyrie started to growl and I knew she was confused but I didn’t care.
I wrenched against his hold, trying to t
wist away so I could hit him, hurt him. Bianca...
He moved and we were pinned against the wall, me pressed up against it with my back tucked to his front, while one steely arm pinned mine in place. I bellowed at him and he covered my mouth with his hand.
I bit. He didn’t even show a reaction.
“She’s alive, Tia,” he said. “I had a contact of mine watching the house. The men were watching the house, waiting for you. Your brother was there, too. Police had already been called and your house is a crime scene. It was processed and your brother was the only one there when she showed up. She must have heard something because my contact told me Bianca looked panicked. She tore the crime scene tape off the door and was in the middle of unlocking it when your brother stopped her. He’d been in his car, watching the house from the street. Tommy’s men had been hiding in the woods where the road ends in a cul-de-sac. They came out to rush your brother and friend and my contact took two of them out. Your brother saw what was going on right before the first of the group, the only one still alive, reached them. He drew his weapon and ordered the man to stand down, but the man pulled his weapon and your brother shot him in the shoulder.”
At some point, I’d started to listen. “If Mac was shooting, he must have planned to hit him in the shoulder, then. Mac doesn’t miss.”
“Mac would have wanted them alive for answers so you’re likely right. Bianca is safe.”
I shuddered and pressed my head against the wall.
“She’s never even met Mac,” I whispered. “I’m selfish. She’s the only friend I’ve ever had and I don’t like sharing her at all. I don’t like sharing my brother, either. Now both of them are scared and worrying about me and Bianca could have been killed because of me.”
He shifted behind me and the brutal strength of his grip eased, his hand sliding to stroke my arm for the briefest moment. “Not because of you. Not because of your brother. This is all on Tommy.”
He stepped away.
I sagged at the abrupt loss of support and realized how weak my legs had gone. “They would have killed her.”
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