by Bella J.
When she gently took his earlobe between her teeth, he groaned, flexing against her in search of some relief. She moaned softly into his ear. “Taste me, Ace. You know you want to.”
Yes, he fucking wanted to. What man in his right mind would not want to taste a woman like her? But he knew the situation they were currently in was already complicated enough without them fucking each other senseless.
With an immense amount of difficulty and one raging hard-on, he pushed himself away from her, needing distance between them before he did something really, really stupid.
“Let’s…I think we should get some rest.”
Scarlet pushed herself off the wall. “Aah, I was just starting to have fun.” She placed both her hands on her breasts and squeezed.
Good God, was this woman for real? He already had trouble controlling himself without her doing shit like that. To what? To torture his dick? Well, it was fucking working.
He placed his fist in front of his mouth before pointing a finger at her, wanting to tell her to just stop this shitty game of hers. But then he shut his mouth, afraid that the words, “Turn around, bend over, hold on, and take what I give you, bitch,” might come out.
He turned away from her, his mind right in the middle of a raging war with his dick. His cock desperately wanted inside that woman, while his head was listing every reason for him to keep it in his pants.
He roughed his hand through his hair, frustration ticking away in his muscles. “After we get some rest, we’re having this discussion—you and I.”
“Sorry, Ace, but I’m not planning on sticking around much longer.” Scarlet brushed past him, but he grabbed her wrist.
“Like hell you aren’t.”
She looked down at where he held her, and back up at him. “Unfortunately for you, you’re not feeding me, financing me, or fucking me. So you don’t have a say when it comes to what I do and what I don’t do.”
Hunter didn’t know if he wanted to bend her over and spank her ass in preparation for some epic fuckery, or if he just wanted to give her one hell of a spanking because she fucking deserved it and because she frustrated the crap out of him.
Tightening his hold around her wrist, he pulled her closer. “You are staying here until we have our talk. But right now, I’m not sure I can handle more of you without breaking or punching something. So I suggest we get some rest, calm the fuck down, and then talk. You got it?”
With narrowed eyes she glared at him, probably thinking about the hundred and one ways she could stab him through the eye. But he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting answers, and she was going to fucking give them to him…in the morning.
“Fine.” She conceded, tugging her wrist out of his hold before walking off. “But I’m taking the bed.” And then she plopped herself down on his bed, wiggling her ass comfortably into the mattress.
Hunter walked over and stared down at her. “Yeah…I don’t think so.” With a quick swoop he lifted her off the bed and into his arms. As he turned around, she slapped him against the shoulder.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Put me down, you fucking caveman.”
“Okay.” And then he dropped her roughly on the couch. She winced from what he could only assume was the pain she was still feeling in her side. Too bad. If she wanted to act like a spoiled brat, he would treat her as such.
“Rule number three,” he started. “No one sleeps in my bed unless I’ve been inside that person, multiple times. And, unfortunately for you, I’m not planning on being inside you any time soon—or ever.”
The flabbergasted look on her face was fucking priceless. If he had one wish, it would be to take a damn Polaroid.
“Yeah, well,” she roughed up the couch, trying to make herself comfortable, “it didn’t seem that way when you had me pinned against the wall just a few minutes ago.”
Hunter walked over to the bedside table and opened the drawer, grabbing what he was looking for before making his way back to her. Scarlet punched the pillows.
“One would think that since you live in such a huge-ass apartment, you could afford some decent scatter cushions or something.”
Without hesitating, Hunter grabbed her wrist and locked the handcuff around it before securing the second cuff to the rail stretching down the back of the couch. He knew that damn rail would come in handy someday.
“Hunter, what in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” She tugged hard at the cuffs.
“Making sure that your ass stays right here.”
Scarlet kept on pulling, and for a second Hunter thought he saw the tiniest glimmer of panic in her eyes as she stared at her cuffed hand.
“Please, Hunter. Take it off. Take off the cuffs. I swear to God I won’t go anywhere.” Blue eyes stared at him—no, they stared right through him, and all he could see was her face. Her eyes. How was it possible that he had been able to suppress most of the pain for years, and then a stranger, who was nothing but a thorn in his fucking side, walked into his life and his pain seemed like it had intensified threefold whenever he looked at her?
“Hunter, I swear. I won’t leave until we’ve talked. Just don’t cuff me.”
He narrowed his eyes. Even though he was pretty sure she wasn’t faking her little look of panic, he was also sure that at this moment she couldn’t be trusted. She was scared, vulnerable, and her natural fight or flight mode was currently in overdrive. He couldn’t.
“Get some rest, Scarlet.”
“I don’t get why you feel the need to handcuff me to your fucking couch. You can trust me. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go anyway.”
“You’re right, you don’t. But don’t think for a second that I trust you, Scarlet Woods.” He leaned down, his lips once again mere inches from hers, the need to kiss her back with a damn vengeance. “Or should I say, Blanchette Wolfe?”
Chapter 10
Blanchette Wolfe.
A name Scarlet wanted to erase from her mind, her memory, her life. Nothing associated with that name was anything she wanted to think about or remember. All that name did was remind her of how her life changed within the blink of an eye, how everything got ripped away from her by one act that left her alone and broken.
The minute she decided to run, Blanchette Wolfe no longer existed. Blanchette died along with a very big part of her soul. She lost more than her identity that day. She lost her spirit and everything good a person was supposed to feel in life. There was nothing left of the girl she once was, now she was stuck with an empty shell and a heart that no longer had the capacity to love.
But alas, here she was in the apartment of a guy she didn’t know, handcuffed to his couch—and not in a kinky way—and the asshole knew her real name. Fuck.
Hearing him call her that name was like a punch to the gut, getting the wind knocked right out of her. It was the first time someone had called her that in a very long time. In fact, the last time she heard that name it came straight out of the devil’s mouth. And now, hearing someone call her that after all these years had her wanting to break down and throw up at the same damn time.
Scarlet glanced at the cuff around her wrist, thinking about how close she came to vomiting all over Hunter’s expensive tiled floor when she felt it lock around her arm.
Two things. There were two things that scared the shit out of her—being trapped in confined areas, and being restrained, leaving her defenseless and helpless. Just thinking about being unable to run, incapable of defending herself had her insides twisted, as if barbed wire was being tightened around her stomach.
At least he didn’t cuff both her hands, which made it bearable—just.
Man, her arm was starting to ache. How the hell did this asshole expect her to get any sleep cuffed to his damn couch?
Scarlet scooted up a little and placed her hand on her forehead. Her head was pounding, her ears ringing, sure signs that a migraine was about to crack open her skull.
A soft beep sounded and she glanced ove
r to the bed where Hunter sat up and answered his phone.
“Yeah? Now? Sure, whatever. I’ll be there in twenty.”
Hunter tossed his phone next to him and pulled both hands through his disheveled hair.
Who would be phoning him at this hour? And who would he be meeting at this time? Probably a skank. A married woman from fuck knew where who just landed in Chicago and needed to be satisfied by a big, controlling gorilla man.
Hunter got out of bed—naked. A big, controlling gorilla man with a top notch ass.
“You live in an expensive apartment. You ride an expensive motorcycle. Yet you can’t afford a decent pair of pajama pants.”
“I happen to think the best pants is no pants.”
Scarlet unashamedly watched as he pulled pants from his closet. It was dark, with only the city lights shining into the apartment. The broad expanse of his back, the ripples of each and every muscle, was magnified with the shadows the light casted directly onto him. She had just enough light to see that almost his entire upper back was covered in a circular-shaped tattoo, but she couldn’t make out what it was. Her gaze lingered longer than it should, admiring the naked man in front of her while biting into her lower lip.
The curve of his back down his spine, and the way his sides narrowed toward his hips brought her attention straight to the firm, round cheeks that had her imagining nails pushed deep into flesh. And those thighs? Good Lord, his one thigh was bigger than both of hers combined. The thought of the amount of power and strength that pulsed through that body ignited an aching need that pooled between her legs.
The moment he pulled a pair of tracksuit pants over his naked ass, she pouted. That was a show she never wanted to end.
She turned away and stared out the window in front of her while trying clench her thighs to alleviate some of the pressure. “You know, it’s considered rude to walk around naked when you have guests.”
Hunter came to stand in front of her and pulled his shirt over his head. “Says the guest currently handcuffed to my couch—in her bra.”
“Not by choice.”
“What, the handcuffed part? Or the being in your bra part?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you pick one?”
For a few seconds he just stood there, staring down at her with his intense green eyes, to a point where she started to feel slightly uncomfortable under his gaze.
“What?” she snapped.
“Nothing. I’ll be back in two hours.”
“Where are you going?”
He stomped off toward the door and grabbed his keys off the side table. “None of your business.”
“Wait. Are you just going to leave me here, handcuffed to your damn couch?”
“Yup.”
“You can’t—”
And then the door slammed shut.
“Asshole!” she yelled, hoping he could hear it. The loud bang against the door told her he did. Fucker.
“Goddammit.” Her head fell back and she stared up at the ceiling.
What the hell did she get herself into this time? Trusting people wasn’t something she did—ever. And no, she didn’t trust this guy either. There was just something telling her that she didn’t have a choice. There was nothing else she could do but to trust him, and pray to God that it didn’t come back to bite her in the ass.
Scarlet sighed and rubbed her hand down her face. That was when she noticed the bottle of Jack still on the coffee table.
By God, the universe was finally throwing her a bone.
Stretching as far as she could, she ignored all the aching in her body. There was only one short term goal she had in mind, and it was a clear one. Get that damn bottle of Jack and drink as much of it as possible, in the shortest amount of time.
Not only was whiskey the answer to keeping away the nightmares and the memories, but it was her only cure to the headache pounding like a bitch through the back of her skull while she waited for Mr. Gorilla-man to return from wherever the fuck he went.
Hell. Maybe that was where he went. To hell so that he could discuss with Lucifer himself new ways in which he could piss her off and make her want to kill him in unimaginable ways. Yes, that was exactly where he went.
The handcuff pressed a groove into her wrist as she desperately pulled and stretched to reach the bottle. With her index finger she managed to slowly, strategically, maneuver the bottle closer. And finally, after about five minutes of pretending she was part of the Fantastic Four, she held the bottle in her hand and silently sang Kumbaya.
Once she opened the bottle, she swallowed a good mouthful. That first taste was always the best, giving the worst sting as it slowly travelled down your throat, settling in your stomach. Funny how alcohol had the power to make one forget, even if just for a few hours. She never understood how some people could judge those who had to depend on alcohol to make them forget their nightmares. Scarlet got it. She understood it. Until a person fell smack bang right in the middle of their own hell, they would never be able to understand how or why some people needed an escape. And that was what alcohol was to some people—an escape, a coping mechanism.
For what seemed like hours, Scarlet sat there on the couch drinking whiskey and just staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows. She had to admit, when she first laid eyes on Hunter, she did not imagine him living in a place like this. In fact, she was one hundred percent sure he would be living in a dump. But no. He was living in one huge-ass, open-plan bachelor pad with what she could only assume was one of the best views of Chicago.
There was a time in her life when she had woken up to a beautiful view just like this one every morning. The only difference, her view was of a beautiful green landscape. An estate with trees and flowers, her own childhood playground. She was young. Her life was simple then. Until one morning everything changed, and that view with all its beauty turned into nothing but gray.
Scarlet—Blanchette—shared a room with her older sister. It wasn’t because there weren’t any other rooms, or because their house was small. In fact, it was quite the opposite. They lived in a huge mansion decorated and fitted with only the best. But they preferred it that way. They wanted to share a room, to be close. They were inseparable.
Scarlet still remembered how she would watch her sister comb and tie her light blonde hair every morning, wishing and hoping that one day she would be just as beautiful. Her sister was a flawless beauty, the fair-skinned, light blue-eyed princess, while Scarlet was what you would call an imperfect beauty. Her lips weren’t so full back then, her eyes not as bright, and her boobs definitely not as big. Her mother used to tell her not to worry, that the time would come when she would bloom into a beauty.
Scarlet looked down at her cleavage.
Oh, she’d bloomed all right. It was just unfortunate that her cousin also noticed how she had bloomed the day of her seventeenth birthday. The same day he came home no longer a Marine, but a monster.
They said he had psychological issues, that when triggered he became unpredictable. And because of that he could no longer serve. It was a shock to everyone in her family. Just like everyone else, Scarlet was so sure that it wasn’t true. Her cousin, Brent, was one of the most stable people she had ever known. Brent was adopted by her uncle when he was seven years old, the same year Scarlet was born. Yet, even though they weren’t related by blood, she loved him. She adored him. He was like a brother to her. So of course no one believed it. Not even her.
Until the day she experienced firsthand just how deep his psychological issues went. The day her life no longer had any color.
Pouring the last bit of whiskey down her throat, Scarlet felt the pain starting to consume her as she allowed her mind to wander in the past. The pain in her ribs, the pounding ache in her head, nothing compared to the agony of thinking back, remembering what she had been through, what was taken from her.
With every ounce of strength she had, she fought it. She fought the pain, the memories, the flashing images. But it seemed like not
even a half a bottle of whiskey had the power to help her with that.
The sun was starting to rise, the soft yellows and pinks forcing some color into a very clean, very boring, dreary-looking white and gray apartment. Seriously, would a simple red or magenta scatter cushion kill this guy?
All the whiskey Scarlet consumed didn’t really have the desired numbing effect she had hoped for, but she really needed to pee.
She glanced from the bathroom to the cuff around her arm. “Well, shit.”
There was a sound at the door, and Scarlet immediately felt her spine chill. Sure, the apartment wasn’t registered under Hunter’s name, but she had learned by now that no matter what, he would always find her.
Pulling violently at the cuffs, Scarlet fought against the fear that had both her heart and stomach fighting for a way up her throat. Out of instinct, she thought about all the ways she would be able to haul her ass out of that apartment. But the damn handcuff shot all those ideas to shit.
Dammit.
She heard the beep of the door unlocking. Another click and Scarlet was sure her heart was about to explode.
And then Hunter walked through the door, and anger just launched its way through her chest.
“Jesus Christ!” She flung the first thing she could find at Hunter’s head—which just happened to be the empty bottle of whiskey.
Hunter ducked and covered his face from the splattering glass. “What the fuck? Are you insane?”
“You scared the bejesus out of me, you fucking asshole. I thought you were one of them!”
He slammed the door shut. “I already told you it’s impossible for him to trace this place back to me.”
Scarlet pulled her free hand through her hair and tried to catch her breath, her heart still pounding heavily inside her chest. “Yeah, well, let’s just say I know him well enough to know that nothing is impossible for that son of a bitch.” Then she looked over at him. “What the hell is wrong with your face?”