37
COLLINS
What the hell is happening here?
Hayes cages me against the table, the floor littered with debris, and he removes his shirt. One finger traces the lace design of my robe and he nods appreciatively.
“Pretty.”
Then it’s ripped, torn to shreds, thrown to the side. Under is a pale blue nightgown, too short to be considered decent. I gasp, glaring at him. “Hayes!”
“Don’t act innocent now.” He bites my jaw, my ear. “Not after you sucked me off in a janitor’s closet during one of your rounds.”
I rub my legs together. “I’m not acting. It's just?—”
The faces of the men I killed are in my head. Their screams, their pleas, Pops’ terrifying commands.
Hayes grabs my chin, forcing our eyes to meet.
“Stay with me, Collins,” he says softly. “Focus on my words. My touch. Don’t let the memories take you. The only thing that matters is the here and now.”
Hayes knows what I did.He knows what Pops made me do.I bared my soul, offered up the broken black pieces and he lookedat them, gathered them close and took them into his heart as if they belonged. As if I belonged.
I exhale. “Is that what you do?”
He runs his fingers over my shoulder, pulling my straps down. Then he hands me the bottle of liquor. “Beat people to shit, usually.” He winks. “Or lose myself in the woman I love. I suggest focusing on me.”
It burns, but it tastes like warm brown sugar and spice and the sea air. Greedily, I tip my head back, gulping it down and a trickle falls out of my mouth.
He pushes me down, heavy hand on my belly. My exposed pussy flashes in the room and he inhales sharply.
“Close your eyes.”
When I don’t, he rolls his eyes playfully. “Always so damn stubborn.”
He rips my gown down the middle and laughs at my outrage. “Hayes!”
“What?” The innocent look makes me want to slap him and laugh at the same time.
He takes a piece, wrapping it around my eyes. Before he does, he kisses my cheeks. “Trust me.”
“Always.” And I do. I’ve always trusted Hayes, that was never the question. He’s my protector, my safety, always in my corner, a welcoming presence that never let me down.
I open my mouth to tell him—to say those three words that have been floating in my mind, but he interrupts. “Feelings, only, viper. No words.”
Everything goes dark. I hear him unfasten his pants and a warm belt surrounds my wrists, pulling them high.
He gives a firm tug. “Is this okay?”
I nod, breathless. My body is tight, memories disappearing as I imagine Hayes in his glorious naked form and me spread out before him.
“Words, Collins.”
“Yes.”
The sloshing of liquid spills over my chest, and I tense. The harsh scent of oak and spice hits my nose and I gasp. It’s cool to my inflamed flesh and I twist to seek a reprieve.
That’s not happening. Hayes pins me down, his tongue following the path of the booze, lapping up my taste and the scotch together. I moan, loudly, stomach clenching as his teeth rake, firm and begging to break skin. Slowly, my mind unravels—mentally mapping his way down my body.
