“I could give you a massage, you know.”
She rolled onto her side, propped herself up on an elbow, and flexed her fingers like she was about to cast a spell.
“I’m pretty good with my hands.”
“No, thank you,” I repeated, more firmly.
“Oh, come on, dude,” she giggled. “You’re tense from all this Alina stuff. Let me help you regroup. Take a load off. Find your inner bliss.”
Her eyelids drooped as she stared at me, the last of the smoke curling from her lips like lazy incantations.
“What would it entail?” I asked, more curious than cautious.
“You, shirtless. I have hands everywhere. Loosening you up. Doesn’t that sound amazing?” Her voice floated somewhere between seduction and stupor.
It had been a long time since I had sex. And Scarlett was attractive. Soft in all the places I remembered warmth could live.
“Fine,” I said at last. “But not in here.”
She grinned, snagged the joint again, and pushed herself upright in a cloud of haze. “No problem. I just changed the sheets.”
She extended her hand and led me to the bedroom.
Scarlett’s room was simple, almost bare—just a double bed, a scratched-up dresser, and a narrow bookshelf lined with dog-eared novels, an old dictionary, and mismatched trinkets. A faded quilt covered the bed, patterned with swirling flowers that had long lost their vibrancy.
“Take off your shirt and lie down,” she said, tugging her long-sleeved tee over her head.
My breath caught.
A snake tattoo curled up her arm, its ink vivid against her pale skin. My gaze traveled from the coiled serpent to the rest of her—every inch covered in ink, like pages of a story only she could tell. But it was her breasts that made my mouth go dry—round, heavy, and bare, swaying with each subtle movement like ripe temptation.
Desire stirred deep inside me as I removed my linen shirt, letting it fall to the floor. I stood before her, muscles taut, every inch of me humming with restrained power. I watched her eyes move over me. Her tongue flicked across her bottom lip as if tasting a thought she couldn’t say aloud.
She climbed onto the bed and patted the mattress with a smirk. “Right here, big boy. On your stomach.”
I crawled across the bed in measured movements, like a predator surrendering to a trap he secretly wanted to fall into. I stretched out on my stomach, then propped myself on my elbows and cast her a look over my shoulder.
Scarlett straddled my hips and grabbed a small amber bottle from the nightstand. She poured a slick stream of oil into her palms, rubbing them together until the scent of lavender and spice filled the room—soothing, sinful, intoxicating.
Her voice dropped into a smoky whisper. “Relax, baby. I don’t bite.
A low, wicked laugh curled from her lips as I melted into the mattress beneath her.
Her hands glided over my back—firm and knowing. She worked her fingers into the knots of my muscles like she owned me, like she was carving her name into my body with every touch.
“Fuck,” she breathed as her hands roamed lower. “You’re built like a god, Balthazar. All that strength... I can’t stop imagining what it feels like when you fuck someone. I bet it’s raw. Deep. Like you ruin whoever you touch.”
My cock twitched at the words, thick with want.
I stayed silent, letting her continue and tease herself with the tension. Her hips subtly rocked against me. She was practically trembling from anticipation.
I tilted my head, voice dark and rough. “Then stop imagining.”
I paused long enough for her breath to hitch.
“Let me show you how it feels when I fuck you.”
I awoke sometime later, naked and disoriented, surprised to find Scarlett curled beside me, also bare, her skin warm against mine. What shocked me more was the stillness in my chest. No urge to kill her. No hunger for her soul. Just… silence. She looked peaceful in sleep, almost heartbreakingly beautiful.
