I spin around. I’m expecting it still to be Hayes standing in my kitchen, even though parts of my brain have connectedallthe dots.
My hands fly to cover my mouth in shock and horror.
Because in my kitchen, where Hayes stood, wearing the same clothes, is the masked man wearing the wolf mask from Hedon.
Chapter 28
Army
Leevaswaysonherfeet as she stares at me in shock and horror.
That last emotion cuts me deeply, but I’m not backing down.
Just so she truly understands and knows that the masked man from Hedon and Hayes is one and the same, I shrug off my cut, then pull my black shirt over my head, keeping the mask on.
I had undressed the first night we were together, revealing all my tattoos. Her eyes dart frantically over my chest, shoulders, and arms, like she’s cataloging each tattoo and cross-referencing it with her memories.
I see the moment she’s going to run.
Closing the distance she put between us, I grip her arm before she can to bolt for the door and pull her toward me. Her back presses against my front, and I wrap one arm around her waist, and my other hand comes up to her throat. I don’t squeeze; I just hold her against me and let her mind catch up to what her body remembers. Remembering how good my touch felt, howperfectly she fit and molds with every part of me. How fucking right we are together.
“No,” she gasps, shaking her head.
Leaning down to speak into her ear, the leather of my mask brushes her skin and makes her shiver. I have the voice modulator with the mask and speak to her as I had in the club, “Oh, fucking yes, siren.”
She swallows, pressing her throat into the palm of my hand. “No.”
She’s still trying to deny this and us. And that pisses me off.
The younger version of me would’ve never done this. Back then, I ignored and tried to stamp down all the filthy, sexual thoughts I had of my beautiful best friend. She was pure, and I was not worthy. Truthfully, I thought no one was worthy of her, and that idiotic thought had allowed her to be taken from me.
Leeva is light, and I’m dark. She’s the lotus—the beautiful flower that blooms in the muddy waters. She’s mine and always would be.
And I’m going to prove it to her.
My hand leaves her throat, but I keep my other arm banded around her waist. Slowly, I trail my knuckles along her neck, relishing the smooth, unmarred skin without Guerilla’s tattoo, and then down the opening of her blouse.
She trembles in my arms and goosebumps pepper her skin as she shivers. Her nipples stab the silk of her blouse, and I shift my hand and gently cup one breast.
“What…” Her breathing sounds erratic. “What are you doing?”
I don’t answer; instead, I drag my thumb over one very taut, very needy nipple. And I smile when the sound she makes is a mixed gasp and moan.
“Hayes.” Her voice trembles as much as her body. “Army,” she tries when I don’t respond or stop.
However, she’s not telling me to stop. She’s not using the safe word I had given her at the club.
Slipping my hand inside her blouse, I pop her breast out of her bra and toy with her nipple.
“Please,” she whispers.
“Please what, siren?”
Stop? Do more?
Her beautiful face is tortured, and she squeezes her eyes shut.
“Please what, Leeva?”
