Page 15 of Safe Word

And I still wanted to. Right now.

Shame unfurled inside me at the notion that I’d contemplated following her last night. Just to see if I could get her to kneel.

My hand twitched at the thought.

I was fucking breaking.

I knew it.

But the worst part? I didn’t care.

The second the door closed behind her, I had torn off the mask and let myself unravel. The pressure had been unbearable, my body screaming for release. I gave in, my mind full of her: the curve of her lips, the soft tremor in her voice when she picked the knife out of everything else I’d laid out. She’d looked at me as if she’d wanted to be the one to undo me, to take me apart piece by piece only to reassemble me again.

I growled low in my throat as I shoved at the desk, the chair rolling me back with a screech. My fists clenched at my sides as I stared back at the page – blank and smug as if it knew I had nothing to offer because my mind was elsewhere.

The night with her couldn’t come soon enough. But until then, I had to find a way to survive the ache she’d left behind.

Because Scarlett wasn’t just another session. She was different. Possibly as broken as I was. I could tell. There were moments – tiny fractures in her control – that gave her away. The sharp intake of breath when the blade grazed her collarbone. The way her eyes darted to the door just a little too often, as if a part of her wasn’t sure she should be there.

I’d seen the panic, though brief and quickly buried, but it was there. And I would have pushed anyway. Because a part of me had wanted to see what would’ve happened if she shattered.

It happened too fast; it felt too natural – the fact that she became my undoing so quickly. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to be put back together.

A sharp knock on the door snapped me out of it. I looked up just as Vinnie strode in, his ever-present, self-satisfied grin firmly in place. As usual, he wore a shirt one size too small, the fabric straining over his broad chest and bunched-up muscles. Just watching him made me wince. How in all hell could anyone tolerate being restrained like that? It was the end of spring, and the creeping warmth of the season had already started to seep into every corner of the city. Surely, wearing something so confining was a special kind of masochism.

‘I’ve got two outside,’ he said, leaning casually against the doorframe as if delivering good news.

I blinked. Twice, my mind struggling to catch up.

His grin faltered for a split second before his expression melted into mild shock.

‘Do not fucking tell me you forgot,’ he growled, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was the one suffering here. ‘The assistant writer interviews? Today?’

Oh, that.

Damn it.

I had completely forgotten about it. My mind was still stuck on Scarlett. I’d dreamt of her last night – except in the dream she wasn’t sitting on that chair. She was running. And I was following. Hunting. Fucking her into the ground like an animal.

I had awoken hard, drenched in sweat, pulse hammering like I’d chased prey across a battlefield.

Well, hypothetically, I had.

The haze of Ghost, Scarlett, and every other thought that consumed me had left no room for trivial things like interviews.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up a hand, cutting me off.

‘Just don’t fucking say it,’ he snapped, his tone somewhere between exasperation and resignation. ‘You’ve got three deadlines, Cain.’ He raised a hand in a pleading gesture – the kind that said, please don’t fuck this up for both of us. ‘And four emails from the publisher.’

I got it. I really did. Vinnie and I had invested a lot into this office space, this business. It wasn’t just my books paying the bills any more. We were selling – the books, the merchandise that went with them – and selling well, thanks to his relentless marketing efforts. I might have been the writer, but I wasn’t naïve enough to think my words alone were responsible for our success. Vinnie was a damned good manager. And maybe that was why I let him get away with saying things I would normally punch someone for.

‘Fuck,’ I grumbled, leaning back in my chair. ‘Yes. Let’s do this.’

FOUR

I watched as my friend’s shoulders relaxed slightly. He ran a hand through his dark blond hair and took in a deep breath.

‘Good. It’s only temporary, okay?’ he exhaled, as if he had just talked a toddler out of a tantrum. ‘Just until you’re back to yourself.’