Page 39 of Safe Word

So why did my ribs cinch tight as if I were the one still restrained?

My clothes sat wrong on my skin. My throat was dry. My thighs sore in a way that made my stomach twist with both pride and shame.

Had I crossed a line, or just stumbled into territory I wasn’t meant to claim?

His mask flashed in my mind – that moment he had let me push back. It hadn’t been submission – it had been permission. He hadn’t said the safe word. Hadn’t stopped me. Hadn’t even retaliated.

And still, something weighed on my chest – as if I had done something unforgivable.

I’d had boyfriends before, some incredible in bed. But nothing – absolutely nothing – could have prepared me for Ghost. He wasn’t just a lover; he was like an extension of my own body, knowing instinctively how to unlock every pleasure point I never knew I had – and shatter the chains that held me back.

And damn it, I wanted to return the favour. Sure, there was knife play, and I would wager he hadn’t been thrilled about me flipping the script. But when I’d seen him lost in the moment – his guard lowered, his control fractured – something bestial and wicked surged in me. It’d been too delicious not to seize.

Watching him come undone was something out of a fever dream. His muscles strained beneath those thick veins, his breath skipped, and that final growl as he surrendered… it was raw, magnificent. For a second, I forgot about the mask. No man hidden behind one had the right to look so damning and inviting at the same time.

When I released him, I half-expected retribution.

My shoulders tensed, bracing for the strike my body had memorised long before I had met him.

But none came.

His hands lowered when the chains clattered against the boards, as if he could read the panic pulsing beneath my skin, as if he didn’t know what to make of us in that moment. His eyes didn’t stray. And when his palm lifted, it wasn’t to hurt. It was to touch my lips.

A graze. Dangerous in its restraint. As if making sure I really existed.

Surrounded by weapons, chains, and shackles, Ghost offered both punishment and reward. A twisted sort of grace.

I had to leave before the softness could destroy me.

Climbing the stairs to my flat, every step was a reminder of the soreness spreading through me. My body felt heavy with satisfaction, and for once, I didn’t feel the urge to pour a glass of wine, binge-watch romance dramas, or even write. Those were my usual escapes from reality at the end of the day. Writing had always done the trick. It had been my passion – but tonight? Tonight, I just wanted to shower and sleep, replaying Ghost’s touch until the warmth of it lulled me unconscious.

When I slid the key into the lock, the door gave way – already ajar.

My entire body locked down. Every instinct screamed.

The hinges creaked open an inch more.

Too slow. like an inhale before the kill.

A cold flush rippled down my spine and paralysed me on the spot.

I held my breath, feet bolted to the ground. Staring into the dark seam of the doorway, I couldn’t stop the dread pooling like ice water in my chest.

My fingers, numb and useless, fumbled for my purse—

Uncle Alessio’s voice barked in my head, ‘If it’s not locked, you do not go in. You aim first!’

I reached for the gun with shaking hands, pulse thundering loud enough to drown out the silence.

My uncle had understood enough. Maybe not everything, but enough to be afraid for me.

‘Better to have it and never use it than to need it and be too late,’ he’d said, pressing the gun into my hands with a look that almost begged: move in with us, stay safe. Don’t do this alone.

He couldn’t stop me from renting this place.

But he’d made damn sure I wasn’t walking into danger empty-handed.

The gun sat solidly in my grasp, defying the tremor that ran through me as my thoughts scattered. I’d practised at the range, sure – I’m a proud American, after all. But practice targets didn’t look back at you with a set of cold blue eyes.