Page 39 of Enemy of the State

Once she’s marginally recovered, I shove her back to the brink of rapture once more.

“Again,” I order, forcing her to endure the continual bliss that will eventually turn only to pain. Alternating between pinching and stroking her clit languidly, she comes again, just as I’ve instructed, crying out as a river of colorful curses flows from her mouth.

Only a few heartbeats later, I play with her breasts again, and where my touch was firm earlier, I ensure that it’s agonizingly soft this time—too soft. Between her legs, I’m now fucking her with two fingers and brushing over her clit just often enough to keep her from free falling from that precipice. A smile blooms behindmy mask when her body bucks as I remove my hand from her wet cunt, slipping between her cheeks, and prodding her back entrance. She tenses, attempting to wriggle away, and I wonder if she’s ever had something—someone—back here before.

“Relax or you’ll hurt yourself.”

“You’d like that,” she snaps through heavy, panted breaths, and I snigger.

“I would, but you wouldn’t.”

She must realize that I’m right as shetriesto relax a fraction, but the adrenaline pumping through her is probably making that difficult. Abandoning her breasts, I swirl my fingers around her clit, pushing one all the way into her ass, slowly thrusting in and out. Shoving two fingers back into her pussy, I match the tempos as I wage war on her body.

Husky, grating screams erupt as I scrape against the overly sensitive balls of nerves both inside and out of her. She unspools like a ball of yarn, thrashing against the table so hard that when her head comes up and slams back down, she goes limp.

No, no. Shit, no.

Panic seizes me, and I tear the cloth from her eyes, tapping her cheek, begging her to wake up, but she doesn’t.

She doesn’t so much as stir.

What have I done?

Louhi

When my eyes flutter open, I’m met with a bright white tiled ceiling. I study more of my surroundings without moving my head, realizing I’m in the infirmary.

Fuck, shit, no.

Panic seizes my chest, and my breaths become shallow and ragged as I consider my limited options to flee. A scream is snaking up my throat when a hand slams over my mouth, muffling any sound I might make. I’m about to bite that hand when Digs’s masked face comes into view, his gaze gentle as he stares down at me.

“Shh, you’re okay. You’re safe, Lou.” His deep, husky voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it before.

I’m safe with him.Digs might want to hurt me, but he won’t crack me open.

He repeats those words a few times until my respirations begin to even out and he slowly removes his hand from my mouth. It’s then that I realize I’m not on the metal table I was strapped to the last time I was in here. I’m on an actual cot with a real cushion and a pillow. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still not my perfect pillow or my fluffy bed in Boston, but it’s the closest I’ve been to comfortable since I got here.

Digs moves to sit on a chair next to my bed, but he’s closeenough now that I can see him in my periphery. I tilt my head down when I notice the black uniform back on my body and a blanket covering my legs and stomach.

My voice is hoarse as I rasp, “What happened?”

He leans forward and slides a hand onto my upper arm, brushing his thumb over the delicate skin of my inner bicep.

Why the bloody hell is he touching me like that?

I want to snap at him and tell him to remove his hands from my person, but nothing comes out when I open my mouth to gripe.

“You hit your head so hard on that table that you gave yourself a concussion. You blacked out.”

With a groan, I start to reach up and touch the back of my head, but handcuffs bite into my wrist, making me grind my teeth in irritation.Of course, he kept me cuffed.

I roll my head toward Digs and wince. My movements are sluggish and drowsiness edges in, but I push past that and clear my throat before asking, “How did we get here?”

He shifts in his seat, his eyes darting around, and he appears uncomfortable. After a beat, he answers, “I cleaned you up as best I could and redressed you before hauling ass down here.” He coughs awkwardly before asking, “Are you okay?”

My eyebrows nearly hit my hairline, ignoring the throb that beats against the inside of my skull like a hammer.Is heworriedabout me?Does he feel guilty for sending me to Heaven—or Hell—and back?Why does he care?

I have an intimate relationship with a darkness that matches his, and I’ve never once felt remorse for that. I live in the dark, relishing the inky blackness that surrounds me, leaning into its shadowy embrace as if it were a lover. The more I’m around Digs, the more I wonder if he can say the same about the darkness living inside him.

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