Page 100 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

"Good night, beautiful," he says.

"Good night. See you for breakfast."

"Wouldn't miss it."

I close the door behind him and lean against the solid wood. My body is still singing.

Chapter 31

SEAN

SHE'S SPINNING AGAIN, AND I'M losing my goddamn mind.

It's Sunday, and this is the third time I'm watching her dance. Friday night, after seeing her perform for the first time, I barely made it back to my apartment before needing to take care of myself. Her taste lingered on my tongue, and her juices stained my jeans as I fumbled with my zipper. I jerked off as soon as I closed the front door.

I had hoped that would be enough release, but my body was hot the rest of the night as I sat at the security hub. I tried to get my mind off how much I craved Londyn, so I scrubbed through footage from the external feeds. I searched for any sign that the Navy Caps popped up while I'd been in Londyn's apartment. Still nothing. I checked for updates from my contacts. Nothing. AndI re-confirmed Miller was out of the country, thanks to celebrity gossip websites.

I'm doing my job. Despite how crazy I am for Londyn, my mind continues to work in the background, chewing on thoughts.

If Miller's Malibu property was raided two years ago, he could still have heat from the Feds. Maybe he's losing his ability to cover his crimes and he sent the Navy Caps after Londyn to tie up loose ends. But the fact that they haven't made a move bothers me. In my experience, if you need to dispose of someone, you do it quickly. You don't stalk that person for months.

There's a piece still missing.

Friday night, I tried to get my mind off Londyn and did as much investigating as I could. But there are only dead ends right now. And my buddy Torres already risked his neck too much sending me the document about the Malibu raid. I can't ask him for more help.

After getting frustrated from the lack of leads, my energy started dragging around 2:00 AM. I slipped into Londyn's apartment to sleep. We agreed that, since Mike was gone, I'd crash on her couch when I needed rest. That way, I'd be in her apartment in case something happened.

My body wasn't done torturing me. I had wet dream after wet dream about the beautiful actress who completely flipped my world. The worst part was that I had all those wet dreams, anda huge hard on, while sleeping on her couch. When I woke up, clearly making a tent under her blanket, she was already in the kitchen fixing pancakes.

During breakfast, when we were almost done eating, she playfully licked whipped cream off my thumb, sending a sharp throb straight to my groin and leaving me with instant blue balls. She wanted to give me another show after that. She danced, touching herself on the couch while I sat helplessly restrained, doing nothing except watching.

When the show ended, neither of us wanted to be apart, so I monitored the feeds from my phone and we watched a movie together. I'd never been so content just holding hands with someone.

By yesterday evening, I was in a feverish haze, once more retreating to my apartment and desperate for release, caught in some relentless heatwave only she creates.

Now it's Sunday and we're on dance number three. That sexy black silk robe flows around her like water catching moonlight, revealing glimpses of the black teddy underneath. Her hair whips around her face as she turns, and when I get a glimpse of that bare ass, I have to remind myself not to break out of these handcuffs to stroke myself.

I could easily break out of them, the ropes too, but she needs me restrained, so that's what I am.

At her mercy.

The restraints bite into my wrists as I twitch against them. Not trying to break free, just reacting to the pressure surging through my body every time she moves. My muscles tense and release in a rhythm that matches her movements. I'm completely under her control, and fuck if this isn't the hottest thing I've ever experienced.

I've been tied to this chair for nearly an hour. Her transformation I've seen over the past few days, watching her shift from nervous and hesitant to something vibrant and free has me grinning. Her letting me in like this is a privilege.

I'll stay bound all night if it makes her feel safe. Hell, for the rest of my life. I'd give her anything. I never realized how much I needed to be trusted this completely, to be the person she can be vulnerable with. I can't imagine my life without this now.

She moves closer, performing a slow turn that makes the silk ripple around her thighs. My abs tighten. I want to tell her how beautiful she is, how fucking resilient, but I don't want to break her concentration.

So I watch in awed silence as she dances, each movement more confident than the last. My desire is secondary to her needs. Always will be.

But damn, the way her body moves is testing every ounce of my self-control.

Her steps grow faster, the dance more daring. She's toying with me, spinning in and out of my reach like a dream I can't hold onto. Her smile is sultry and her eyes are dark with intent. She ends with a flourish, panting and triumphant, her arms raised high in victory.

The music fades and silence rushes in. For a moment, we just breathe, her chest rising and falling while my heart drums in my ears.

Then she walks toward the couch slow enough that I feel every step as a tiny vibration across the floor. She lounges back against the cushions like she owns the world—my world—and spreads her thighs just enough to expose the edge of that lace teddy as it rests a half-inch below what Ireallywant to see.

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