Page 35 of Crushed
“Oh,” she said, shrinking at the assumptions forming in her mind. I wanted Scarlett to make her erroneous assumptions. Rose was a secret that only a select few at my estate knew about. No one could ever find out about her. I may have failed my late wife, but with all of my power, I would protect Rose. “You want more power over the business of medicine then. Is that it?”
“Who wouldn’t want control over the research of the most important discoveries of the world?”
I expected her to ask more questions, but she must have sensed that it was a sensitive topic and shied away. I respected that. I didn’t blame her for not asking further. She found out what she wanted to know, or perhaps something worse, and now, she was done. She fidgeted with the strap of the babydoll again.
“Do you wear lingerie like this outside of the Dahlia District?” I asked. She shook her head. “What do you wear for underwear, then?”
She shrugged. “Sports bras. Or any bra won’t show under clothes.”
This costumery wasn’t like her, then. And I wanted to knowhertoo, even if only to find her breaking point. Her honest truth would be illuminated then.
“The next time we go back here, that’s what I want you to wear,” I said.
“Really?”
I raised an eyebrow and she nodded. She realized, then, that I didn’t want her questioning me. Not even when it came to the simple question of what to wear.
“I have something to show you,” she said. She opened her phone and flipped through the images: her bruised thighs with my full name on them, the ink dark against her purple skin; one single red line on each breast, her nipples hard, my full name written there too; her luscious ass, clean without my handprint, but with my full name marking her skin.
Then the pictures changed; her hands, her feet, with my first name only. There was significance there, but what?
She shifted, moving the babydoll up to show that my name was still written there, on her thighs. The ink looked vibrant enough that she must have written it again. I ran my fingers over the words, gently, so as not to bother the bruise. Her skin was warm.
“You can use arnica to speed up the healing process,” I said. A pharmaceutical CEO recommending an herbal remedy was ridiculous, but I said it anyway. It was commonly used by submissives. “It might not do anything, or it might soothe the skin.”
“I like the way it’s healing.”
Our eyes met, and I knew that she was serious. She didn’t want to get rid of the marks. She wanted to keep them there. To sense the ghost of me, healing with her.
She was the first woman who wasn’t ashamed of my marks.
She pulled down the v-neck of her babydoll. It barely covered her nipples now, but exposed my name written on each breast, marking her. I traced my fingertips along the curves of her breasts, running my fingers along the letters, her skin erupting in goosebumps. Her breathing deepened, her chest lifting and falling in concentrated breaths.
We were there to negotiate. To see what this meant. One test after another to prepare her for Decadence Revelry.
But fuck, I wanted to suck her nipples. To sharpen my teeth and bite into them until she screamed. To show her that shewasmine,all fucking mine.
She sat up straight, her legs bent underneath her.
“Don’t freak out,” she whispered.
What would shock me?
She pulled back the hair from her face, those long, fake bangs, and tucked them behind her ear. There, written on her forehead, was my name.Cormac.
I was everywhere on her.
“I thought about what we were talking about yesterday,” she said quietly, “about where you own me, and where I want you to own me.” She lowered her head, letting the bangs fall, covering half of my name again. “Where your full name is, is where you’ve marked me. Taken your ownership. But when it comes to my actions, and to my mind, that’s where I want to go next.”
I blinked. A heaviness crossed my stomach, and my cock stirred in argument. This woman knew exactly how to play me. She was dangerous to her damn core, and yet I wanted to believe her. To think that she truly wanted to experience everything I could give her. What I could show her. The depths of her own soul, and the darkness within mine.
I put down the flute, fixed my coat, and headed towards the door.
“I freaked you out, didn’t I?” she whispered.
“Scarlett,” I turned around and faced her, those red champagne-wet lips drew back. “I…” I trailed off, at a loss for damn words.
No. This was ridiculous. She was a server. She was after one thing, and one thing only. Whatever the fuck it was, I would figure it out.
