Page 50 of Painted Scars
CHAPTER 14 - KATE
Game on. I started this, and now I have to finish it. There’s no going back.
My stalker’s forearm bands around my waist, and he strokes my belly, sparking a fire I haven’t let burn in years. His body is hard steel and thick muscle cut with tension. My finger runs over a scar along his forearm. I want to press my mouth to it and ask what happened. The span of his hands is large enough to circle my throat, hold me down or cradle me gently.
Am I scared? Hell, yeah. I dare anyone not to be… well, besides Harper. She eats fear for breakfast and licks the plate clean.
This isn’t about her. It’s about me reclaiming my body and the desires stolen from me three years ago. Bringing the dead parts of me back to life. The phoenix rising from the ashes, all sequins and bluster.
“Seriously, what’s our safe word, Glitter Bomb?” Grumpy Daddy asks again with a squeeze of my waist.
God, I want to feel his lips brush my ear when he says that. The warmth of his breath as a promise, not a threat.
“Celine,” I say firmly, wanting to embody the songstress I admire.
“Locked in.” The man holding me brushes hair from my shoulder.
“Take your helmet off,” I throw in an order of my own. “I want to feel your skin on mine.”
All I’ve got to go on are his TikTok videos. I want to know what he’s like up close. Rough, scarred, tattooed, and pierced as his videos make him out to be? Does his skin smell like smoke and sin? Are his hands callused from breaking bad men or soft when he touches something he wants to protect? I want to memorize the angle of his jaw, the color of his eyes, the curves of his mouth. The unfiltered version of him who isn’t silent, intentional, and bottled. The heat of him. The breath between threats. Most of all, I want to know if he kisses like a warning or a promise.
“This isn’t how this works, Glitter Bomb.” His voice drops into a dark and primal note that makes me think of a werewolf. “Have you got a blindfold?”
My brain fires with self-protective instincts, and my eyes dart to the second drawer of my bedside table, reminding me where my weapons are stashed.
Two parts of me are at war. One wounded and cautious, the other hungry and ready. This side remembers how he made me feel safe when he calmed my panic, when he got my neighbor off my back, protected me from my boss, and sent me gifts. He’s watched me but not once has he crossed a line I didn’t already blur.
I’m done living in fear. Tonight, I give the phoenix permission to burn brightly.
“No,” I reply.
“I’ll make do then. Wait here.” He lets me go, crawls off my bed, and crosses the room to enter my walk-in closet. A beatlater, he emerges, winding the sash of my silk nightgown around one fist and the belt of my flowered dress around the other.
My brain runs the calculations again. Will he hurt me? Will he respect me? I have to take a leap and risk it, otherwise I’ll be stuck in this loop.
“Don’t break my trust.” I crawl to meet him at the edge of the bed and turn to let him wrap it over my eyes.
“Don’t break mine.” His voice roughens.
I nod. Cool silk kisses my skin. My vision disappears, and my heart takes flight in my throat. He winds it around my eyes three times and ties a firm knot.
“How you doing there, Glitter Bomb?” His hand settles on my shoulder, warm and grounding.
“Good.” It comes out fast. “I’m good,” I repeat, steadier.
I hear the scrape of his helmet lifting. The hollowthunkas it hits my nightstand. And then… the heat of his mouth on my skin. I tilt my head, inviting him in. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth like he’s memorizing me one nerve ending at a time. I wrap my arm around his neck, fingers threading through his long waves. I desperately try to form a picture of him.
“You don’t need to worry,” he says low in my ear, and a new fire starts to burn. “Just listen to my voice. I’m going to take care of you.”
Each kiss from my ear to my shoulder peels back another layer of fear.
He licks the spot between my shoulder and neck that always gets me going. “The only place I want you to be shaking is your thighs.”
Hot damn.
“Tell me you understand.” I shiver at the dominance in his tone.
“I understand, Grumpy Daddy.” My reply is pure smoke.
