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“I want to know what happened to you because I don’t believe you when you say you’re incapable of love. I just don’t. I think you blame yourself and maybe you hate yourself a little. I get it. I know that feeling. That guilt. Thatwhat if.”
He snorts. “Are you a shrink now?” he asks, trying to make light of it but failing.
“What ifwill kill you, Zeke. I know.” Tears well in my eyes and I shift my gaze away because in my seeing him, he will see me, too. And that is a terrifying thing.
“You should walk away. You should walk away now.” His voice is hoarse, raw, not like it was a moment ago.
“No.”
“No?” His face twists. His hand so gentle just a moment ago turns into a fist in my hair and a flash of panic overtakes me.
What if this is a mistake? What if I should do as he says and walk away? I haven’t forgotten the beast inside this man, have I? He has warned me repeatedly. He has shown me so brutally.
Am I making a mistake?
“I can’t give you what you want,” he says, as if reading my mind.
I shift my gaze back to his face, look into his eyes. I could lose myself in them. Drown, right along with him, if I’m not careful. But I can’t be careful. He came for me. And walking away? Doesn’t he know it’s no longer an option for me?
“I’m not walking away,” I say, swallowing, ready for the consequences that come with loving Ezekiel St. James. Because this is it. I love him.
He rises to his feet and drags me up with him. We walk, me backward, until my back hits that wooden post and I gasp as he shifts his grip to my wrists and drags them up over my head, locking them in the leather restraints. He takes hold of my shirt, and, with a quick tug, he rips the oversized top in two. I scream with the sound of fabric tearing, more from surprise than fear, as the song begins to play again from the beginning.
Sympathy for the Devil.
Zeke is my devil.
He’s dangerous. He told me so. He showed me so.
And I love him.
My panties are next to go. All it takes is a quick sweep of one hand and they’re on the floor on top of my tattered shirt and I’m naked, stretched out on this post, my devil staring me down.
Zeke steps back, keeps his eyes locked on me as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, strips it off and tosses it aside. I take in his lean, strong body, inked skin taut over hard muscle, but it’s the melting look in his eyes that can obliterate me.
And some part of me wants him to because it’s him, and I want him.
I lick my lips as he steps closer, biceps rippling as he wraps his hands around my wrists, thumbs rubbing the sensitive inside of my arm. He leans down so his face is an inch from mine.
“Are you afraid now, Little Convict?”
“I’m not scared of you. You won’t hurt me.”
“You don’t know me.”
“All I need to know is that you came for me.”
“Why do you have to make this so fucking hard?”
“Do your worst, Zeke.”
His eyes gleam a stormy preternatural gray. He weaves his fingers into the hair at the back of my head and forces my head backward. He holds me still as he closes his mouth over mine in an all-consuming kiss that steals my breath and leaves me gasping when he draws back.
He straightens and I watch him strip off the rest of his clothes. God, he’s so beautiful, his body as if chiseled from marble and his cock—I look at it, my mouth watering as he moves his hand along his length.
“There’s something wrong with you, Blue, to want me. You know that don’t you? After what you’ve seen me do.”
I nod.
