She repositioned her legs, straddling me higher to work deeper on my shoulders. “I have authentic looking documents from colleges around the country. But none of them are true. I forged a past from a runaway no-hoper to proud aspiring mother.
“I’ll never apologise for lying or stealing because it was the only way to survive. It allowed me to give Clara a better world.” Her voice caught before continuing in its smooth lullaby. The more I listened, the more she entranced me, and the more the conditioning didn’t hold centre stage.
Every touch was torture—stroking seized muscles, prolonging the utter madness of crashing orders, but it didn’t overpower me. I didn’t lose myself to blackness.
Her hands moved higher, thumbs digging into hard muscle on either side of my spine. “I have blood on my hands. I’ve stolen two lives.”
My back bowed as the shock of her confession slapped the conditioning away, leaving me clearheaded for a wonderful moment. “What? How did they happen?”
Her hands trailed higher, turning from therapeutic massage to gentle petting. My breathing turned heavy and rasping; my bound fists ached from clenching so hard. The conditioning came back, simmering in the back of my brain.
“I was twelve the first time I turned a man into a corpse.”
So fucking young. Like me.
The connection I felt toward Zel blistered my heart, strengthening my will to ignore the orders.
“I was between foster parents. Up till then, I’d been placed with decent families, kind and generous—I was the one messed up and didn’t let them help me. But that one…it was different. I wasn’t prepared for the jolly overly-touchy uncle to come into my bedroom once everyone had gone to bed. I wasn’t prepared for the pet-name ‘baby-doll’ to become such an irrational fear thanks to him crooning it. I wasn’t prepared to watch him strip or the grotesque erection between his legs. But I was prepared to defend myself.
“I wasn’t innocent, even at that tender age. I’d stolen a kitchen knife from a previous family, and bided my time as he climbed into my bed. His beer breath was rancid in the dark while his foul hands tried to fondle me.
“One touch was all he got before I plunged the sharp blade into his groin. It was pure luck I severed his femoral artery. He bled dry before the ambulance arrived.”
Zel’s hands never stopped their relentless stroking. Her touch twisted my head with needs and urges all while I tried to concentrate on her story. My body sparked with sensitivity. The tickling of her body hovering above mine drove me insane.
“The second time I killed, I’d just turned twenty-one. I slit the throat of a man trying to rape Clue. I didn’t even think. I wasn’t desensitized to hurting people—I avoided it at all costs—but seeing him hurting someone half his size, I stopped thinking and reacted.
“I’ll never regret saving her. She saved me in return.”
Her voice trailed off as she leaned forward, rubbing her hands all over, wrapping me in the fragrance of lily of the valley. Every part of my body ached from fighting an unseen war; anticipation heightening my senses until all I focused on was my rabbiting heartbeat and monstrous curiosity about the woman on top of me.
Slinking forward, Zel climbed my body until she sat on her heels over my ribs. Her hands smoothed my shoulder blades, rubbing with delicious pressure.
Listening to her helped me stay sane, but silence sucked me back into the dark. My headache roared out of control, and I did the only thing I could to avoid falling into the pit. To avoid obeying and hurting her.
I was done having her in control. It was my turn.
In one sharp move, I flipped Zel off my back and rolled over. The belt around my wrists wasn’t escapable, but it didn’t matter. In a second, I pulled my naked body onto hers, pinning her beneath me.
Her eyes flared wide and panic etched her face.
“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you. I’m still in control.” Barely.
I wanted to lick, nibble, and bite. I wanted to run my hands over her body and touch, just like she touched me. I needed to sink deep inside her to ignore the stronger urges, the more insisting orders.
She’d tried to accustom my body to gentler touches—reprogram my brain from two decades of training in one massage session. I didn’t want to shatter her hope. She’d helped, but not enough. The only thing keeping me from killing her was the tiny remaining thread of my self-control.
I was proud of my strength, but disillusioned at the same time.
Eventually, I would snap. And I couldn’t have her touching me when that happened.
I tested a wrist, wincing as the leather bit into my skin. Zel had buckled it so tightly it bruised my bones beneath.
“Get off me. We need to finish,” she ordered.
Instead of obeying, I wrapped my bound arms around her and arched my back, thrusting gently, searching for her.
I groaned as I found her wet heat. “You’ve touched me and I’ve obeyed, but now I need to fuck you. Don’t deny me, Zel.”
Her ass wiggled, trying to dislodge me. Her breasts rose and fell against my chest as I settled deeper into the apex of her legs.
“But it didn’t work. I’d hoped to fix you. I’m not finished.” Her gaze searched mine even as her legs spread, giving me room to sink between them.
My eyes slammed shut as I pressed into her heat. Deeper and deeper. I shivered as her pussy took my full length. “It worked enough.” Opening my eyes, I smiled. “You owe me a reward for behaving.”
She snorted. “Behaving by not killing me you mean.”
“Exactly.” I dropped my head to kiss her. Her mouth opened; her tongue rose to meet mine, and we began to move. Digging my elbows into the mattress on either side of her face, I rocked hard and possessive, claiming her slowly, deliberately.
Her hands landed on my ass. Instantly the headache swarmed with pressure almost buckling my control. My body froze while I focused on how delicate, how breakable, how much I did not want to kill her. “Don’t,” I whispered. “Stop touching me.”
Immediately, her hands dropped.
Rearing back, staring deep into her eyes, I said, “I give you my word I won’t hurt you, but I really need to fuck you, Hazel. Give me your hands.” I thrust upward.
She raised her hands above her head allowing me to capture her wrists with my fingers. The moment she was secured, I dropped one barrier inside my mind. Harnessing a small taste of violence, I surged into her.
She cried out with the brutal thrust, panting as I drove into her. My heart drummed with angry conditioning, fighting with sexual need.
Her legs came up to imprison my hips, pulling me deeper inside.
I growled as a fresh burst of urges filtered through my blood, almost stealing me from reality. But I held on. I focused. I concentrated. I never reverted to Ghost.
“God you feel so good. So tight. So perfect.” I rocked harder, filling her with everything I had. She was mine, and I wanted to mark her to prove it.
Releasing her wrists, I dropped my hands, forcing one finger into her mouth. “Suck it,” I ordered.
Her eyes flared and lips latched around me, dragging me into her mouth. The matching wetness and heat drove me wild. I pumped harder and harder.
“Do you feel me?” I growled, loving the sparking orgasm building in my balls.
She nodded, sucking my finger, biting with sharp, little teeth. Her legs spasmed around my hips. “You taste of metal and smoke. You feel fucking amazing, Fox.”
I groaned. I couldn’t hold off any more.
The sparking release exploded in my belly and I came, filling her with everything left inside me.
She tensed beneath me, throwing her head back as her internal muscles rippled, wave after wave, squeezing my length with delectable strength.
Her body went from rigid to floppy and a small smile twitched her lips.
Cursing the headache and the still insistent conditioning, I kissed Zel on the tip of her nose. “How can I get you to remember?”
She frowned, a sated glow flushing her cheeks. “Remember what?”
Lowering my head, I bit her neck. “To call me Roan.”
Chapter 17
Happiness.
Such a farce.
I’d been happy—blindingly happy only twice in my life.
The first was when I held Clara just after she was born. She unlocked emotions and joy I never knew existed.
The second was when I landed a job at a prestigious company thanks to a forged resume. I might have earned the job with lies, but I earned a bonus in the first month thanks to my work ethic.
Both showed my life improving, both hinted at pleasures to come.
Then I met Fox and I dared to hope I’d have a third moment of happiness.
But just like everything, it was the brief interlude before the main event.
The eye of the storm.
The beginning of the end.
I’m pregnant.
Not a whoopsy daisy I was stupid and forgot to use contraception. Not a I was sick and didn’t use other precautions while on the pill. Not a I forgot to update my shot or my coil didn’t work or the condom broke or I forgot to take the morning after pill.
Nothing like that.
No, life found a way to create something from nothing, cementing a marvel inside a womb that’d been confirmed as sterile forever.
I didn’t believe in miracles, but I did believe in second chances.
And this was Fox’s.
Roan’s.
For three days, I nursed the news. I sat awake at night, running my hands through Clara’s thick hair, imagining a future where she’d survive and grow up with a baby sister or brother. I painted a fairy-tale where Fox could be touched and loved, and we created a wonderful family from a very dysfunctional beginning.
I wanted to tell him. I went through every scenario of how to announce the news.
Every time he looked at Clara with smitten eyes the words I’m having your child danced on my tongue, waiting to be said.
But I cradled the news with utmost secrecy.
You’re avoiding it because you don’t know how you feel.
My hand fell on my flat stomach. I would never terminate a pregnancy, but I couldn’t wrap my head around holding another child. Loving another child.
It felt traitorous to Clara. I felt unfit and unworthy, and it tore me up inside. I couldn’t love another cherub-cheeked baby—it was a betrayal to her.
Wasn’t it?
I threw up twice—not from morning sickness—but from guilt. Guilt for loving another child as much as I loved Clara. Guilt for replacing her.
That was my true issue.
My firstborn will be dead, but I’ll have another. I wouldn’t have the time to mourn, or the luxury to forget about life. I wouldn’t have the privilege of ruining my own world once Clara left me.
I would have to go on surviving, smiling, living, all for a baby I’d never thought I’d have.
And it made me fucking angry.
Angry to recognise how weak I was—knowing I would love this baby with everything I was, which wasn’t fucking fair to Clara. She owned my heart, body, and soul, and she would be dead.
I was dizzy, tired, and nauseous trying to come to terms with gaining a life just before I lost one.
Ironically, I kept my secret because of my own regret, but Clara was the one who made sure I’d never tell him.
It was Tuesday, and the club was quiet.
After a trip to the bathroom to yet again scream at myself to consolidate my stressed emotions, I entered the office where we were finishing some paperwork.
Fox sat at his desk, dressed in black, surrounded by black; he looked like the son of a scarred kind-hearted shadow.
Clara lay on her stomach, little legs flying, hands cupping her chin as she watched Nemo on the large flatscreen.
Fox looked up; a gentle smile graced his lips. “I’m done here. I was thinking we could all go out—maybe grab takeaway and watch the sunset?” He laughed. “Listen to me—never thought I’d say such a domesticated thing.”