My breath catches despite the rush of irritation through my chest.
He tilts his head slowly in a gesture that carries wicked amusement. He lifts his phone to his mouth, his voice deep and distorted as it comes through the mask.
“You’re on fire.”
Chapter 45
Seth
Istay in the corner of the basement while the lights light the room and wipe out every shadow. The mask keeps my breathing even. I need a clear read on her before I put my hands on her.
Brooke stands near the last step with her knife in her hand. Her face is calm. Calm in a way that only comes after the violence starts making sense. Brooke is not surviving anymore. She is not shaking or second-guessing or flinching at the weight of what she has done. She has passed that point. She has learned how to choose violence and live in it. She doesn't carry the kills like guilt. She wears them like armor.
Watching her become that makes me hard as fuck. My cock pushes firmly against the front of my sweats while I study the woman standing in front of me. She looks stronger like this. Like the world has finally stopped trying to break her and she has decided to break it instead.
I press play on my phone.
“Ambrosia” rolls through the speakers.
“Seth—”
“Come here, Brooke. Now.”
She walks toward me. She doesn't look away from the mask. She stops right in front of me, close enough for me to hear her breathing and feel the heat pouring off her skin. Her pulse hammers in her neck like it's trying to break free.
I take the knife from her hand and grab the hem of her sports bra. The thin fabric stretches beneath my fingers as her breathing shifts. I slide the blade beneath the band between her breasts and cut straight through the center.
The fabric splits.
Her tits fall free.
Her chest lifts with quick breaths while the cool air tightens her nipples. The sight pulls a heavy pulse through my cock.
I have to stop myself from just grabbing her and bending her over the nearest surface.
I drop the ruined bra and lower the knife to her shorts. I hook the blade under the waistband and drag it through the fabric in one clean line. The shorts fall down her thighs. Her panties slide with them and pool around her ankles.
One second she is standing there in gym clothes. The next second she is standing naked in front of me in the basement, breathing hard, eyes wide, and waiting for my next move.
Her hands hang at her sides. Her fingers curl like she doesn't know where to put them. She doesn't cover her chest. She doesn't close her legs. She doesn't take a single step back. She lets me look at her. Another hard rush of heat moves through my body, and I know I could do anything to her right now, and she would take it because she trusts me.
That kind of trust always does something to me that is difficult to explain to anyone who has not lived inside my head. Most people want safety from the people they love. Brooke gives herself to me knowing exactly what I am capable of, and that level of surrender means everything.
I grab her torn bra from the floor and stretch the fabric into a strip. I lift it toward her face. Her eyes stay on the skull mask up until the moment the cloth covers them. I wrap the strip around her head and tie it firmly at the back.
She sucks in a sharp breath, and I can feel the panic hit for a second before she forces it back down and stays exactly where she is. She stays because she trusts me more than whatever instinct tells her to step away.
My cock is rock hard, and I wrap my hand around myself for a brief second just to keep from losing it right there. I squeeze once, force my breathing back under control, then let go.
I slide the edge of the knife along her hip, the cold steel grazing her skin as I move it slowly up the curve of her waist and over her ribs. When I reach her breast, I let the flat of it pass over her nipple, dragging it lightly until her breath catches and the bud tightens beneath the chill.
I don't take the blade away.
I trace it higher, gliding it up the center of her chest and along the line of her throat, just enough pressure for her to feel it without breaking skin.
My mouth drops to her breast at the same time.
I close over her nipple and suck, slow at first, my tongue pressing and flicking against it as her body reacts. Her breath breaks, chest rising sharply as I pull harder, keeping the rhythm steady while the cold edge of the knife lingers at her neck.
