Page 52 of Grace

That annoying dark tuft of hair was hanging in his face, softening his sharp features. That brief moment took me back into the past—I didn’t know whether pain had broken him or something else, something that had to do with me.

“I wanna help you,” I said gently and stepped into the bathroom. “Just tell me what to do.”

Chase sat down on the rim of the bathtub and told me what to take out of the cupboard. I was really curious what they had fought about, and why he had to pay such a brutal price. However, I had a feeling he wouldn’t tell me, so I just tended to his wounds in silence.

The most obvious answer was drugs. If Chase’s brother knew what Chase was up to, he was probably no better a person than he was.

After I took care of his wounds, Chase caressed my face gently, his eyes glinting with pain and dark with desire. His soft, full lips parted slightly, making my heart pound. My lower belly was aflame with desire.

“Thank you,” he said in his deep, resonant voice that seeped through my mind like warm honey. I pressed my face against his palm—I loved it when he was gentle with me.

His thumb traced my lower lip. A sigh burst out of me, which made Chase lift me up into his lap despite his pain.

He stroked my hair out of my face and inhaled my scent deeply. My thighs were trembling, my womb contracting with desire. My sex was slick with warm wetness, and my nipples hardened. Chase’s cock pressed against my clitoris through the rough fabric of his jeans. I moaned passionately and ran my fingers through his dark hair.

He picked me up, carried me to the kitchen, and placed me on the hard table.

“What are you doing?” I panted, shifting my hips and reaching back with my hands to make myself more comfortable.

My fingers touched cold metal. I looked at it. My heart skipped a beat as Chase’s head disappeared between my thighs. The kitchen knife burned against my fingertips. Life had given me an opportunity to be free, but he diverted my attention so skillfully that I chose pleasure over fighting. I chose his tongue and fingers moving in the same rhythm, pulling me toward orgasm.

When he looked up at me with his glistening dark eyes and bloody lips, shame and irritation hit me. I wasn’t afraid of fighting. I didn’t choose pleasure instead of freedom—it was him I chose. The endless whirlpool of his dark soul, in which I had been struggling since I was fifteen. Because I carried the same amount of love and hate for him in my heart—the mixture of which haunted me every waking moment.

His stern face contorted. He stood up, then collapsed against the kitchen cupboard. I jumped off the table and steadied him as much as I could.

“You must rest.”

“Then…” He took his eyes off me, and his gaze wandered to the locks on my door.

“Then you have to lock me in,” I whispered. His suntanned skin and sharp chin captured my gaze.

He nodded seriously.

“Or…” I looked into his eyes carefully. “Or we could sleep together. For the first time.” I lowered my voice, ashamed.

“I need a guarantee.”

I knitted my brows when his gaze moved to Poppy, who was sleeping peacefully on the moth-eaten couch.

“What do you want to do to her?” I froze.

“If you behave, nothing. If you try to escape…”

Tears flooded my eyes because, this one time, I wasn’t thinking about escaping—I just wanted to be with him. Just the two of us. In a different, intimate way.

“Don’t destroy it, Chase!” I begged him. His thick brown eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t destroy my faith in you! I really believe that, deep down, you are a good person who loves me.”

His chin tensed, and he tore his gaze away from me in anger.

“You shouldn’t have said that, Grace. Don’t you ever say that to me. You understand?”

“Why?”

“Because you just can’t,” he whispered in my ear. “Nod your head if you understand.”

I nodded timidly.

“You’re doing well,” he whispered. I was confused because I saw fear in Chase’s eyes. He was terrified… and I had no clue why.