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I glance up, biting my lip hard. I need the pain to counteract the pleasure. I need to remind myself why I’m here. It’s not to let this man get me off by pouring hot wax on my skin and sucking my tits.
I’m here to kill this bastard. For Lucy.
I’m trembling, shaking. I’m barely under control.
But I won’t forget.
“Tell me how that felt.”
I open my mouth and close it again. He tilts my chin up with the tip of his middle finger.
“Tell me, Kaye.”
“It felt good.” I hate myself for saying it, but that’s the truth. “It felt so fucking good.”
“That’s right. That’s pain mixed with the right amount of pleasure at the correct moment. It can take you places you’ve never experienced. I didn’t know what to expect tonight, little Kaye, but you’ve exceeded everything I could’ve imagined. Now, put your clothes on and stand up.”
I don’t have to be told twice. I don’t bother peeling all the hardened wax off my skin. I’ll scrub it off in the shower later when I get back to the dorms. For now, I cover my breasts, hook my bra, and yank my shirt over my head. My heart’s still racing, and my eyes feel unsteady and dizzy, but I climb to my feet.
He takes my place and yanks off his shirt.
I stare at him, blinking rapidly.
His muscular chest glistens in the low light. He holds out a candle, staring into my eyes, face deadly serious and I can’t tell what he wants until he finally speaks.
“My turn.”
My mouth falls open, but I take the candle. He sits there calmly, watching me, and my eyes roam down his chest. Latin words on his collarbone, more nautical images on his chest and stomach. Every inch of him is etched with black. I move around to see his muscular back—
And suck in a breath.
It’s mottled with scars. Not the even, symmetrical scars of surgery or cuts, but the ugly, melted scars of a burn.
He sits straight, unflinching, as I stare.
His back is a map of agony and I can’t begin to imagine the hell that must’ve caused it.
“My turn,” he says again and I release a soft whimper. I don’t want to do this. Even though I hate this man and there’s a powerful part of me that wants to kill him for what I think he did to Lucy, the idea of dripping hot wax on those burn scars feels wrong. Horribly wrong.
He remains utterly still. Poised and waiting. “Do it now. I wouldn’t put someone through something I wasn’t willing to do myself. Drip it, Kaye.”
I groan. I don’t want to, but I force myself to do it. The orgasm’s still buzzing in my head as I drip, drip, drip. Each time, he hardly reacts, only gives a soft suck of air, a gentle grunt. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard and my heart’s racing after the fifth drop.
“Enough.” He turns to me then and reaches out, grabbing my wrist. He takes the candle from my hand and blows it out, staring into my eyes.
His gaze is hatred, pure and intense, a white-hot rage that shocks me. I try to yank away, but he keeps his grip and doesn’t release me. He knows who I am, he has to know, but he says nothing, only looks into my eyes.
This man is full of secrets. I can see them hidden beneath the surface. How did he get those scars? How did he build this house? I want to know everything about him and I want to punish him for everything he’s done, and I don’t know which impulse is stronger.
I’m too mixed up from coming to think straight and his gorgeous body is doing things to my hormones that I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from.
“Now you’re mine, Kaye. You hurt me and I hurt you. Will you make me come next, too?”
My mouth opens and I blink rapidly. “Emilio, I don’t—”
He squeezes my wrist tightly. “Don’t answer, little Kaye. It’s enough that you’re mine.” He stands and pulls on his shirt. When he looks back at me, there’s a smile on his lips. “Welcome to the Calico Club. Lesley should have already brought over your things.”
He walks through the chalk lines, not bothering to be careful.
