Page 113 of Safe Word

I clenched my fists at my sides and made myself look away. But damn, she was beautiful: the curves of her legs, the faint sheen of her skin in the low light. Vulnerable. Trusting.

‘My hair…’ she managed, her voice barely more than breath.

Reaching behind her, I swiped below her head, her hair spilling over the pillow in a silken cascade, tumbling over my fingers like warm water.

I stilled. Then, despite myself, I combed my fingers gently through it. But they didn’t stop there. They dragged over the sliver of bare skin on her neck the scarf didn’t cover.

She shivered.

So did I.

The feel of her… So warm, open… It hit a part of me I’d bolted shut. I wasn’t ready for how intimate it felt.

How fucking dangerous.

But when I laid her down onto that pillow, her eyes found mine.

And all I saw was weakness.

The dark hunger that had gripped me a breath ago drained out of me entirely.

I wasn’t the monster I’d always believed myself to be, apparently. The sight of her in this state didn’t stir hunger, didn’t twist into desire. It pulled at something else entirely.

I sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over her, each hand braced on the opposite side of her waist. The movement caged her in, and her eyes held mine, her lips parting slightly as if she could feel the weight of my presence.

‘Do you need anything? Water?’ I whispered, my voice roughened by the tension coiling at the base of my stomach.

She blinked slowly, her lashes fluttering as if she were fighting to focus. ‘My shoes,’ she murmured. ‘Can you?’

I nodded, shifting down the bed.

Her feet were small, delicate, and when I slipped my hand under her ankle to lift it, her warmth bled into my palm. I was ready for it, but it still shook something loose.

I worked slowly, unfastening the sandal, sliding it off with care. My thumb brushed the curve of her heel. The skin was soft, smooth, and I couldn’t help the way my fingers lingered. The simplicity of the act – the trust in letting me do this – unravelled me.

The second shoe came off just as carefully. Her feet rested against the white of the sheets, and for a moment, I just looked at her. The graceful curve of her toes, the faint pink at her soles. She was softness in a world that had forged her sharp. And I realised I not only had a taste for it – I hungered for it.

‘Better?’ I asked softly, the word cracking despite my best effort to hold my voice steady.

She hummed in response, her eyes fluttering closed, and I found myself unwilling to move, reluctant to break the fragile peace that had settled over the room. But as I sat there, watching her, I knew one thing for sure: whoever had hurt her, whoever had made her live like this – I would tear them to pieces if they ever came near her again.

Paula wasn’t mine.

But in this moment – Christ – I wished she were.

I looked over her body, lying so still and quiet in the darkness, her chest moving with soft, measured breaths.

Every instinct screamed at me not to leave her like this. Whoever had spiked her drink might’ve still been out there, watching, waiting.

‘Paula, you shouldn’t be alone,’ I said, my voice low. ‘Let me crash on the couch – just for tonight. I’ll make sure nothing happens.’

She stirred, lashes fluttering as her eyes opened halfway.

‘Cain,’ she murmured, her voice soft but steady, ‘I’m fine. The cameras feed…’ She faltered, the effects of the drug holding her. ‘…directly into the cloud.’ She took a deep breath as if labouring to make sense of her thoughts. ‘And I’ve got panic buttons in every room. If anything happens, my uncle is on the force.’

Her reassurance should have been enough, but the silence that followed sparked through me.

She not only had cameras, but also fucking panic buttons?