by Ella Miles
But when she moans, she makes it impossible to think of anything else. I want to rip her pants off and devour her properly. Then I want to throw her on the bed and fuck her slow and gentle, rocking her world in a way that she’s not expecting, before I tie her up and fuck her hard against the wall like the seductress she is.
She pulls the scrunchie from my hair and runs her hand through my long locks. She refuses to let my head free as she pulls me tightly between her legs.
I bite down harder.
“Zeke!” she cries out.
Fuck me. Let me fuck you.
I don’t think anymore as I pull at her shirt, needing skin, needing access to some uncovered part of her body.
I need her. It might have been a long time since Siren has been with a man, but it’s been even longer since I’ve been with a woman—too fucking long. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to hear a woman scream my name.
Siren squirms against my legs, and I know she’s getting close. I’m torn between denying her an orgasm and giving it to her just to hear her moan my name again.
But right now, all I can focus on is getting her to stop squirming. So I push her hard against a wall, trying to pin her body against my face.
Shattering glass corrects my perception of reality—I threw her against a window, rather than a wall. The window is too fragile to hold up against the force of our bodies slamming into it. I try to pull us back, to keep us inside, but my determination to fuck her with my mouth pushes our momentum forward.
We fall—our skin brushes harshly against broken glass as we fly through the window. Her legs automatically release my neck, and for a second, I feel free before I realize what is happening.
We are falling. Through a second-story window. We might not die if we hit the ground, but we will end up with many broken bones.
I drop the gun and grab onto the window sill with one hand. I reach for Siren’s with the other, bloodied hand. Siren grabs on at the last second before our bodies slam into the side of the brick building.
We both breathe heavily as we realize how close to death we just came. How one moment of weakness together almost ended us both. We don’t belong together. We just keep hurting each other.
“You okay?” I ask.
“No,” she says.
But when I look down, I realize she’s physically unharmed, but I can’t get a good look at her face to tell what she’s feeling.
“Climb up me,” I say.
She hesitates for a second but then does as I say. I should climb up first and then pull her up. I don’t trust her. As soon as she gets to the top, she could fling me to my death if she wanted to. But for some reason, I don’t believe she will.
Siren climbs up my body, and then immediately turns around to extend her hand to me. I take it, and together we heave my giant body up. We both collapse onto the floor, exhausted. We’re out of breath from the fighting, almost fucking, and then the almost tumbling to our deaths.
My hand reaches out automatically, needing to touch her to ensure that she is okay. Our fingers touch for the briefest of seconds; I can feel her pulse through her fingers. Rapid, quick, and in sync with mine.
His voice though breaks through any connection we have.
“Well done. Well done, pet,” Julian says, using the nickname that he often calls her. He doesn’t even show her enough respect to use her actual name—Aria. A name I can’t bring myself to call her either. She’ll always be Siren to me.
We both scramble to our feet, immediately sensing the danger.
“You can’t beat my best asset. I pay Aria well to protect me,” Julian says, standing by her side.
I fucking hate it. Moments ago, I was eating her out. I saved her life even when she was trying to destroy mine. And still, she chooses him instead of me.
“You only snuck out because she let you. It was all part of the plan. To seduce you and manipulate you into playing our game. The only way you leave is to play the game. Five rounds, and you can leave. Five rounds, and you are free.”
I glare at Siren. I should have known she was manipulating me.
“Don’t you get it? I will never play your game. I will never give up any information about my boss,” I say.
Julian looks from me to Siren. “I think I can persuade you.”
It happens so quickly that I don’t even realize what he’s doing. He grabs a piece of glass and then holds it to Siren’s throat.
I take a step forward automatically but then stop. I need to stop showing how much I care about her. I shouldn’t care.
“Play or I’ll kill her,” Julian says.
I shake my head. “You’ve already tried that. I don’t care about her. Kill her.”
“You lied to me before. And you’re lying now. You care for her.”
“So do you, which is how I know you won’t actually kill her.”
“I’ll kill her if it gets you to play.”
My heart beats wildly in my chest at the sight of a drop of blood that has formed on her neck. She told me not to save her. To save myself. But can I really just stand here and watch her die?
9
Siren
I’ve never felt this afraid.
I’ve been through horrible things. I’ve faced death before, but every time I did, I was in control of my own body. I could fight back. I could save myself.
Julian has threatened to kill me before with the gun. But deep down, I didn’t think he would actually do it.
This time, I can feel the sharp blade of glass in my neck. I can feel the blood beginning to spill. I can feel how just one slip would cause the edge of the glass to penetrate my artery instead of just my flesh.
But more importantly, I can feel Julian’s heart beating against my back. I can feel the energy flowing through his body. And I know how much he’s always wanted to do this. He’s just been waiting for an excuse. Zeke is giving him that excuse.
But can I really just stand by and let Julian hold my fate in his hands? Let Zeke’s answer decide if I live or die? All because of a contract I signed years ago?
No, I won’t let these men hold my fate in their hands.
I always keep a weapon in my pocket. And while Julian is distracted with Zeke, I grab the sharp knife in my back pocket, hidden from Zeke’s view, and I silently move it against Julian’s balls. He tenses as he realizes what I’m doing. I won’t let him kill me, at least not without me castrating him first.
Julian tries to hold the glass tighter against my neck, but I press the end of the knife into his slacks. He loosens immediately until the glass is barely grazing my skin.
I stare at Zeke, trying to tell him not to play. Not to save me. I can save myself. Even though I know the consequences. I’ll deal with them later.
From the glare Zeke is sending me, I don’t think he plans on saving me. He thinks I planned this. That I seduced him and manipulated him into this very situation, forcing his hand to play the game.
I didn’t.
But it makes no difference to Zeke. He will never trust me again.
“So what will it be? Play, or shall I kill Aria here?” Julian says, his voice surprisingly calm, considering where my knife is.
Zeke doesn’t tear his gaze from me, and I wish he would. I’ve never seen him this angry before. My eyes drop to his bleeding hand—another injury I caused. I look at his leg, where his wound ripped open and is gushing blood. He’s bleeding because of me. We both almost died because of me.
But god, does he have a magnificent tongue. I would have gladly died and gone through that window all over again just to feel his mouth between my legs.
I doubt Zeke feels the same way, though. He can’t be mad for manipulating me when obviously he used my weakness, his mouth and tongue, against me.
“Last chance—are you playing my game or am I killing Aria?”
“I’ll play. Not to save her. She deserves to die,” Zeke says. His words cut through me worse than the glass against my neck. I didn’t realize
how much him wanting to protect me mattered to me. It stings to hear him say I deserve to die.
“I’ll play because I want to be the one to kill you both. I’m tired of being manipulated. I’ll play your game. I’ll win. And before I get off this island, I’ll kill you both,” Zeke says.
Julian nods and drops the glass. I take a beat before I return the knife to my back pocket. I hear Julian breathe again for the first time in minutes.
“Aria will watch you then. We will play the first round tonight at dinner,” Julian says, giving me a pointed look. A look instructing me to ensure Zeke’s presence tonight, and warning me that he will deal with punishing me later for my little transgression with my knife.
“Why you aren’t locking me back up in my cell?” Zeke asks.
“No, Aria is very capable of watching you. She’ll do a better job than any bars. Dinner is at nine-thirty,” Julian says, dismissing us before he pulls out his phone and yells at one of his maids to come clean up the glass.
Zeke turns and walks out without another word. I follow after.
For a man who is bleeding and injured, he’s walking very quickly—not that I blame him. I want to get out of the house and as far away from Julian as possible too. Zeke didn’t drive over, so we both walk the ten minutes back to Zeke’s house. Neither of us talk or look at each other as we walk.
When we get to Zeke’s house, I expect him to talk. Yell. Something.
Instead, he walks straight to his bedroom.
I sigh. I know he doesn’t have any medical supplies to fix his wounds in there, so I run down to the basement to fetch the medical bag before heading to his bedroom. I pause in the doorway.
Zeke has his shirt off and has undone his pants, ready to remove them as well.
My mouth waters at his rippling muscles. And then I remember how soaked I still feel through my jeans where his mouth was devouring me only minutes before.
“Here—give me your hand and I’ll stitch it up for you,” I say, walking into his bedroom with the medical supplies.
Zeke growls, his body turning toward me with the force of a brick wall.
I stop dead in my tracks.
He snatches the bag from my hands with his uninjured hand. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. It’s obvious he doesn’t want me to help him. Not only does he not want my help, but he won’t allow it, even though it would be much easier for me to stitch him up than him trying with just one hand.
He’s a stubborn man, so I’ll let him try on his own first before doing it myself.
I take a deep breath and feel a sting at my neck. I look down and see blood flowing down onto my shirt. I need the medical kit too. But I won’t beg for it. And if he won’t accept my help, I won’t accept his either. I can be just as stubborn. He once told me that seeing my pain hurts him as much as the physical pain hurts me. So I know he’s hurting looking at me in pain.
At least, I hope he still is. Because I can’t read any emotion in his eyes except anger.
“Out,” Zeke commands.
I want to argue. I want to fight. But I’m tired of fighting. So instead, I turn and walk out.
“Truth or sin?” I hear Zeke ask as I get to the door.
I turn, afraid of what is going to come next.
“I should have let you die?” Zeke asks.
And for once, it’s not a choice between giving him a sin or telling the truth. The truth is easy enough. “Yes.”
He licks his lips. Drawing me to his mouth. Wanting a kiss. A whisper of his lips against my skin. A full-on attack of his lips and teeth on my body. Anything.
He smirks when he notices my reaction to the gesture. He’s realized the power he has over me now. Fuck.
I open my mouth to ask my own truth or sin question. But before I can speak, he slams the door in my face. Leaving me bleeding, needy, and so god damned frustrated with him.
10
Zeke
What do I do about Siren?
That’s what keeps going through my head as I sit on the edge of the bed and pull out the supplies need to tend to my right hand. I try to work on stitching my hand, but I’m right-handed and struggle to get the needle to cooperate.
I drop the needle.
“Shit,” I curse as I reach down on the floor, trying to find the needle. But it seems to have rolled under the bed.
My leg is throbbing.
My hand is burning.
And my chest is tight, exhausted from my near-death experience, and having conflicted feelings as I watched Julian hold the glass to Siren’s neck.
I reach into the bag and pull out another needle. I drop it too.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I scream as I kick the bag with my good leg.
The door to my bedroom flies open, and Siren runs in with determination and anger on her face. She may manipulate me with her feelings—pretending to want to fuck me—sometimes even liking me, but there is no doubt now that she hates me. She’s not manipulating me; it’s the truth.
“Stop being such a stubborn oaf and let me help you.” She marches in and grabs the medical bag I flung across the room.
She picks it up and stomps over before kneeling in front of me; she grabs my hand without waiting for me to offer it up.
“Why would I ever let someone who manipulates and betrays me stitch me up?”
“Because you don’t have any other option.”
I try to pull my hand away, but she digs her fingers into my wound, and I wince and stop. Before she’d have been gentle—offered me drugs, taken care of me kindly. This time, I know she’s going to enjoy every pierce of the needle.
And she does.
“That fucking hurts,” I yell, as she digs into the palm of my hand.
“I know,” she grins. “But that doesn’t mean you can move. Stop wiggling.”
“But it hurts!” I growl.
“Stop being a baby.”
“I’m not being a baby. Do you have any idea how badly this hurts?”
She pushes the needle through my hand two more times, each eliciting a curse from me, before she finally finishes the stitching phase of caring for my wound.
“Yes, I do.” She holds out her left hand, and I see a similar size scar to the one that will eventually form in my hand.
“How?” I ask, hating to see her in pain.
“It doesn’t matter.”
I sigh. So many secrets, so many lies. So many things I will never know about her.
She swallows, and the force of the movement pushes a few drops of blood out of her neck. Before, I thought the wound had stopped bleeding. It just looked like dry blood, but now, I can’t focus on anything but the blood. On the pain Siren must be in.
She almost died today. Julian almost killed her to get to me. And I could have let him. Then he would have had nothing to hold over me. Nothing to get me to talk. Because everyone I love is safe as long as I don’t talk.
I use my left hand to brush her hair off her neck and study the wound closer, but I can’t see how deep it is while the blood is still flowing, and she’s still working on cleaning my hand.
“Will you sit still so I can finish?” she demands.
“No,” I growl back, ripping my hand from Siren’s so I can examine her neck more closely.
She gasps at my movement and tries to fight to grab my hand again, but I’m determined now. I dig through the bag for some gauze and alcohol to clean the wound and dab the gauze with alcohol.
I grip her wrists in one of my hands as I clean her wound with the other. She hisses when the alcohol touches her skin.
My mouth moves to apologize for the pain she’s in, but I stop myself. Instead, I just give her a glance to do the talking for me. My gaze must tell her everything my mouth wants to because she stops struggling enough for me to get a closer look at her neck.
I exhale a breath when I finally get a look at it.
“You don’t need stitches. You’ll have a nasty scar, but it’s just a flesh wound,” I say as
I reach into the bag, pull out a bandage, and place it over her cut to stop the bleeding.
Siren doesn’t say thank you; she just blinks her response. Finally, I release her, and she sits up, silently finishing bandaging up my hand.
The silence stretches until she is finished. And then she stands. “Be ready at nine-thirty,” she says, as she walks to the door.
“Shouldn’t I be ready before then if we are supposed to be at Julian’s by nine-thirty?”
“No, arriving a few minutes late will allow you some control.”
Or get me a bullet in my leg again. But I don’t argue.
“You aren’t going to stay and babysit me?”
She smiles, weakly. “No, I’m going to go take a bath. You won’t run off. You protect those you love. Running would be selfish.” And then she removes her shirt, tossing it on the floor as she starts heading toward the bathroom, no doubt leaving a trail of clothes behind her as she goes.
Leaving me hard, desperate, and feeling like I’m going to die if I keep spending time with her. Either from a lack of sex or a gunshot. Right now, I’d rather take the sex with the bullet than be alive and never get to fuck her.
At nine-thirty sharp, Siren reappears at my bedroom door. We haven’t spoken or seen each other all evening, and the sight of her would knock me on my ass if I wasn’t already sitting. She’s wearing a simple black dress, with a high slit up the side and heels that make her legs look a million miles long. Her hair is down in long, wavy curls. Her makeup is simple yet striking. It’s almost as if she isn’t wearing any makeup except on her lips, drawing me to them so I can’t think of anything but kissing her.
She’s dressed for a night out, while I’m dressed as I always am—jeans and a T-shirt.
“I think I’m underdressed,” I say.
She bats her eyes as a sultry smile spreads across her face. “No, you are wearing what is comfortable, same as me.”
“That dress and those heels look anything but comfortable.”
She shrugs. “You wear jeans as your armor, to be ready for a fight. I wear a dress when I need to feel more in control of the men around me.”
