by Soto, S. M.
I may not have the capacity for emotion, but there’s part of me that wants to make Ryan pay for hurting Blossom. I don’t delve any further into that reasoning. I just chalk it up to the fact that no one, no matter who they are, should be taken advantage of that way. And he’ll pay. With every last drop of blood.
* * *
*BLOSSOM
After hours upon hours of waiting around for Percivale to return, I gave in and ate the food he generously left this morning while I was asleep. The fact that he left me here, unchained, felt almost like a test on his part. And any other day, I might have ran away, but not after this morning and after what I shared with him last night. Call me naive, idiotic, whatever, but I feel like there’s been a shift.
I may not know where he is right now, or what he’s doing, but I want to hope this means things are different. Things will change. Maybe he won’t kill me. Maybe he still will. What matters most is I willingly gave myself over to someone. I shared my body with someone because I wanted to and not the other way around.
What’s more surprising than him leaving me unattended is the way he asked and made sure this was what I wanted this morning. These last few days with Percivale, I’ve questioned the man in the dark jacket who smokes like a train. I’ve questioned his morals and character, but after this morning, I think I finally have a small percentage of answers.
What I’ve come to realize? Percivale isn’t as evil as he wants me to believe. He just needs to believe it too.
Hours later, I wake in a world of pleasure. A tongue flutters over my folds, and my eyes fling open. A gasp rips from my chest when I spot Percivale between my legs, eating me with a ravenous hunger.
“Oh, wow,” I breathe out, completely surprised.
I don’t even remember falling asleep earlier. One minute I was lying in bed, mindlessly staring at the TV while I waited for him to come back; then the next, I felt like I was in heaven.
Percivale chuckles against my skin, and my pussy throbs with need for him. The hunger he has awaken inside of me is insatiable. I should be pushing him off after the way he pounded me into the mattress this morning, but instead, I’m doing the exact opposite. All I know is I need him inside of me. Damn the consequences. Damn it all.
He slides up my body and slips into me, fucking me completely senseless. My brain isn’t able to register how he got my clothes off so quickly, without me noticing—all I can focus on is the lightning bolts of pleasure shooting through my core down to my channel. His hips piston inside of me, and it’s like he can’t seem to get deep enough. Percivale lifts my body, resting me on his lap, and grips onto my hips, working my body over his shaft skillfully. I drop my head back and ride out the waves of euphoria.
His hand snakes around the column of my neck and squeezes. My walls clamp down around him, and he grunts in approval. With the myriad of sensations he’s eliciting in my body, I dig my nails into his shoulders, trying not drown in him. The harder I dig my nails in, the harder he chokes me, and I fucking love it. It’s like a test of our boundaries. I never thought I’d be okay with anything remotely close to this during sex, and without Percivale, I probably still wouldn’t know. He elicits feelings in me I’ve never thought to think twice about. When I’m around him, there’s another side of me I’ve never known was there. I’m not just sweet little Blossom Jaymes. I’m Blossom Jaymes, the one with a backbone. With an insatiable desire to feel this dangerous man’s hands on my skin. With a penchant for darkness.
I’m different.
“Such a perfect cunt,” he praises as he slides in and out of me at an earth-shattering pace. When he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth and tugs with his teeth, simultaneously positioning his hand between our bodies to play with my clit, I lose it. I buck in his arms, my walls squeezing his cock as wave after wave of my orgasm rolls through me.
Percivale drops me back onto the bed and slides out in one fluid motion. He sprays strings of his cum all over my face. It’s nasty and erotic, and fuck does it make me want him even more. I’ve never felt so wanton or sensual.
“Get in the shower.” He’s not asking; it’s more of a command, and Jesus, why does that turn me on so freaking much? Unlike this morning when he wanted me to spend the whole day dressed in his seed, now he’s letting me wash it off.
Percivale helps me off the bed, tossing my damn-near limp body over his shoulder. He fiddles with the taps and sets the water at a suitable temperature before he deposits me onto the tiles. I let the water run over my body and close my eyes, tipping my head back, allowing the water to breathe an ounce of life back into me. I feel him when he slides in behind me. His cock is hard, practically stabbing me in the back. It causes the muscles in my stomach to clench, and the throbbing I feel down there intensifies.
I turn around and watch as his eyes trail up and down my flesh. He watches me like an animal would its prey, and when he licks his lips, I have to squeeze my thighs together to help alleviate the building ache between my legs. Of their own accord, my eyes drop down to his length. He stares down at me with so much lust in his eyes, it prompts me to do something I never thought I’d do.
I drop to my knees in front of him. The cool tile digs into my bones, but I brush it aside as I take him in my mouth. I suck the tip of him into my mouth, just like the girls do in the few porn videos I’ve watched. I swirl my tongue around his head all the while maintaining eye contact with him, watching every expression roll across his face. I grip his shaft with my hand and squeeze. It doesn’t take me long to find a rhythm—lick, pump, suck, deep-throat, lick, pump, suck, deep-throat.
Percivale clutches the damp strands of my hair in his fist and guides my tempo. The muscles along his thighs bunch forcefully as he thrusts his hips into my mouth, forcing me to take his length all the way down my throat.
“Touch your pussy, princess.”
I do as he says, using my free hand to rub firm circles over my clit. In no time my body responds. My breasts feel fuller, heavier, and that damn pulse between my legs intensifies, like a ticking time bomb about to go off at any second.
Unlike most gentlemen, Percivale gives me no forewarning. He cums down my throat, his seed thick as it spills past my lips, dripping along my chin.
“Swallow it. Every last bit,” he rasps darkly, watching his cum spill out of my mouth. His eyes are on fire, practically burning a hole through me. I swallow every last bit of him, relishing in the way he stares down at me with praise in his eyes.
Percivale helps me to my feet and smooths his thumb over my chin, catching his leftover cum. He then proceeds to hover his thumb in front of my lips, silently telling me to lick up every last drop.
“Good girl,” he whispers seductively as I suck his thumb clean.
Turning me around, away from his still-hard cock, Percivale helps me wash my body and hair, and I try to do the same for him. With the height difference, it’s almost impossible.
After cleaning up, we get out, and surprisingly, Percivale tells me to dress so we can get food. I make quick work of changing into the clothes he brought for me—a black V-neck and a pair of cutoff yoga pants. I run a brush through my hair, trying to tame it, and then we’re off.
About thirty minutes later, we pull into the parking lot of another small diner. We find another booth in the corner where we can get some privacy, and unlike all of our other meals, we sit in a comfortable silence rather than a tense one.
I take a sip from my Coke, my eyes darting around from the patrons to the television poised in the corner of the diner, playing some football game.
“You were gone for a long time earlier.” I make it sound like a statement and feign nonchalance. I don’t want him to know the fact that he was gone for hours today bothers me. I have no idea what he was doing. Why he left me unstrapped to the bed. I don’t understand him.
“Had something to do,” he replies vaguely. I feel his gaze burning into my skin, so I know he’s watching me, probably looking for any telltale signs that I’m j
ealous. I hope my face looks seminormal.
“You didn’t tie me up this time before you left. Why not?”
“Maybe I wanted you to run.” His answer has shock rolling through my body, causing me to swing my gaze to his, searching for the truth. It’s a waste of time. I could spend endless hours trying to read this man and I’d still get nowhere.
“And why would I do that?” I try to ignore the way my heart is racing in my chest as I ask the question. He doesn’t answer, just continues watching me for a solid beat before glancing out the window, his eyes assessing the shadows.
“Do you ever think about him?”
My lungs freeze and I damn-near choke on my soda at his question.
“Who?”
His eyes narrow. “You know who.”
And I do. I just don’t know why he’s asking about him. Bringing him up now, especially here, in a public place.
I shrug, trying to play it off, and twirl my straw around my cup to avoid eye contact.
“Sometimes I do. But not for the reasons you think. I guess I wonder what my life would be like if that night had gone differently. I wonder if I’d be different. Where would I be now? Would I still be in California? Would I still have my own business? And then there’s him. Sometimes I worry about other women. If he did it to me, he could do it to anyone else, right? I guess I feel like I should’ve done more, spoke up. Just to prevent it from happening to anyone else. Even if nothing came from it, at least I could say I tried.”
His lips purse and something crosses over his face, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods like he understands. I eye him warily for a few seconds, trying to figure out what the hell he could possibly be thinking, but he does something else that confuses the shit out of me. He reaches in his pocket and slides a dark object toward me.
“Here. Make one call to your parents. Let them know you’re okay.”
My eyes widen. My mouth gapes.
“What?”
“Call. Them,” he grinds out, frustration burning at the edges of his eyes.
Shakily, I pick the phone up from the table and start sliding out of the booth, but his hand shoots out, clasping onto my wrist, halting me. Slowly he shakes his head no, and I drop back down onto the cushion, frowning now.
“I can’t even have a little privacy?”
He smirks, clearly amused by my attempts to speak to my parents in private. “When have I ever given such privacy? Why would I start now?”
I nod begrudgingly because, well, he actually has a point. Privacy and modesty are a luxury I do not have anymore.
I dial my mom’s cell number, which I know by heart, and listen to each drawn-out ring, waiting for her to answer. Finally, she picks up, her usual soft, chipper voice trickling over the line.
“Hello?”
I clear my throat, feigning normalcy. “Hey, Mom. How are you?”
“Blossom?” She says my name like she’s confused. I can almost picture her brows drawing together behind her glasses. “Why are you calling from this number? And where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for days. I was getting worried.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips and dart my gaze to Percivale, who’s watching me like a hawk. “Oh, the phone? Yeah, sorry about that. I lost my phone at the airport, and I haven’t had a chance to cancel the service yet, but I will—”
“The airport?” My mother’s tone raises an octave, which means she’s getting worked up. “What are you doing at the airport? Where are you? And why is the bakery closed? I tried to call you there too.”
I rub at the center of my forehead, feeling a headache coming on at all her questions. “I was at the airport a few days ago and I must’ve lost it there. The bakery is closed because…because I’m on a small trip.”
“A small trip?” She’s not quite yelling yet, but I know if I say one more wrong thing, she will be.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I just decided to take a quick vacation with a friend is all, Mom.”
“But the shop, Blossom, what about the shop?”
“Oh, it’s fine. The bills are covered until I get back, and when I reopen I’ll have a fresh mind with some new recipes to try out and add to the menu.”
My mom sighs. “Are you getting burnt-out, sweetie? Is that what this is?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes. No. I don’t know, Mom.”
“Hmm. I’ve told you you needed a break. You need to get out more, honey. Be happy. Hire some extra help—you can’t expect to run that place on your own, Blossom. Maybe your father and I can—”
My face heats as I glance over at Percivale. He’s watching me, eyes hard yet warm. It’s such a contradiction. The combination of the two opposite looks has my tummy tingling.
“Mom, I can handle the shop on my own. Women do it all the time,” I say abruptly, cutting her off.
“Well, obviously not if you needed to take a vacation with your friend to help clear your head.”
The way she says friend has my heart racing and my skin flushing. As I stare at Percivale and the smirk itching to spread across his face, I know he can hear my mother.
I open my mouth to say something, but his stare, the look in his eyes as he watches me has me forgetting my train of thought. The smirk he’s been holding back finally slips free. It’s crooked and if I didn’t know him, I’d even say it’s playful, like he’s enjoying the effect he has on me.
Bastard.
“I should go now, Mom. Someone else wants to use the payphone,” I lie.
“Wow. Okay, honey. Didn’t even realize they had those things anymore. Talk soon.”
After I hang up with my mom, he leans across the table into my space and hovers his lips inches away from mine.
“Good girl,” he breathes, and my core spasms with anticipation. That’s his favorite phrase during sex, and I’ll never be able to hear those words without thinking of him sliding in and out of me.
He kisses me. Right there in front of everyone. His tongue tangling with mine. Taking everything. And I let him. Because how can I not?
* * *
“How much longer are we staying here?” I ask in between bites of my apple.
He’s sitting next to me, his own apple resting between his teeth as he sifts through papers, looking deep in thought.
Over the last two days, he’s been more and more open with me. About everything it seems. I don’t know if it’s the sex or the fact that I haven’t tried to run, but whatever it is, there seems to be a change in our dynamic. Using that to my advantage, I try to pry some information out of him. Any that I can. Not because I want to use it against him or leave, but because I want to know what goes on with him. I’ve given up on leaving. I don’t even want to think of the possibility anymore—that’s what is so scary about this situation. I don’t feel like a prisoner or a captive anymore. In truth, I never really did. I feel like I belong here, with him.
“Not sure.”
He goes back to working, err, whatever he’s doing, and I finish off the rest of my apple before I fire off more questions.
“So how did you start working for this guy? I’m guessing he’s the one who calls the shots, or the ‘hits.’ But how did it happen? Did he promise to help you with your revenge?”
Percivale hasn’t spilled much information about the men he works with or the guy who calls the shots. He’s been oddly tight-lipped when it comes to that subject. All I truly know is this guy is like the kingpin of whatever organization Percivale works for. I just don’t understand the connection. I’ve put most of it together, the fact that he wants revenge for his family—but how does he expect to get it? And why is it so damn important to him? He’s wasted years of his life over this, makes me wonder what will happen when he finally does finish it. What will he have left then?
He sighs like he’s tired and snaps the folder filled with his papers shut. “Not exactly. I was just a teen when he found me.”
“Who?”
He darts his gaze to mine, darkness clouding h
is eyes. “Arthur.”
“So, he does have a name,” I muse, leaning back against the headboard. “Tell me more.”
He keeps his face blank. “I was angry and dumb. I wanted revenge, but I didn’t know the first thing about exacting it. My mother shielded me from that life of crime after what happened to my dad and my brothers. A place in the Chicago mob wasn’t what she wanted for me. She didn’t want to risk losing me too. I wasn’t as well versed as I should’ve been. I had to learn a lot of shit on my own and try not to get killed in the process. The first time I met him, he saved me. I don’t know why—I was just a dumb kid, but that didn’t matter to him. Arthur saw something in me. Whatever it was, it was enough to make him protect me, guide me, pull me under his wing. Over the years, he helped me, taught me how to channel my anger into more…lucrative aspects. He built the Table of Death from the ground up, recruiting each man based on his skill set and death toll.”
My brows pull down into a frown. “Table of…death?”
“Yes, the Tabella Della Morte. The table where the most notorious, the most violent, and the most dangerous men from New Orleans come together with one sole purpose—to shed blood. We’re the Cavalieri Della Morte. We surround ourselves with danger, and we’re all the same, violent and deadly.”
I swallow thickly. “So, this Cavalieri…it’s a gang? Or what are you guys, assassins?”
Percivale flicks his gaze up to mine, watching me through his lashes. “You can say that.”
“And getting revenge, how does that tie in?” What I don’t say is I know how much his revenge means to him, and just how much it’s driving him.
“It doesn’t. My revenge is just that—mine.”
“It’s been years, don’t you want to let it go? Does your revenge mean that much to you? What if you get killed in the process?”
“Then I die trying.”
My heart squeezes. That vice around the organ tightens until I can hardly breathe. I can’t explain my reaction to his words; all I know is I don’t want to think about a world without Percivale in it.
