“No.”
I exhaled a sigh and turned forward again, hearing the girl’s panting getting faster and louder. “You think I’m too young,” I stated, turning my head to speak to him at my side. “But I’m not.”
“Did I say that?” he snapped, his tone suddenly gone hard. “You keep putting words into my mouth.”
“Then why did you let me come down here?”
He paused, and then answered in a flat tone, “Who am I to deny you anything?”
I drew in a sharp breath, anger seeping into every muscle in my body. “I’m sick of your vague responses,” I bit out. “Why did you let me come down here?”
What did he want with me? Why press that I could do what I wanted and handle myself, and then keep me restrained, still tethered on a leash?
Did he even know what he was doing?
Screw this. I didn’t need his permission.
I reached up and whipped off the blindfold. But instead of checking out the room and the display being put on like I’d originally wanted, I immediately spun around and came to stand directly in front of him, looking up.
His hazel eyes, all that was visible behind his crimson mask that made my heart pump with fear, locked on mine, not blinking or reacting.
“Why did you bring me down here?” I pressed again, searching his eyes for any sign of emotion. “Did you think it would be funny? Get your kicks by seeing how far you could push me before I’d run away?”
But he just stood there. He didn’t speak, move, and it didn’t even look like he was breathing. He was a machine.
I shook my head, an ache settling behind my eyes. After years of fucking waiting for him to look at me and finally see me, he’d given me something—just one part of a single day—and now he’d taken it away as if I were a void standing in front of him. I was transparent and of no consequence. I didn’t know what was going on in his head, and I finally realized I never would.
“I’ll find my own way out,” I told him, turning away and heading for the door before he could see my lips tremble.
But then he caught the inside of my elbow and yanked me backward, and I gasped as my back crashed into his chest.
“Don’t go.” His voice shook.
Tears pooled in my eyes, and he wrapped an arm around my waist, keeping me glued to his chest as he walked us to the right, rushing into another dark room, this one empty.
My eyes darted around me, but I could barely see anything, the only light coming from the candles in the other room.
“Michael, stop,” I breathed out. Everything was happening too fast. What the hell was he doing?
He walked us across the room, and I dug in my heels to stop him from pushing me, but it was too late. I was pressed into the wall, my chest meeting the stone, and I immediately felt something hit my foot. I looked down to see his red mask lying on the ground as he hovered over my back.
I opened my mouth to protest, but then I froze, feeling his arm tighten around my waist and his breath fall on my neck, over my scar. I stopped breathing, letting my eyes fall closed as my skin burned and my head swam with pleasure. His face and lips nestled into my skin as he held me caged between him and the wall, but he didn’t move further. No kissing, no caressing, just holding as he breathed in and out against my skin.
“You want to know why you’re here?” he asked me, sounding strained in my ear. “You’re here, because you’re like me, Rika. You’re here, because there are enough people who try to tell us what to do and try to keep us in a box.”
He grazed his lips up my neck as he spoke. “They tell us that what we want is wrong and that freedom is dirty. They see chaos, madness, and fucking as ugly, and the older you get, the smaller that box gets. You feel it closing in already, don’t you?”
My lungs tightened, and I finally sucked in a breath, forcing myself to breathe. His hand dropped from the wall and gripped the front of my neck, bending it back to him.
“I’m hungry, Rika,” he said, pressing his hard body into my back, his lips hovering over mine. “I want everything they tell me I can’t have, and I see that hunger in you, too.”
I blinked up, trying to make out the outline of his face in the near-darkness. All I could see, though, was the straight ridge of his nose and the angle of his strong jaw.
“There are too many people that try to change us,” he went on, “and not enough people who want us to be who we really are. Someone once made me see that, and I wanted to give that to you.”
I stared up at him, my heart racing but so happy I wanted to cry. He knew. He understood what I wanted more than anything.
Freedom.
“Own who you are,” he commanded. “And don’t apologize. Do you understand? Own it or it will own you.”
Relief flooded me. For the first time in my entire life, someone told me it was okay to want what I wanted. To get into messes and to dive in head-first.
To have a little fucking fun before I died.
I dropped my hands from the wall and slowly turned around, feeling his arm around my waist loosen to let me move.
“Is that all you wanted to give me?” I asked quietly.
He dipped his head down, his heat and scent only inches away.
“I’m not sure you’re ready for more,” he said in a low voice.
And my breath shook, feeling his fingertips trail up my thigh, dragging my skirt up with them. His fingers grazed over the intimate curve where my leg met my hip, and I whimpered, clutching his sweatshirt.