Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Violet

Cain's troubled tonight, but it's not out of the ordinary for him. I know this is just the way he is sometimes.

I blame it on his past.

Sometimes he wakes in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. He paces the room we share and stares out at the ocean. He tries to be quiet so he doesn't wake me, but I know him too well, and I often wake when he does.

We haven't known each other for long, but it feels like it's been much, much longer. Sometimes there's a depth to our relationship… an understanding, one might say… that makes me feel like I've known him for years.

After dinner at Sake and Sushi, my belly is full and I'm tired from the night's events. Cain's got a frenetic sort of energy driving him, though, and he hasn't even stripped for bed.

I don't ask him what's on his mind. If he wants to tell me, he will.

I'm lying belly-down on the bed, the pillow tucked under my cheek, when I feel the bed sag beside me from his heft. He's the largest man I've ever known, pure muscle, yet he walks quietly and folds himself onto the bed with surprising grace.

"You move so quietly, I hardly know you're there," I say with a smile, my eyes still closed. I feel his hand come to rest on the base of my skull, his fingers gently stroking my hair.

"Comes with my line of work. It pays to move silently so no one ever knows you're coming."

That makes me wonder… is there more to his "line of work" than I know?

"Clothes that don't rustle and rubber soles on your shoes?"

"Exactly."

We sit in silence for a moment while he runs his fingers through my hair. Finally, he breaks the silence.

"I'm heading down to the target range."

"Aw, without me? No fair." I'm only teasing him, though, and he knows it. Other guys play video games or watch YouTube to relax. Cain hones his skills at the target range. It's no wonder he's such a good shot.

"We'll go back tomorrow. I've got a new toy for you to play with." Given how he uses the range, he could mean anything from a new handgun to a new riding crop.

I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, though. "I'll look forward to it."

He leaves a gentle kiss on my forehead before he leaves, and after I hear the door close behind him, I fall into a deep sleep.

Hours later, I hear the door open, and roll over. The room's gotten cooler, and I shiver before I draw the blanket up over my shoulder. Cain quietly dismisses the guard he keeps at the door when he isn't with me—both his sister, who lives here with us, and I always have a guard with us—and closes the door behind him.

"How'd it go?"

His voice is raspy and low when he responds. He hasn't spoken for hours, and he's tired now, too. "You're supposed to be asleep."

I prop myself up on the pillows and open one eye. "I was, but you know this is my favorite part of the day."

Even in the dim light, I can see the smile that ghosts his lips.

"Snuggling in bed with me?" Cain doesn't "snuggle." He kisses, he caresses, he holds me tight, but "snuggling" is too gentle a term for a man made of steel and iron.

"Nah," I say with a wink. "Watching you strip."

I'm not lying.

He's already stripped down to a T-shirt but still wears his dress pants from earlier in the night. I watch in silence as he sits on the edge of the desk chair and unties his shoes. Next, the socks, and his belt. I swallow when he folds it before he lays it over the back of the chair. I have vivid memories of what he's done with that belt.

I watch as his clothes fall to the floor and pool by his feet, marveling at the harnessed strength evident even in the darkened room. A glint of moonlight illuminates the wide breadth of his shoulders, the corded muscles of his arms, the defined planes of his chest and abs. My eyes travel down to his thick, muscled legs, planted like two trees on the ground.

"We should go apple picking," I say absentmindedly.

"Apple picking?" He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.

"Yeah, apple picking. Like, you go to the orchard and pick apples. They have things like hayrides and apple cider donuts and scarecrows."

"Babe, it's November. You have to do that in like… September."

I sigh. "Oh. Right."

He shakes his head and continues to undress. "What brought that up?"

"Just imagining climbing up on your back and using you like a ladder."

"Violet."

I swallow, my mouth dry. He says one word, and my body starts to heat.

I close my eyes against a rush of emotion and need. I love when he says my name. It's sweetness and seduction, like chocolate-dipped berries.

"Yes?"

"We don't need to go apple picking for you to climb me."

Aw, fuck. I was tired, and now I'm very wide awake. I swallow. "I know."

I continue to watch him in silence. By the time he's stripped off the tee and stands only in his boxers, I'm on fire.

"Come here," I whisper, gently stroking the side of the bed. He gives me a curious look, as if not sure he knows how to take a command from me. He's usually the one giving them, so I decide to play nice. "Please, Cain."

A little thrill ripples through me when I realize he's actually doing something I asked him to. He sits quietly on the edge of the bed just like he did before he left, but this time, I slide out of bed. I position myself between his knees and gently pry them apart. He's already hard, already eager, and when I stroke his erection through the thin fabric of the boxers, my mouth waters.

"Hands behind your back," he says in a low command, as he gathers my arms and places them at the small of my back like I'm stretching for a yoga class. "Keep them there, baby."

Baby. I melt.

I don't have a submissive bone in my body. Never have, never will. I write my own rules and fight my own battles. But when Cain Master gives me a command, my knees buckle and my legs turn to jelly.

He's the only man I'll ever submit to, and he knows it.

I eye his hard cock tented in his boxers, lean forward, and kiss the very top.

"Please," I say on a hoarse whisper.

"God, woman. You don't have to ask me twice."

I sigh when the satiny-feel of his cock touches my lips. I lick the very top and suckle, making him groan. He pumps into my mouth like he's fucking me, and I take every inch of him, every perfect fucking inch. I tease and taunt and suckle and moan, eager to please, to own this small part of him that he grants me.

"Jesus, baby. Stop. "

I shake my head from side to side. I don't want to stop. I want him to come. I want to swallow him down and own him like he does me.

He leans down and tweaks my nipple, hard, as he breathes into my ear, "I said stop, Violet. Stop now or I'll come in your mouth, and I want your pussy wrapped around my cock when I come."

I moan in protest.

"Violet," he says warningly, already eying the folded belt by his desk. With a sigh, I lay my head on his lap.

"Get up on this bed." He may be a jealous lover, but he's never a selfish one. I'm enjoying my place here, with my head in his lap, though, so I don't move right away. "Now," he orders, yanking me up and over his lap where he gives me a good hard slap.

In seconds, I'm facedown on the bed on my knees, and he's behind me, hands on my hips and my pussy spread for him. I hold my breath until he slides into me, and I release a pent-up sigh at the fullness of him. Frissons of ecstasy explode through me when he thrusts, and a feeling of utter completion washes over me. We climax in unison, like we were made for each other.

I'm lying next to him in blissful contentment. Skin to skin, all our clothing tumbled to the floor like leaves shed for winter. I'm up on his chest and his hands are folded, resting on my lower back.

"You make a terrible pillow," I murmur, cheek smooshed against the hardness of his body. He chuckles, but quiets when I reach for the cool metal of his dog tags. I wonder if tonight he'll tell me. I don't ask, just gently finger them.

"Thanks for that."

I snort. "Yeah, it was a real sacrifice."

He smiles, sobering. "Thanks for being patient with me."

I only nod, afraid if I speak too soon, I'll scare him off again. I can feel we're on the cusp of more truth between us. He may be fearless and strong, but when it comes to personal revelations, he scares as easily as a spooked deer sometimes.

When he speaks, his voice has gentled, his tone contemplative. "I wonder if you'd have stayed with me if you'd met me when I was younger."

"You wouldn't have," I say with a laugh. "I was headstrong and willful with a chip on my shoulder the size of a boulder."

"Oh, because you're oh-so-docile and obedient now?"

I smile. "You know what I mean. I wonder what you were like as a younger man. Smaller?"

"A bit. I've always been a big guy but didn't body build until I was older."

"More cocky?"

He chuckles. "Definitely."

I absentmindedly run my fingers along the little curly hairs on his chest. "Your eyes would be more boyish, I imagine, and not?—"

I pause. I've said too much. But he doesn't let me get away with half sentences.

"Not what?"

I swallow and cringe before I go for broke. "Maybe not so… guarded."

It's a poor choice of a word. Guarded isn't really what I meant. The first time I looked into his eyes, I knew he was a man who'd experienced deep, abiding pain, the type that rocks you to your core and leaves scars that never heal. He's only hinted at things that have hurt him, but hasn't told me much of anything. Yet.

"Maybe not," he admits. "Would you like to know where I got these dog tags?"

My heart soars.

"Of course," I say with forced patience, because the little girl in me's jumping for joy and fist pumping all at the same time. I love when he lets me in, when he trusts me a little bit more. I draw in a breath, then release it slowly. "I want to know everything about you, Cain."

He pauses a beat before he says, "And I'll tell you everything. In time."

I close my eyes against the sudden rush of emotion. Other women might swoon at a profession of love, and when the day comes for that between us, it will mean more than anything to me. But this… this right here, his granting of trust that so few have, is the next best thing.

"When I was stationed in France, I was trained by a guy named Court Fallow."

"That's quite a unique name."

"He was a unique guy. Born and bred in the Deep South, his family lived on a rambling farm that harvests corn."

I nod, giving him space to tell the story.

"Not sure you've had much to do with Henri. He keeps to himself." Henri's a quiet, unassuming employee of Cain's. He was the man that opened the door for me the day I first came here. I knew I detected a Southern accent.

"I've seen him, but we've never really even talked beyond work at all."

"He keeps to himself. Henri was Court's youngest brother."

"Oh wow."

"Court was the father I never had, Violet."

I didn't see that coming.

I gently stroke his shoulder. Keeping him with me. "Oh? How so?"

His voice takes on a huskier edge, reminiscing. "He took me under his wing. Showed me how to shoot, showed me how to protect the people under my care. He was the oldest of seven, raised to be a man of honor, and he taught me everything he knew."

"Well, that explains a lot."

He huffs out a laugh as he runs his fingers through my hair in a rhythmic motion, up and down, up and down, as if it soothes him. Maybe it does.

"Court was killed by friendly fire." My heart aches. Accidental death like that is so tragic, I can't imagine how it feels for the people who knew him or the people responsible for his death. "I was the one who found him. He bled out while I held him, waiting for emergency crews to respond."

"Oh, Cain." I've been through brutally painful times, but something like this makes me hurt for him.

"And before the rescue crews could find us, I was taken hostage. I took his dog tags just before they took his body and me, alive."

I put two and two together.

"And that's how you got the scars on your back." I knew it was some kind of torture or punishment he'd endured.

"Yeah."

"Let me see them."

He stills for a moment, before he lets me slide off of him. The bed's huge, a king-sized monstrosity as big as the old apartment I rented, so he rolls over with ease. He places his arms above his head, spreading his muscled, scarred back for me. My eyes have adjusted to the dim lighting in the room, moonlight lighting up the silvery-white scars that crisscross his back.

"Brutal," I whisper, my own body clenching at the scars that mimic mine. I bend, close my eyes, and kiss each scar that lines his back.

He lets me. My throat tightens.

"Don't tell me where your scars came from. Not tonight, Violet."

I still. Why doesn't he want to know? A part of me's relieved, because I'm not in the mood to relive any of those events.

"I won't. I don't want to talk about it myself yet. But can I ask you why?"

He rolls back over, reaches for me, then drags me to his chest again. His eyes are fire, giving me a glimpse of the inferno that rages inside him. Sometimes, he tames the fire. Sometimes, he hides it. But it's never fully quenched.

"Because when I find out who gave you those scars, I will hunt them down. I will make them pay. I want to be fully prepared, and tonight's not the night for that."

I'd smile, but he isn't joking.

I'm falling in love with the man they call The Executioner. I didn't come here by accident.

"Alright, then," I whisper.

I lay back down beside him and roll over. We both know it's time for sleep, and the time to divulge secrets to one another is over.

For now.

He lays his heavy arm over my body, and I sigh. Nothing gives me comfort like the weight of his arm.

I want to ask him how we're coming along on the next job we have to do—finding my parents' murderer. I want to remind him that he promised me that he wouldn't leave me hanging. But I'm tired, and so is he. Tomorrow, then.

I yawn widely, my eyes closing.

"Thank you for that," I whisper, as slumber beckons.

"For what?"

"For trusting me with the truth."

I need to ask him about my parents. Have we made headway with anything at all? I'm feeling frustrated and impatient, so ready to move on this. But not tonight.

I fall into a deep sleep.

I dream of hunting, and weapons, and throwing the new knives he bought me, but every time I throw them, I miss the target.