Page 44 of My Masked Savior
Morgan gasps, but doesn’t look away. Her hands grip the armrests so tight I can see her tendons standing out beneath her skin.
“Watch him break,” I tell her softly. “Watch him feel powerless. Helpless. The way he made you feel.”
Her breath catches, chest heaving.
I complete the cut. Marco’s second hand drops to the table with a wet thud. Both appendages are now useless, destroyed.
He slumps in the restraints, consciousness flickering. His eyes roll back, showing whites.
I cross to the cabinet and pull out a syringe of epinephrine. Can’t have him passing out yet.
“Stay with me,” I murmur, injecting it directly into his carotid. “We’re not finished.”
His body jerks as the drug hits his system, dragging him back from the edge. His eyes focus again, wild with agony and terror.
I turn to Morgan, still holding the empty syringe.
She’s staring at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. Not the EMT who saved her. Not the lover who claimed her.
Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. “More.”
The word hangs between us, electric.
15
MORGAN
Instead of giving me what I asked for, Damien drops the syringe into a metal pan, then pulls off his gloves with a snap.
“A—are you done?” I ask, confused about the sudden change as he approaches me. I don’t even realize I stood up until he’s just inches away, gazing down at me, his chest moving with heavy breaths.
“You’re turned on,” he murmurs, one hand coming to rest on the side of my neck where my pulse is fluttering like a caged bird.
“What? No!” I breathe, shaking my head. “That’s insane.”
Is it, though? My skin feels electric, tiny pinpricks skittering over my body. I told myself I was enjoying Marco getting what he deserves. Maybe I was enjoying watching Damien dole it out.
“Your pupils are dilated. Your breath rate’s increased. Your nipples are hard. You were squeezing your thighs together.”
I flush at the cool manner Damien lists my ‘symptoms’. Sometimes it feels like he knows more about me than I know about myself.
“Maybe I am,” I whisper. “Is that bad?”
Is he going to kick me out? Lose my number and remove himself from my life? Because I enjoy him being some kind of... vigilante killer just a bit too much?
Damien growls, herding me to the other side of the room.
“You like seeing a scalpel in my hand, princess?” His voice is so low, it’s practically a rockslide. “Or is it the latex gloves?”
“Y—yes,” I answer both questions. My lower lip trembles as I let him walk me backward until the backs of my thighs hit something. Damien reaches over me and pulls a sheet off whatever it is.
“Strip,” he commands. I blink up at him before turning around. My jaw unhinges when I spot a gynecologist’s chair.
“Why do you have this?” I ask, my voice sounding angry even to my own ears. Torturing vile men seems to be alright in my books, but having some kind of doctor kink and playing it out with other women? I guess that’s unacceptable.
The corner of Damien’s mouth lifts up into a lopsided smirk.
“Don’t worry, princess,” he drawls. “This piece has never been used for pleasure, trust me. Now, are you going to listen to me or do I need to make you?”
