Page 9 of Craving Red

“Does that make you the trick?”

“More like the trickster.” Her grip tightens around me. “Happy anniversary, love,” she murmurs against my skin, her voice a raspy vibration that makes my chest ache in the best possible way.

“Happy anniversary,” I sigh, letting myself be held.

She chuckles, the sound rumbling through my spine. “Did you have fun this morning?”

The relief of being in her arms is intoxicating, but my stubborn streak refuses to surrender quite so easily. I part my lips, a dozen indignant comments about wild goose chases ready to spill out. “Fun? Do you have any idea how ridiculous I felt driving all the way downtown just to stare at an empty room?” I lean against her, tipping my chin up. “But I followed your clues. I tracked you down, and I caught you.”

“Mm, is that what happened?” she asks, a dark ribbon of amusement threading through her words. “From where I’m standing, it looks like I caught you.” Jo’s hands flatten on my stomach, her grip firming.

I open my mouth, searching for the flaw in her logic and finding, to my deep irritation, that she has a point.

“You are incredibly lucky I love you, Josephine.”

“I am,” she agrees, though I can feel the smirk on her face.

I draw breath for the rest of my speech, but Jo lifts one hand from my waist and presses a single finger to my lips. “Shh.”

It would be so easy to let it go. But it’s so much more fun not to. I part my lips, take her finger into my mouth, and I bite down with enough pressure to make my point.

Her breath stutters in my ear. She pulls her finger free, swiping over my lower lip. Her hand settles along the side of my throat.

“No, you don’t,” Jo says, low and even. “Behave.”

A flutter goes through my stomach. The command only fuels my rebellion, and I crack one eyelid open before I can talk myself out of it. A blurry slice of the room swims into view: the bed made neatly now, the duvet smoothed flat, the pillows lined up. The corner of my eye catches something on the nightstand that wasn’t there this morning. Over the surface lies a slim black handle with a fan of pale feathers at its end.

I gasp.

“Close. Your. Eyes,” Jo says.

My eye snaps shut under the unyielding weight of her tone. I love how she effortlessly claims control. Beneath all my defiance, this is the safest I have felt in my life.

Her arms slip away from my waist and throat. “Don’t move,” she instructs.

I stay rooted in place while her footsteps retreat, soft on the rug. I hear a drawer slide open, followed by the rustle of smooth fabric being drawn through her fingers. A few moments later, her presence returns, whispering in my ear.

“Are you going to be good?”

My answer is somewhere in my throat and refuses to come out. I nod instead, one helpless movement. Satin settles over my eyes, perfectly contoured to block out every sliver of light. The blindfold sits on my face like it was made for it.

We figured out early on that removing my sight is the most effective way to shut down my overactive mind. Losing a sense sharpens the rest to an agonizing point. I spend my days staying three steps ahead of everyone, but with Jo, I only try to anticipate her—and she always manages to catch me off guard.

Her fingers adjust the strap at the back of my head.

“Okay?” she whispers.

“Okay.”

Stripped of my sight, my world shrinks to the sound of Jo’s breathing. I can’t see her, but I can feel the sweeping weight of her gaze taking me in—from the crown of my head down to the sharp point of my stilettos.

“God, you are beautiful,” she breathes, the words laced with reverence.

Her hand finds mine. Her fingers trace the line of my knuckles before she lifts my hand to her lips. She presses a soft kiss, her lips warm against my skin. This is the duality of Josephine Blake that unraveled me: the demanding wolf who can switch to pure worship in a single heartbeat.

But the quiet adoration doesn’t last. The air between us thickens, the temperature spiking as her touch shifts.

She releases my hand, her knuckles brushing my hip to trace the tight fit of the leather. When her fingers find the slit on my thigh, a jolt of heat shoots straight to my core. She trails upward, her touch slow as she maps the exposed strip of my skin.