A New, Feral Order

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kenzi said.

She walked down the street with Tyler a few paces behind her as she muttered to Lana on the phone. Her thighs burned with a bone-deep reminder of forbidden fancies throbbing in time with her heartbeat.

Her high-necked blouse hid his teeth marks, but nothing could mute the torrid memory of him buried inside her. Or the sensation of his beard scraping her mouth. She’d covered the pink stain under a layer of makeup.

The blush she wore wasn’t from the summer heat or store-bought powder; it was all his. The sun fractured off her gold-framed shades, their black tint blocking her eyes.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. But I’ll let you off. I’m in a good mood today,” Lana said as Kenzi navigated the street.

Silently glad her friend didn’t press her on why she had stopped responding the other night. Heads whipped in her direction as she passed, double takes and rolled eyes, some even glared.

She took no notice. Her shine would outlast them today.

Tyler’s shadow clung to her like a second skin—a precisely contained storm of black leather and unspoken promises. Paparazzi conspicuously snapped photos of her across and ahead of her on the street.

She knew her bodyguard had one gloved hand on his gun. He hovered a blades-breadth behind her. Close enough, his breath grazed her neck when she slowed. He was a paradox of protocol and rapidly budding possessiveness.

The glove he’d left on her nightstand, now bestowed between her breasts. It almost felt alive. Still imprinted with the shape of his palm. She was a raw nerve on the dusty gray sidewalk.

Every stride made the black gauntlet rub against her nipple, stiffening it to the point of pain. She bit back a moan as the mental image of Tyler’s teeth replacing it detonated.

She saw his reflection in a gleaming store window. Jaw rippling, mask twitching with it, eyes glued on her back.

He knows.

“Still lusting after the bodyguard, Kenz?” Her best friend teased as if she were watching Kenzi’s pap walk on a live feed.

Every measured pace was a lie. Her PR team called these outings a leisurely stroll. To give the tabloids something to chew on while the rest remained a shrouded mystery.

But she knew the truth of it today. So did the man she’d ruin if everyone else found him out.

They were walking through a minefield. Her desire was the ignition. One slip and the professional facade would explode, smashing them into a million glistening, bloodstained pieces. They both knew it.

So why did he keep edging her closer to that cliff?

“Nope. He’s all business. Never gonna happen.”

She chuckled, over loud and much too high. Attention turned back to the cameras. Tyler’s shadow-hand fisted and relaxed. She could barely focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

Kenzi just needed to get outside, to touch some grass. To enjoy the sunshine after a slow morning and early afternoon, which she spent mooning around the house like a maid with the vapours. Hoping to spend some hard-earned cash and forget about looming deadlines for a few hours.

But the crowd of onlookers, chattering and called out to get a reaction from her. And the constant shutter sounds of seen and sly cameras made her want to turn heel and go back into hiding.

She smiled despite her morose thoughts, all scarlet lips and curated chaos, but inside she split at her hastily patched edges. She was half superstar, half girl holding onto the scent of cinnamon and ruin on her bedsheets.

Tyler’s boot scuffed the concrete. No one else would’ve noticed the oddity, the sudden moment of clumsiness from a man for whom strict order and routine bled from his pores.

She catalogued it. The street blurred as she forced herself to stop acting like an infatuated teenager with her first crush.

Then Lana’s sunshine voice trickled through her earbuds, volume lowered because her friend got loud. And didn’t have a filter. She had the notion that her new paramour heard it all anyway.

“Shut up. Don’t lie. Your voice is doing that nasal thing it does when you’re hiding something.” There was a distinct sound of a potato chip package crinkling.

Crunching sounds crumbled through her ears before her friend spoke again. “Fine. What’re you doing right now? Don’t tell me you called Nate again or I’ll be on the first flight to slap some sense into you.”

Kenzi snorted despite her throat tightening. Unladylike. Shameless. If only Lana knew that she’d already given herself over to the whims of chance and fate. A breeze blew through her hair.

She’d drenched it with her favorite vanilla and bourbon perfume, a futile masquerade to drown out the cedarwood and sweat still stuck to her pillows. Her smile was wicked as she heard his breath hitch.

“I blocked Nate after his last rant, don’t worry. Save the flight for an emergency. I’m just… giving the vultures a show.”

She could’ve sworn her protector jolted at hearing another man’s name drip from her red lips. The stupid flutter in her belly echoed it.

Her denim-armored hips swayed more than needed, strutting in six-inch heels. The skirt she wore only grazed her upper thighs. It was a show for Tyler and those watching. Lana’s laugh crackled through the earbuds, bright as crushed diamonds.

“Ooh. Is Stefan with you?” Lana asked, taking a sip of something fizzy.

“Yeah. He’s like a terrible smell, just can’t shake him off,” she said, cringing inside and out.

Her pulse skittered, an injured bird beating its wings against the lie. Stefan wasn’t here. He didn’t know why Tyler had upped his work schedule. Hadn’t questioned it when asked for more hours.

But he had agreed to a certain Mr. Callahan’s proposal that they ease the restrictions a little after a tense meeting, while she’d eaten her breakfast. She wasn’t free to roam around on her own, but it was enough that Kenzi could breathe easier and leave the house without a motorcade following her.

There would be fewer guards around her home. And inside them. She could invite friends without a day’s prior notice. And leave to see them without an assortment of muscled men haunting her.

She could have just one guard. Tyler mainly, Stefan when he needed to sleep. And Colin or James would take their spots if either needed a breather or time off.

Simple, right? Torturous. All that alone time with the man she’d let crawl inside her… she didn’t know whether to cheer her good fortune or formulate a plan to keep from falling too deeply into him too soon.

Did she even want to stop that? She didn’t know. She adjusted her sunglasses to avoid the question and wondered how Stefan would react if he saw Tyler’s glove peeking from her blouse. His loyalty had limits.

She had crossed every line he’d ever set.

What they don’t know can’t hurt them. Can’t hurt Tyler, either. Secrecy. It stings, but it’s better this way, she reminded herself. Again.

Stefan’s name tasted like ash compared to the wildfire of her guards’ silence burning her back. Her step faltered as the paparazzo in front of her lunged too close, taking twenty pictures at once.

Just a vulture circling roadkill. Tyler shifted, a low silent growl clear in his stance, and the bald man retreated with a muttered apology.

Her smug smirk bloomed. It was a blood-red rose plucked from the other night’s thorns.

Good, she thought.

They can think they’re hunting me.

Only one wolf has my scent now.

Embers sprinkled from her chest and down her torso. Her free hand flexed at her side to ignore the abrupt urge to turn and kiss him. See what happened when the pictures came out.

But that wasn’t keeping him safe from a life of being stalked for committing the horrific crime of wanting her. She cut her eyes to a familiar bright blue awning above a red-brick store.

It was a boutique that only allowed paying customers in—and their bodyguards. Windows mostly covered with beautifully designed displays. They couldn’t snap her from the outside.

Perfect. She made a beeline for it.

She said her goodbyes to Lana, hanging up the call as Tyler walked ahead of her to open the white-painted door. He wore a new pair of gloves.

The stiff leather creaked every so often. The one he’d given her, she’d concealed it on her body. It was her clandestine scream of defiance.

It was a relic—a trophy of their secret sin. It still hummed with the memory of his hands on her skin. Even now, almost forty-eight hours later, it burned her. His hand gently pushed on her lower back, urging her inside.

That tiny touch was a live-wire to her overzealous nerves. Lingering a split second longer than it should’ve, his own form of rebellion. His thumb pressed into the notch of her spine.

She wondered if the cameras captured the way he rubbed her back like a confession he couldn’t speak aloud. Her fantastical mind thought it whispered a coded question.

Still mine?

She answered by leaning into him, just shy of proper. Her heart thudded wildly, smirk nearly as permanent as the ache between her thighs whenever he was around. She’d thought sleeping with him would dull its sharp edge.

He’d only honed it into something she could no longer push aside. It wasn’t a want. It was a need.

His eyes flashed as she glanced up at him, mask obscuring his face as always, but she saw through it now.

His head dropped nearer to hers. “Careful, Princess,” he warned, voice like sandstone draped in velvet. Not a threat, his broken plea. “You’re showing your hand.”

His gloved fingertips crept higher beneath her gray blouse as they walked inside the store. The bell above the door rang as it snapped shut.

He engaged the lock, trapping them inside. His knuckles dug into the subtle bruise the wall he’d shoved her into had left on the dip in her spine.

Her knees buckled, static glittered wherever he grazed her flesh, teeth clenching to trap the whimper trying to escape. He caught her, a firm arm banding around her, grip bruising, only holding her until she found her feet.

She laughed off the cold twinge as he let her go, breathless and dizzy, glad the shop was empty as she scanned it. She’d never have a calm heart-rate again.

Not as long as he was around to disrupt its rhythm. If it were possible, steam would’ve hazed off her skin, head shaking as she hissed at Tyler to be careful.

He held his hands up, his fabric-cloaked slanted smile limned every inch of him. She knew it was there. Teasing bastard. The dark-haired owner, Eileen, had slipped through the back once she saw Kenzi entering.

She used to shop here often. The older woman understood her need to browse without prying eyes. Some people were kind and decent. Her fans were the best thing about her fame, too.

They didn’t care to sell her out. She treasured them like jewels when she found them.

The leather tucked inside her bra grew damp with perspiration, sticking to her skin. She imagined Tyler peeling it off with his teeth later. Reprimanding her for taking such a silly risk.

After all, what if it had fallen out? How would she explain that? The headline would read:

Harlowe Disgusts Fans and Onlookers with Glove Fetish!

Worth it, she decided. They moved behind a row of cluttered shelves, candles, incense, crystals, and tarot cards greeted them. Hyperaware of his breath at her nape, his chest was a mere two inches from her.

She remembered she hadn’t responded to Tyler’s claim as she tilted her head to meet his eyes, sliding her sunglasses atop her head. “Good. Means we can keep playing.”

He arched a single bold black eyebrow. It was silent; I dare you to beat me.

He clicked his tongue, flame searing the blue of his eyes as she resisted the impulse to wrap herself around him.

She wanted to yell; Fuck it. Kiss me, take me, right here. Right now. Screw everyone else. They don’t matter. They can think whatever they want.

She’d let them dissect her smirk. Cackle as they missed the way he inhaled greedily when her perfume hit him through the mask.

Or how he swallowed thickly when he smelled himself on her, too. They sequestered themselves among the weighted-down shelves at the back of the store.

Because they were left alone, Tyler broke protocol and stood beside her while she scanned the shelves, her eyes tracing the melodramatic names on the pungent candles.

There was a mix of paraffin, beeswax, and soy based offerings, fragranced by essential oils and other aromatic ingredients. Their conflicting scents filled the atmosphere.

She stayed as near to him as she dared, the cathedral of his body almost close enough to taste his sweat, see the tempest in his gaze. He shifted, leaning, elbow knocking her.

Brushing the soft curve of her breast, moving the glove again. Leather scraped her peaked nipple and made her shudder. He glanced at the window, but a quiet whimper she couldn’t stop caused his head to whip to her.

He stumbled, only a single fragmented step. But enough to let her know he was as lost in this as she was.

“Behave, Kenzi,” he said, voice little more than a pained grunt as he righted himself.

Her name cracked in his mouth like a fragile prayer turned to savage hunger. Her heart rattled against her sternum, hands tingling with the need to grab him and make him say her name until she was sick of the sound of it.

Then he could call her whatever he wanted. So long as he never stopped talking to her.

Months of wishing to hear him speak more than commands or cool greetings had coalesced into something monstrous. Something that had claws and fangs, a taste for carnal blood.

Tyler ground his teeth, fixing his gloves almost clinically, as if they were the only thing holding him back. She knew these little things, the small hairline fractures in his composure, would become a problem.

They’d be the things she craved and coaxed from him most of all. To the detriment of propriety and dignity. Why did it feel like freedom then?

This is it. This is how addicts die. Smiling as the needle pinches, smiling even as the world vanishes.

She glanced at him, tone full of honeyed venom as she chose violence. The foreplay kind. “Still my knight in Kevlar, Agent Callahan?”

His eyes dipped to her lips, still swollen, his again.

And something animal flickered beneath the surface of his restraint. Ironclad but ready to crumble if she said the right word.

“Always,” he said, and it sounded more akin to a vow than simple affirmation.

She swallowed hard, mouth watering, and her ears faintly ringing as her blood surged faster through her veins. Dangerous.

He was dangerous to her. Shame she couldn’t find the will to stop.

They’d only just gotten started. She planned to follow this uncharted path and learn its territory until she could walk it blindfolded.

We’ll fall exactly like this. It won’t be a crash, dramatic and gory.

No, it would come as a quiet, world-altering tremor. One that rippled across the globe until it returned changed, twisted into something not theirs.

A greasy and heavy sensation writhed in her gut. Jasmine and guilt hung thick in the air. Swallowing a sigh, Kenzi trailed a fingertip over a candle called Midnight Surrender.

She pried off the glass lid and sniffed it; cedarwood and eucalyptus flooded her. Her gaze unfocused. Her stomach flipped, a shiver of fireflies taking flight.

Tyler studied her. Rigid and imposing, his reflection watched her in the mirror at the back of the shelves.

It showed their fiction well. The Popstar and her protector. If anyone looked closer, they’d see her pulse rabbiting in her throat, his hands strangling the crackling air between them.

Her jaw clenched. Tension was a physical, electrical thing between them. It lifted the fine, pale hair on her arms. He was a man unraveling. She was a woman already undone.

Warm all over, liquid lust pooled between her trembling thighs. She thought he might’ve done more than ruin her. She’d wanted others before. Thought she knew what passion and alchemical sexual tension felt like.

But this was… this was consumption. It ate her alive until she was ready to scorch her empire just to fuck him in the ashes. Even she scoffed at her own mind’s tendency towards the grandiose.

America’s sweetheart, indeed.

Tyler’s Princess. The codename her team used while outside home base now turned profane. Now his to wield whenever he wanted to watch her shake.

He still observed her, thumb tapping his gun twice—dash-dot—a morse code she hadn’t deciphered yet. Though it thrummed between them like a shared arrhythmia.

“You’re staring,” she said, murmuring and moving a step closer.

She expected silence, a clipped denial at the most. Hoarse reverence roughened his voice. She’d never heard its like.

“You’re glowing.”

The air stalled in her throat. Warmth caught in her chest, her muscles going loose.

Glowing. She knew he didn’t mean her usual Popstar polish. To him, she was a woman lit from within.

By him.

For him.

For once, she didn’t overthink it and ordered what she wanted.

“Tonight. My room. No gloves.”

Her mind flashed back to his hands mapping the topography of her ribs, his cock banishing the months-long ache, and how wrecked he’d looked as she shattered for him. She clamped her thighs together to counter the slick fire between them.

Tyler’s mask denied her the full beauty of his facial expression, but his eyes couldn’t lie. Black-hole pupils roasted and devoured the sapphire. He nodded. Once.

The glove scalded her breast.

Soon.

She bought the Midnight Surrender candle. He took the bag from her after she paid, knuckles ghosting hers before he pulled back. She smiled, walking with a bounce in her step.

But as they exited, his hand was back on her shoulder to ensure she didn’t trip out the door; a shiver of movement caught her eye. There, partially obscured by a telephone pole, was a shadowed figure holding a cell phone.

Its lens trained on her chest. Catching Tyler’s hand on her shoulder before he noticed the flash and ripped it away.