Chapter 8 – I Tasted Her

Chapter 8 – I Tasted Her

Noah Blake

I don’t do relationships. I don’t even believe in love.

Women are for pleasure. For satisfying my needs. Submissive. Obedient. Temporary. Contracts with clear start and end dates, so when it’s over no one gets hurt.

But I’m not an asshole. None of the real Dguns are. We’re often more attentive, more protective than most vanilla men who swear they’re “in love” while cheating behind their wives’ backs. We demand exclusivity—both ways. That’s non-negotiable.

Tonight I was early. Too early. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this eager to walk into Paradise.

Reed and I stepped inside, and I spotted her immediately. She didn’t see me.

I sat in my usual spot and watched. Her friend bounced around the room like a kid in a candy store. Juliet—still wearing that damn mask, hiding the face I was dying to see—stayed glued to the bar. Only left when a tray needed delivering, then hurried right back to Caio’s side.

“You’re starting to look like a creep,” Reed muttered, swirling his whiskey.

“Not a creep,” I said, eyes never leaving her. “A hunter studying his prey.”

Atlas and Reed both laughed.

“Good luck, hunter,” Atlas said. “That one’s slippery.”

I smirked. “My claws are always sharp.”

I finally moved.

I circled behind her, leaned in close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin.

“Looking for someone?” I whispered against her ear.

Her whole body reacted—tiny shiver, sharp inhale. She tried to play it cool, professional. She failed. Beautifully.

Then Caio sent her to the private suites again.

Every muscle in my body locked. After what happened last night, the thought of her back there made my vision go red. But she insisted. Even with the tremor in her hands and the fear in her eyes, she went.

She came back faster this time, smiling, chatting with the new girl. Relief hit me harder than I expected.

I gave her space. Juliet wasn’t a woman you rushed. She needed to be coaxed, softened. I could wait.

Reed and I disappeared into the office to handle some paperwork—France trip coming up, contracts piling up.

Atlas knocked eventually. “The girls are cleaning the floor. Could they be any more perfect?”

“They could surrender to one of us,” Reed grinned.

Then—pop. Every light in the building died.

“What the fuck, Atlas?”

“Power panel blew. I heard it.”

We grabbed phone flashlights and headed out.

Samantha came running up, panic written all over her face.

“Where’s Ju?”

“She’s not with you?” Atlas asked.

“I went to the bathroom. She went to the locker room to grab our stuff!”

She stared at the pitch-black staff area.

“It’s still dark in there. What if she’s trapped?”

“Calm down, Samy. She’s safe,” Atlas tried.

“No—you don’t understand!” Samy’s voice cracked. “She can’t be in the dark like that. It triggers—”

“Triggers what?” I demanded, grabbing her arms.

She looked at Atlas for help.

“Answer me, Samantha.”

“When he used to hurt her… she’d hide in the basement. In the dark. So he wouldn’t find her.”

That was all I needed.

I was moving before anyone could stop me.

“Blake!” Reed shouted.

I ignored him.

I shoved through the door, phone flashlight cutting through the black, and went straight to the locker room.

I heard her before I saw her.

“Please… don’t hurt me anymore.”

Her voice was tiny. Broken. Nothing like the woman who’d looked me in the eye all night.

She was curled on the floor, shaking, arms wrapped around her knees.

I knelt slowly, angled the light so she could see my face.

“Hey, Ju…” I kept my voice low, gentle, using the nickname her friend used. “It’s me.”

She lifted her head. Blood trickled from her temple.

“I’m sorry… I thought you were someone else.”

“It’s okay.” I brushed her hair back with careful fingers. “We need to take care of this.” I touched the cut.

“I fell when the lights went out. Hit my head.”

“I’m taking you to my office. I have a kit.”

“I can handle it at home—”

I didn’t ask again. I slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her against my chest.

“Sir—”

“Noah.” I locked eyes with her. “I love hearing ‘sir’ from your mouth. But right now… call me Noah.”

She went completely still.

I carried her to the office, sat her on the edge of my desk, and grabbed the first-aid kit.

“You need to take the mask off so I can clean the cut properly.”

“If you don’t mind… I’d rather keep it on—”

I turned off the flashlight.

Darkness swallowed us again—just enough light from the hallway bleeding under the door to see shapes.

I reached up, untied the mask myself, and set it aside.

She immediately snatched it back, clutching it like armor.

I worked by feel and memory—cleaned the wound, applied antiseptic, sealed it with a butterfly bandage.

She hissed a few times. Each sound went straight through me.

“There,” I whispered, face inches from hers.

“Thank you…” Her voice was barely air.

I couldn’t stop myself.

My thumb traced her lower lip—full, soft, exactly how I remembered.

Then lower, down the column of her throat, until my hand cupped the back of her neck, firm, possessive.

“Mr. Noah…” she breathed, half moan, half plea.

That was it.

I claimed her mouth.

And I tasted her.