Into Temptation (Deliver Us from Evil Trilogy Book Two) Read online

  Fatigue overcomes me, and I succumb to the darkness…just for a little while.

  I wake with a start, not recognizing the shrill noise until I see my cell ringing a few feet away.

  It’s dark out. I’ve slept for longer than I thought. The blanket draped over me reveals that Punky has checked on me to make sure I’m okay. He didn’t wake me, however, as it seems we both needed some time alone.

  Sitting up, I reach for my cell and answer it without looking at who the caller is.

  “Cami. It’s me.”

  “Eva?” I say, choking on three simple letters. “Is that really you?”

  “Y-yes, it’s me. I’m okay,” she quickly assures me while I attempt to find my voice. “We’re both okay.”

  “Ethan is with you?” I frantically ask.

  “Yes, he’s been looking after me.”

  The sentiment in her tone exposes that Ethan is still on our side, which means Sean plans on using him in other ways.

  “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know. It’s dark. I’m so sorry. I fucked everything up.”

  She’s being elusive because I realize Sean is listening. There is a reason for this call, and I intend on finding out what that is.

  “It’s okay, Eva. We’re coming for you. Don’t let them break you.”

  Her jerky sniffles break my heart, but I have to be strong. “All r-right,” she cries. “Ethan asked if you can pass a message on?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can you tell Hannah that he’s sorry? For everything.”

  I’m barely holding on. “I will.”

  “And can you tell Puck that he loves him. That he never stopped.”

  “I promise,” I whisper, clenching the phone in my hand. “I know Sean is there listening. Put him on.”

  “Bye, Cami. I l-love you.”

  Although my heart is breaking in two, the scathing anger coursing through me takes a front seat when I hear Sean’s voice.

  “Hello, love. It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes, it has,” I reply sharply. “And I don’t understand why you decided to resurface after so long. You had ample time to do your business. Ten years, to be precise.”

  “Ach, well my son knows how to send a message,” he states. “I didn’t want it to come to this.”

  “Oh, bullshit,” I snap, not interested in playing his games. “You’re responsible for all of this. You’ve lied, and you’ve used everyone, especially Punky. How could you do that to him? He’s your son.”

  “And I’m his father,” he counters calmly like this is somehow Punky’s doing. “And that doesn’t seem to make a difference to him as he continuously tries to destroy me. He isn’t innocent in all of this. None of ye are.”

  “You’re wrong. The difference between you and Punky is that he’s fighting for honor, while you’re only interested in greed. Ethan, Eva, and Hannah are just kids! They want no part in your war, yet you’ve dragged them into your mess. You and Punky are nothing alike.”

  “Yer quick to defend him, but do ya really know him?”

  I have no idea what he means, but I pass it off as Sean trying to mess with my head. “I know enough,” I reply, wanting this conversation to be done with. “I’m presuming you’re calling for a reason. What do you want?”

  His arrogant chuckle has me hating him all the more. “I wanted ya to see that I haven’t hurt yer wee sister or Ethan.”

  “And?” I coax because there is more.

  “And for it to remain that way, I want ye to pass a message on to Punky—tell him to surrender. He won’t win. I’m givin’ him one chance and one chance only.”

  This is a sure sign that Sean is scared. He knows he can’t win against Punky and the army behind him.

  “I’ll pass the message on, but we both know that won’t happen.” I want to say so much more, but I don’t want to speak out of turn.

  “That’s one thing we have in common…our stubbornness. Oh, and our taste in women.”

  His sleazy comment catches me off guard because, what the fuck is that supposed to mean? I don’t let it show, though, because men like Sean thrive on power.

  “I’ll be sure to let Punky know you called.”

  I know Ethan and Eva are safe for now. Sean needs them, and he won’t hurt them as long as they serve a purpose to him.

  “Thank you. I’ll be seein’ ya really soon, doll. You and yer sister”—he smacks his lips together—“are so much alike. No wonder my son fought so hard for ya.”

  His comment is a low blow as he’s trying to rile me on up purpose. It works. “Fuck you.”

  “I can see why he loves ya.” He laughs, and I kick myself for falling for his ploy.

  I hang up as I’ll lose my cool if forced to speak to him any longer.

  Eva and Ethan are all right, I remind myself. But I can’t stop my hands from shaking as I pocket my phone and go in search of Punky.

  The reality of what just happened hits me, and adrenaline courses through me. My brisk walk soon becomes a frantic run as I sprint to Punky’s house. With my heart in my throat, I burst through his front door, and when I see him in front of a canvas, sketching deep in thought, I say to him what I should have hours ago.

  “Okay, I’ll stay,” I pant, begging he forgives me for my stubbornness as he turns over his shoulder to look at me. “I’m sorry for…being difficult.”

  He places the charcoal pencil on the ledge of the easel. “Don’t ever apologize for being you. What happened?”

  He can read me like a book.

  “Sean called. He wanted me to pass a message on—surrender or else.”

  Punky tongues his cheek, processing what I just shared. “I hope ya told him to go fuck himself.”

  “In a roundabout way. I have another message. It’s from Eva.”

  He nods, his nerves evident as his Adam’s apple dips when he swallows deeply. “Ethan wants Hannah to know he’s sorry. And he wants you to know that…he loves you. He never stopped.”

  Punky is deadly quiet, his poker face in play. I know what this means to him. To know that Ethan forgives him and still loves him will mend a small piece of Punky’s broken heart.

  “They’re all right?”

  “For now,” I reply, “which is why tomorrow, I want you to kill that motherfucker and bring them back home.”

  A long, comforted sigh leaves him. “I promise ya, I will.”

  He launches for me, meeting me halfway as I do the same thing to him. I slam my mouth to his, kissing him frantically because we’ve wasted so much time.

  “I’m scared,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him.

  “I am too,” he confesses against my lips. “I don’t want ya doin’ anythin’ yer not comfortable with.”

  I know what he means.

  I didn’t think I’d freak out the way I did seeing Punky take Brody’s life. I was the one who suggested it, after all. But actually seeing Punky take that knife and end my father’s life was something I’ve never experienced before.

  “Is that why you wear the face paint?” I ask. “Because it helps you to wear a mask?”

  Punky nods. “In some ways, yes, yer right.”

  “Will you, will you help me with mine?”

  I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but what I do know is that I need to be prepared to fight. I need to be prepared to kill. Maybe if I detach myself, I can do so without the darkness eclipsing the light.

  He kisses the tip of my nose before breaking apart.

  I watch as he retrieves the face paint from the coffee table. “Are ye sure?”

  I nod.

  The way he observes me has me wetting my lips, as I’m suddenly worried I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

  He lifts me and walks toward the kitchen, placing me on the breakfast bar. We’re now equal in height. He gently brushes the hair from my face, peering longingly into my eyes. He doesn’t want me to kill, but he won’t leave me defenseless, which is why he unscrews the lid
on the white paint.

  Circling his fingers and coating them with white paint, he gently applies it to my face. I close my eyes, getting lost in his precise strokes. I recall the first time I saw him wearing his war paint. It took my breath away.

  There was something almost tranquil about it, like that face allowed Punky to be himself. I know he sees himself split right down the middle, wearing both those faces on any given day.

  I hear another container opening and feel the bristles of a brush delicately paint around my eyes and nose. I don’t move a muscle as this is somewhat hypnotic, trusting someone so deeply. But Punky isn’t just someone—he’s everything and so much more.

  I know he’s done when he lays a soft kiss on my temple.

  Without haste, I open my eyes and take in the world with new eyes. Punky stands before me, and the look reflected on his face sets a fire within.

  “Your turn,” I whisper, wanting him to know that I love all the faces he wears.

  With a nod, he repeats the same action he did to me. But he doesn’t need a mirror. He knows every stroke by heart, and I suppose that’s because he’s worn this face since he was five years old.

  I’m caught in a spell, watching him transform into the man who is as much a part of him as his natural self is. Once he’s done, he stands before me, offering himself to me—the good and the bad.

  “I want ye to have somethin’.” He removes the silver chain around his neck and places it into my upturned palm.

  When I see what it is, I shake my head. “I can’t. That was your mom’s.”

  “And now, it’s yours,” he says, folding my fingers over the brooch which hangs off the chain.

  This brooch means so much to him. That’s why I stole it a lifetime ago. I just never anticipated it would end up back in my hands, but this time, it’s been given, not stolen.

  “Thank you,” I say, placing it on the counter for safekeeping.

  A bunch of red roses sit on the counter, roses Punky planted to honor the garden his mother once grew. So, it seems fitting when I pluck one from the vase and give it to him.

  “A rose for a rose.” I offer it to him.

  He accepts, and when he draws it up to his nose, it’s a perfect oxymoron. The red contrasts the black and white slathered on his face. He looks purely evil.

  But when he reaches for his phone so I’m able to see my reflection, I realize we’re a pair—a perfect pair of survivors who will do what they must.

  “Ya look beautiful.”

  “So do you,” I reply, fisting his T-shirt and dragging him toward my mouth.

  I kiss him wildly, unable to get enough of him. I never will. I bite over his lip ring, obsessed with it. I’m obsessed with him.

  Tearing off his T-shirt, I lean back on my hands and take a moment to appreciate Punky in his war paint, no shirt, and ripped black jeans. His body looks like it’s been carved from granite, and I give in to temptation, leaning forward and running my tongue over each hardened pectoral muscle.

  He moans, bowing his back to grant me greater access, which I take with pleasure.

  Caressing over his taut abs, I unbuckle his belt and slip my hand inside his jeans. He’s already hard, and knowing he’s this turned on just by a simple touch makes me feel like a goddess.

  Making my intentions clear, I jump down from the counter where I then drop to my knees. Punky peers down, rubbing his thumb over my bottom lip. Lowering his zipper, I waste no time taking down his boxers and jeans as well.

  When his cock springs free, I whimper, remembering how many times we’ve straddled that line between pleasure and pain. I want that again, and I want more.

  In one languid stroke, I lick him from head to hilt, but it’s not enough. I take him into my mouth, inch by glorious inch, and don’t stop until he hits the back of my throat. Gagging, I pull back a fraction, then do it again.

  “Fucking hell,” he curses, wrapping my loose hair around his fist.

  He gently guides me as I commence bobbing up and down, not shying away from taking him deep. He’s big, so I relax my throat, enjoying the feel of pleasuring him because I know this gets him off. Tears leak from my eyes as he encourages me to move faster, and I do.

  The noises spilling from me are matched with his guttural growls as he pumps his hips. I place my hands on his upper thighs, loving the feel of him all over me.

  “Fuck, Babydoll,” he groans in that sensual accent that hits me between my legs. “I’m gonna come.”

  My mother taught me not to talk with my mouth full, so in response, I take him in faster, deeper.

  “Naw,” he roars, yanking me up from under my arms.

  Before I can protest, he sweeps the counter clear and slams my ass onto it. He reaches under my dress, and with a sharp tug, my underwear disintegrates in his hand.

  “When I come,” he pants, licking his fingers and sinking them into me. “It’s going to be in this grand pussy.”

  My eyes roll to the back of my head, but when he removes his fingers and thrusts into me, I see stars. I wrap my legs around his waist and arch backward as Punky begins fucking me. He’s far from gentle, but I don’t want him to be.

  I want him to eat me alive.

  The slamming of our flesh crashes with our sated moans because it feels so good. He hits me deep, thanks to the angle, and when he begins playing with my clit, I know it won’t be long until I come. Our eyes are locked, and even though this act can’t be considered making love, the emotion I see reflected on his face is nothing but pure love.

  I want to give myself to him—in every way.

  “Bedroom,” I pant, wanting to be somewhere else. When I ask, he gives me what I want. I assume Hannah has gone to Fiona’s.

  The vase comes crashing to the floor with the force of Punky’s strokes, but he complies, lifting me off the counter. He doesn’t stop fucking me, however. I bounce on his length as he carries me to the bedroom. He tosses me onto the bed, where he climbs on top of me, re-entering me without missing a stroke.

  We’re slick and hot, and it’s everything I could want, which is why I say, “I want you to lose control.”

  He slows down, looking for any clues to what exactly I mean.

  This face paint flames my bravado as I clear up any confusion. “I want to see what this face can really do.”

  He groans, dropping his chin to look at where we’re connected. “Are ye sure?”

  “Yes,” I reply without pause because I know Punky has a kink, and I want to explore it.

  He kisses me deeply, not ceasing his strokes. I wait with anticipation, wanting him to let go. He pulls out and flips me onto all fours, where he drags his finger along the middle of my back. When he comes to my ass, he cups my cheek and brings down his hand—hard, just how I knew he would.

  He’s spanked me a couple of times in the past, and I surprisingly enjoyed it, which has me subtly wriggling my ass.

  “Don’t be wavin’ that parful arse my way unless yer prepared for the consequences,” he warns, running his hand over me.

  “I’m prepared,” I reply softly.

  “Is that so?” His sinister tone sends a shiver down my spine.

  When he spanks me again, harder this time, I jolt forward, gripping the blankets to stop from falling onto my front. I bounce back, however, as I asked for this.

  Reaching over my shoulder, he grips my chin and arches my neck back. I gasp as the feral look emphasized by that face paint promises this is the point of no return.

  “Has anyone touched ya here?” He cups my lower back and dips his thumb into the pleat of my ass.

  I jolt instinctively, giving him the answer he seeks. But I open my legs, ready for whatever comes my way.

  “Ach, we have plenty of time for that.”

  Disappointment overwhelms me, but that soon turns to a surprised moan when Punky coaxes me onto my stomach and to spread my legs as he comes to rest between them. I have no idea what he’s doing until he encourages me to arch my back and rai
se my hips so my ass is high in the air.

  As I turn over my shoulder to look at him, my eyes widen when he buries his face between my ass cheeks. I try to scamper away, but he holds me in place and commences swirling his tongue around my puckered entrance.

  I don’t know how to feel. Something so taboo shouldn’t feel this good, but it does.

  He uses his tongue and mouth to stimulate me in ways that turn my cheeks a bright red. But as I get over the stigma associated with this act, I relax and let go.

  His light stubble adds to the sensation, and before long, I’m moving into his touches, lost to this feeling of utter freedom because there are no boundaries with Punky. He makes something I never thought I’d enjoy feel fucking incredible.

  Before long, I’m bending to his touches and savoring the sensation of being loved by my man; in every way.

  He kisses my ass cheek before slapping it lightly. “Feel good?”

  “Yes,” I reply timidly, gripping the blankets beneath me.

  I don’t know what happens now because I did ask him to lose control with me, but so far, he’s been quite controlled.

  He plants a kiss to the small of my back and wraps his arms around my waist, coaxing me to rise onto my knees. He presses his chest to my back, skin to skin. Nothing separates us, and I’ve never felt more vulnerable in my life.

  He commences touching over my chest, my stomach, and then sinks two fingers inside my sex. Moaning, I spread my legs wider, granting him entry because I want him everywhere. I can feel his cock against me, and on instinct, I rub my ass against him.

  He groans, and even though I’m scared, I encourage him to do what I asked—lose control.

  “Are ye sure?” he pants against my ear before sucking it into his warm mouth.

  “I want to experience all my firsts with you.” And I mean it. “I thought I knew what love was…but then I met you.”

  A contented sigh leaves him.

  His fingers work in and out of me as he reaches for the tub of Vaseline on the nightstand with his other hand. Dr. Shannon suggested Hannah put this on her wounds to help them heal faster, but now, we’ve found another use for it.

  Punky pops off the lid, and I hear him scoop his fingers inside the container. He then gently applies some of the cool gel to my backside. I freeze, but he kisses my shoulder, a silent reassurance to help me relax. I anticipate a sharp sting but don’t feel anything as Punky continues kissing my skin while working my sex into a frenzy down below.