Pure Punishment(8)

His hair is cropped short and he has tattoos everywhere. His neck has a writing script across it. One of his knuckles says ‘death’ and the other says ‘love.’ His arms are covered in so much color I have to force myself not stare. I don’t know who he is, but the sight of him is making my pussy clench. His muscles bulge in his tight shirt as he leans over and places his cell on the bench in front of him. His gray, almost black eyes reach mine and I’m taken back by the dark I see in them.

“Kayla,” I say reaching my hand out, expecting him to take it. He doesn’t. I pull my hand back and cross my legs over. His eyes move to my legs while he watches what I do. His eyes snap up to mine when he realizes.

“I already know who you are,” he says, his black eyes never leaving mine.

“Oh.”

“Yes, a girl like you doesn’t go unnoticed, Kayla.” There is so much intensity in those eyes, they’re making me speechless. “I’ve watched you for a while now, you’re quite fascinating.” Still speechless, I can’t form words. I watch as he looks at me with an expression I’m not sure of.

“I even like how you handled that lawyer last Wednesday.”

Oh fuck!





The sense of touch is activated by neural receptors such as hair follicles found in the skin, but also pressure receptors on the tongue and throat...





Lunch is uncomfortable to say the least. I haven’t spoken a word to him. He hasn’t spoken either. Right now we are looking at the café’s menu. It’s all very expensive and quite out of my price range. I tend to live off of two-minute noodles to save money. I reach into my bag and check how much money I have left to last me for the rest of the week. When I see I only have ten dollars, I sigh under my breath. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone and let me eat my noodles? I look back to the menu and find a muffin that’s half the cost of what I have left. It’s also the cheapest thing on the menu. I place the menu down in front of me and look up to see that Detective Black is not sitting in front of me anymore; he’s at the counter ordering.

How rude, at least he could’ve waited.

I grab my wallet and stand in line, two people away from Detective Black. When he’s finished, he looks at me as he passes and grabs hold of my arm, pulling me out of the line. I want to yell at him, but the risk is too high, so I stand there dumbfounded instead.

“I’ve ordered for you,” he gruffly says and pulls me like a rag doll back to the table we are sitting at.

My emotions are running high and I don’t know if I should thank him or be insulted that he thought I couldn’t buy my own lunch. His voice pulls me from my thoughts when our food arrives and I take a glance at him. His eyes are on my fingers that are in my mouth while I bite my nails out of habit.

“How are you doing in your classes?” He looks at me with warmth in his eyes, which shocks me.

“Fine,” my voice squeaks behind my hands. I have no confidence, but I want confidence.

“Do you think this is the right choice of career for you?” He’s leaning forward now, his elbows on his knees, looking at me questionably.

I want to get up and walk out. He doesn’t know me. Who is he to question my motives or goals?

“I think that choice is mine and none of your concern.” I feel like patting myself on the back. I look up and see him smirking. Now it’s my turn to give him a questioning look.

“So you do have some spark in there.” Cocky, that’s what he is.

“It shouldn’t concern you what I have. You are here to help me learn, not to investigate me, Detective.”

“Touché, Miss Wilde, but I’d also like to know what makes you tick.”

Correction… he isn’t cocky; he’s rude, bluntly rude.

He takes a sip of his coffee and I’m about to say something, when he continues. “So tell me, Miss Wilde, where is your family? How come you don’t have a boyfriend?”

That’s it! I did not come here to be investigated by him. I don’t even know who this man is. I pull my bag up and head for the door. I can hear him laughing at me. I don’t understand how this amuses him. I reach the door and barrel into a man that is as hard as a rock and nearly knocks me on my behind. His hand reaches down to help me up and the first thing I notice is the writing on his hand, ‘Love.’ Colorful tattoos follow all the way up his arm and go under his shirt. Then I’m pulled to dark eyes; very dark and scary eyes. I take one last look at him before I pull my backpack to my front and rush out the door. Those dark eyes don’t leave me as I run across the street in my escape.