Ryan

Motherfuckers.

I hate them both. My prick of a father is the only reason I’m here in this shitty precinct facing an even shitter human being. If that’s what the fuck you even want to call him.

Benedict Davis sits across from me, tweaking like a true fucking crackhead. Rubbing his arms, picking at his scarred, acne-ridden face.

He’s disgusting. A waste of human flesh, if I’ve ever seen one.

“Hello, Mr. Davis,” I smile, flashing a wide grin as I sit down across from him. I’m tempted to grind my teeth.

Benedict looks up at me. I should be looking into dilated eyes. Eyes that are glazed over with whatever drugs are running through his system. And while I do see dilation, what I really see is myself.

A void of darkness gazes back at me. His eyes are empty. This man has no soul.

The smile stays on my face, but it feels like forcing a tired muscle to lift weights.

“Hi,” he says quickly, rushed. Forced. His movements are so forced. The shifty eyes, and twitching fingers.

Interesting.

What would possibly drive a man to come in here with a fake persona? I tap my fingers on the table, contemplating the situation I’m faced with. This isn’t just a tweaker. This is a man hiding something. Putting on an act.

The only good reason someone would do that is because they want information on the investigation.

I smile.

And the only reason someone wants information on the investigation is because they have a connection with the suspect.

“I’m informed that you’re a key witness,” I start, opening my notebook. Just a formality. The conversation I plan on having with this man won’t be written down in my notebook. It will be a conversation no one else will ever know about.

“The Ghost Killer,” I announce. “The notorious crime lord killing off dozens of men.”

Benedict sits across from me, holding firm to his act.

“That’s right,” he confirms, scratching at his arm. “I witnessed a murder. I don’t want no one comin’ for me, man. That-that big guy out there—the detective—he promised me protection.”

I nod my head. On the outside, I’m a charming lawyer, completely at ease. On the inside, I want to wrap my hands around this guy’s neck and crack his skull open on cement. See what’s really going on inside his head.

He’s not who he says he is, that much I know for sure. He’s trying too hard. I’m a master manipulator myself, I know how to spot manipulation from a mile away. It blows my mind no one can see through Matthew Fitzgerald’s shit—I almost laugh that Benedict Davis thought he could pull one over on me.

And I know this because like minds recognize each other. When you have a soul-sucking darkness residing inside you, you tend to feel attracted to those who also have a black hole for a heart.

It’s what drew me to my little pet sitting at home. She’s dark on the inside—a side-effect of the repulsive town she was raised in. Most times, just looking at her disgusts me. But she’s such an eager little puppy, waiting at home for me to use up until I grow bored. She’s always fucking waiting for me. Nearly on her knees, begging to suck my cock half the time. She’s so eager to please, I had to keep her around.

If it wasn’t for her perky tits and round ass, and how tight her little pussy is, I would’ve discarded her long ago. She’s a bore outside the bedroom.

“That won’t be a problem, Mr. Davis,” I respond, pulling my thoughts away from River. “First thing’s first. Let’s talk about this murder you witnessed.”

“Well,” he starts slowly. “I was walking down 1^st street.”

“1^st street?” I interrupt. His eyes flash, a cold fury that matches the fury that’s taken up residence inside my own soul. The emotion slides away, like oil sliding off glass.

“N-no. Sorry,” he apologizes, coughing out a nervous laugh. “3^rd street is what I meant. I was walking down 3^rd street when I seen a hooded man holding a bloody knife.”

“What kind of knife?” I query, crossing my fingers together.

“What are you, a detective or my fucking lawyer?” he snaps.

I smile—a real smile this time. “As your lawyer, it’s important I have all the details, Mr. Davis. I need to make sure I’m fully prepared for when you testify.”

I nearly choke on the fake words. In all reality, I couldn’t give a shit less about being a lawyer. My original goal was to take over Daddy Dearest’s firm and destroy everything he built from the inside out. I wanted this fucking firm to crumble beneath my feet as my father kneels before me, kissing my shoes and begging for his pathetic life.

The only true way to hurt a sociopath like my father is to humiliate him. He’s so good at faking real emotion, so good at playing the charming man that would give anyone the shirt off his back or help a helpless child in need.

Yeah, helping a child is what he’d love to fucking to do. The more helpless they are, the weaker, the harder his cock gets.

Now? Now I see the benefits in this career. Something even my father has dipped his toes into a time or two. With a profession like this comes connections. Big fucking connections. In a world like this, I can get away with anything I want. I learned that lesson with Alison. And now, I’m unstoppable. I will climb this food chain, stepping on the heads of anyone who gets in my way.

And I’ll start with the Ghost Killer.

“Fine,” he huffs. He continues the rest of his story, inaccuracy after inaccuracy. My prick of a brother gave me the rundown on his story already. And yet all I hear are lies coming out of this man’s cracked, unwashed mouth.

“So, what’s the real story?” I ask. Benedict’s face drops. My charming mask slips and I show him my real face. “Come on, we both know you’re full of shit. Witness the Ghost Killer’s murder? If he was stupid enough to commit murder in broad daylight, he sure as shit wouldn’t still be on the run.”

“It’s Shallow Hill, man. Murder happens in broad daylight all the time.”

“Then why are you snitching? If you’re so used to witnessing murder, why report this one? How did you even know he was the Ghost Killer?”

Benedict just stares at me, his expression smoothed out into a carefully blank canvas.

I bring my chair closer, the metal grinding obnoxiously against the tiled floor. Benedict’s eye twitches at the sound. This man is probably on drugs, with the dilation and acne. But he’s in a lot more control of it than he makes people think.

“Here’s the thing, Mr. Davis. I think we can help each other a great deal. That detective out there? That’s my brother. And I would love nothing more than to make his life miserable. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you’re not here to make his life easier, either.”

I’m taking a gamble. A huge fucking gamble. But this man… I know it deep in my bones. He’s like me.

Dark. Depraved. A hunger to hurt.

This isn’t a cronie of the serial killer. No, no. He’s too bold. Which only leaves one other option. He is the serial killer.

My, my. And here I thought my day was going to be hell. Instead, I get to talk to the Ghost Killer himself.

It’s fucking laughable that Mako considers himself a goddamn detective. The killer is sitting in his goddamn face.

“So, here’s what we can do. You tell me who you really are, Mr. Davis. And I’ll make sure you never get caught.”

The tremors stop. The fidgeting. The whole fucking façade. And finally, I come face to face with the real Benedict Davis. A cold blooded killer. A man who has an agenda. One I’m going to rip from his hands and tear to shreds. And he’ll fucking grovel by the time I’m done.

He studies me closely, his shrewd gaze thin. His glacial eyes feel like a bird’s beak picking at my skin, poking holes in the mask until he exposes me completely. The feeling makes me want to curl my hands around his neck, but something tells me Mr. Davis would enjoy it.

“You’ve got balls of steel, I’ll give you that, Mr. Fitzgerald,” Benedict replies after a moment. I cock a brow. This asshole doesn’t intimidate me. Pretty soon, I’ll have him kneeling before me, too. I’ll have the whole goddamn world kneeling before me.

The tough guy act is a bore, but I’ll play along for now. Benedict Davis could be a great ally. He’s gained my respect just from escaping Mako’s clutches this long. Anyone that makes his life harder, makes my life easier.

“Among other things,” I say casually.

Benedict curls his tongue in his cheek, seemingly contemplating something. Is he trying to decide if he should kill me or not? He won’t get very far.

“Call me Billy.” A smile quirks on his lips and he leans forward, tangling his calloused fingers together and mimicking my position. I glance at his hands, noting the scars. I bet this man’s body is covered in them. Don’t give a shit how he got them—it’s what they represent. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty. Clearly, by the bodies that have been littering my town for the past year.

I could use muscle like that. I’ll be the mastermind, he can be my loyal dog and go bite the heads off of anyone I command him to.

“Tell me, Ryan. What could you possibly have to offer me that I’d want?”

My smile grows.

***

A busty blonde woman sticks her fake tits in my face. She cups them, pressing them together and tweaking one of her nipples. I curl my lip. Her bright pink fingernails are longer than my father’s prick. It’s disgusting.

“I need men I can trust,” Billy says from beside me, puffing on a cigar that cost more than my car and eyeing the woman who’s currently sucking his cock. Red lipstick smears across his dick as the girl slobbers all over him. She’s trying too hard, and it doesn’t look like the asshole next to me is going to get off anytime soon.

He lets her have her fun anyway. I smirk. Let her jaw fall off. Then at least she’d be providing real entertainment.

“Those are hard to come by,” I agree. The blonde in my face spreads my legs and gets on her knees before me. My cock hardens in my slacks as she unzips them and pulls me out. She pumps my dick a few times before wrapping her hot mouth around the tip, and then swallows me whole.

I bite back a groan as she sucks me off. I slip my phone out of my pocket, and open up my tracking app. Usually I forget about River when another girl’s mouth or pussy is wrapped around my dick, but these dumb bitches are acting like they’re on a porn set. All fake moans and exaggerated movements.

I nearly throw the glass across the room when I see my bad little girl is not where she’s supposed to be. I grit my teeth, rage building in my chest. She’s at that fucking whore’s house—Amelia’s. I told her to stay away from that bitch. Seems River likes to be punished. Good thing I love to hurt her.

For now, I’ll hurt the stupid bitch that has the audacity to suck my cock like a broken vacuum. I wrap my hand into her bleached hair and force her all the way down. She chokes, and plants her hands on my legs to try and push away. I hold her steady, and finally, I feel my orgasm building.

Billy laughs at the girl. And when I see tears slip down her painted cheeks, I let her go. She pulls away, gasping for breath. I keep my hand firmly in her hair, not letting her stray too far. She gets in one deep breath before I’m forcing her back down. It takes another minute of her choking before I groan, my orgasm wracking through my spine. Hot cum shoots down her throat. The second she wrings the last drop from me, I push her away. She scrambles away, tears streaming down her face and a sob breaking free.

I smile and Billy snorts. “Sick fuck,” he murmurs. Billy’s content letting the girl before him prune his dick.

I slip my phone in my pocket as Billy continues. “I want to expand my operations globally. Not just in the states, but I want my product in all of South America to start with. From there we’ll start crossing seas.”

Big aspirations for someone who keeps killing his crew. He’s not fit to be a leader, but I’ll let him think so for now. I’ll have to be smart about this. Billy’s hooked on his own product and has made it known he has a short fucking fuse when he’s high.

“I know just how to make that happen,” I reply.

Billy leans closer to me, the harsh liquor on his breath making my nose sting. “That’s great, kid, but you talk big. You know what I require from my men? Insurance policy.”

If I didn’t already possess restraint, I’d have smashed my fist down this asshole’s throat and ripped out his larynx. Who the hell does he think he’s talking to? I swallow the threats down, my unspoken promises feeling like rocks going down my throat. I keep my face blank as I meet his gaze.

“What kind of insurance policy?”

“The kind that walks and talks.” When I don’t answer, he clarifies, “Your pretty little girlfriend. She’s my insurance policy. You fuck me over, boy, she dies. Do you understand?”

He looked into me. Not surprising. I’d have done the same.

I almost laugh. He wants River? That’s like handing over a dirty penny. I can find plenty of River’s. She’s replaceable.

I don’t let Billy know that, though. He needs to think he’s holding something valuable over my head.

I lower my brow, and make sure to look displeased.

“That’s my girl, man,” I argue, forcing hesitation into my tone. He shrugs, straightens himself and sucks on his cigar.

“That’s our girl now, Ryan. Everything you own, is now mine. Don’t make me come collect.”

I nod, appearing to give in to his demands. On the inside, excitement replaces the lingering rage. River’s time is limited, that I already knew. I don’t need to worry about Billy getting his hands on her. My little flower will be broken long before that. If Billy touches her, it’ll be because I threw her away, like a steak bone to a starving dog. He’ll have nothing but a broken shell of a girl and I’ll be sitting on my throne.

Right where I belong.

During the week of training before Satan’s Affair.

Sweat drips into my eyes, burning my retinas. I squeeze them shut, growling from both the pain and frustration. I can hardly lift my hand high enough to wipe my ass, yet Zade insists on forcing me to train with him anyway.

“Baby, you’re making it really easy to overpower you right now,” Zade says. I force my eyes open long enough to glare at him. Little good that does when they’re watery. He’s seriously ruining my rep.

“I’m sore,” I bite out. “Do you know how long it took me to climb the steps this morning? Too long, asshole. Too long.”

He grins. “Just call me next time. I’ll carry you.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t need a piggyback ride, thanks.”

He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t be on my back, little mouse.”

I huff and turn away from him, snatching a hand towel from the chest at the foot of the bed and wiping away the excessive sweat.

“You’re lucky I’m going to like the way I look naked after all this shit,” I mutter under my breath. The hair on the back of my neck rises a moment before I feel his body press into mine; his naked chest and stomach pressing into my back and sticking to me like two t-shirts fresh out of the dryer.

“You going to take more nudes for me, little mouse?”

My eyes widen, and I turn in outrage. “You did see my nudes, didn’t you?” I push his chest, but he doesn’t move a goddamn inch. “You asshole. That is an invasion of privacy!”

He tips his head back and laughs before dropping his chin and giving me that savage grin of his. “What about the word stalker is lost on you? You don’t possess privacy.”

I just stare at him, seething and at a loss for words. My face is increasingly growing flushed, and soon it will be so red, all my freckles will disappear.

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, and he presses deeper into me, bringing his stupid, smug face closer to mine. His yin-yang eyes pick apart my expression, heating with lust.

“Don’t think I didn’t check to see if you sent them to anyone,” he murmurs. His proximity robs me of speech, and I’m becoming tired of him turning me into a mute. I like being able to talk.

“I haven’t,” I snap, though he obviously already knows that.

His large hand slides up the back of my neck and into my hair, fisting the strands tightly and rendering me immobile. My stomach tightens and swirls with heat, burning my insides as if I just drank an entire bottle of whiskey.

I suck in a sharp breath as he brushes his lips against mine, just barely.

“Such a good girl,” he rasps. “I would’ve had to kill them if you had. Just think of how many lives you save by belonging to only me.”

“You’re sick,” I snap.

He chuckles, his other hand sliding down my ass to cup my pussy from behind. He jerks me impossibly closer, rolling his hips into mine. I feel his hard length dig into my stomach, and my mouth parts as lust smothers my common sense.

All the aches and pains from the past few days fade away, until all that remains is unbridled lust that leaves me trembling.

“If you think that’s sick, then I would hate for you to hear all the ways I want to hurt you,” he murmurs, his voice deepening with a darkness that sends chills down my spine. “I want to see pictures on your phone where you’re covered in bruises from my hands and teeth. I want to see those sexy little poses, with your ass in the air and my handprint burned into your skin.”

He grinds against me again, and my eyelids droop. I feel my nipples tightening beneath my sports bra and my thighs growing slick with arousal.

“Might as well pee on me, too, if you’re trying to mark your territory,” I snip, though it’s missing heat. It’s been redirected to between my legs, and I feel my face flush hotter. That sounded like a fucking suggestion, and I’m not going to act like I haven’t done some pretty shameful things in my life, but I draw the line at golden showers.

Thankfully, he doesn’t take it seriously, but of course, he has to take it a step further. “I’d rather see you draped in my blood.” He hums, turned on by the idea. “Bloody and bruised, just for me.”

“I’m never taking pictures again,” I say, attempting to lean away yet failing miserably. Zade has never let me get far from him, no matter how hard I try.

“Then I’ll take them for you,” he responds, a moment before roughly pushing me back on my bed. I land ungracefully and immediately try to scramble away, but as I said, he doesn’t ever let me get far.

“Stop it,” I snarl fervently, smacking away his hands.

“Smack my hand one more time, and I’ll make your ass look like it got fucking branded.”

What does my dumbass do? I smack him again and then instantly regret that decision. Fuck, I regret so many decisions. Including allowing this man into my house. I find I miss the days when he would stay outside, just like the fucking dog he acts like.

My eyes widen, and he straightens, staring down at me with electric fire in his gaze. My heart stalls, coming to an abrupt, deadly end inside my rib cage. It thumps down through my bones until it lands pitifully in my stomach.

He sits on the edge of the bed beside me, reaches back and curls his hand into my hair once more, and then whips me over his lap harshly, pulling a startled yelp from my throat.

“Zade!” I shout, bucking against his hold. He releases my hair to band one arm across my back, while the other tears down my leggings. I wriggle against him, panic and urgency unfurling in my bloodstream as he shreds the fabric from my body. The loud ripping noise causes that useless muscle in my stomach to shoot right back up and into my throat.

“I swear to God, if you—”

“You’re going to swear to me?” he chuckles. “Tell me all the empty promises you’re going to make about the only one capable of making them come true.”

I growl with frustration from his condescension and his stupid fucking god complex. Just as I open my mouth, ready to make those promises, his hand connects with my ass in a sharp slap. I choke on the words as searing pain radiates from my backside. He rubs his hand across my skin, soothing the burn.

“Dick!” I burst out, both furious and muscles tight with agony. In response, he slaps the other side just as hard, my ears ringing from the sharp sound of flesh connecting with flesh. He repeats the process, circling his hand and soothing the sting.

“Fuck, I don’t think seeing my marks all over you will ever be enough,” he groans, squeezing one cheek roughly until I’m inhaling sharply from the bruising force. I’m trembling violently, and I’m unable to discern precisely from what.

“Let me go,” I hiss through gritted teeth.

“I could do that,” he muses. “It makes my cock hard when you think you have a chance of escaping me, only to fall right back into my trap again. Watching the hope bleed from your eyes is fucking magnificent.”

His fingers drift lightly over my slit, and it doesn’t matter how vehemently I tell myself it’s just sweat from the workout; even I can’t deny how wet I am.

“You can try to run and face an even worse punishment, or you can lift your ass up a little, baby,” he says darkly, voice tight with desire. Grinding my teeth, I decide just to listen if it means this will be over quicker. I’m too tired for cardio anyway. At least that’s what I tell myself, but the trickle of fear is a testament to that lie.

He hums his appreciation. “Good girl. You pose so fucking pretty for me, too.”

A bright light flashes out of the corner of my eye, followed by a soft click. I turn my head just in time to see him set my phone down.

“Are we done?” I breathe, attempting to slide off his lap. He stops me. Of course, he fucking stops me. I knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, but for some reason, my brain is insisting on clinging onto hope. It seems to be the only thing stronger than my fear of this man.

“Not even fucking close. I only saw pictures on your phone. But what I didn’t see are videos of you touching yourself.”

“That’s what a mirror is for,” I snap, twisting my head to look at him out of the corner of my eye.

He fists my hair, jerking my head back roughly and leaning in closer to my ear.

“Then let me be your mirror. Let me show you how fucking beautiful you are.”

Whatever insults were building on my tongue dissolve like sugar in hot water.

He lifts me up and readjusts both of us until he’s sitting upright, his back leaning against the black stone wall my bed is against. I’m facing away from him, straddling his lap with my knees spread wide on either side of him. My back is arched, ass is in the air—and right in his stupid face—while I lay my chest flat to the bed, glaring at the vanity on the other side of the room. I feel blood rising to my face in shame.

“I hate you,” I hiss, but it’s only because he can see the evidence of just how much my body opposes that sentiment.

He rubs his hand up my thigh, to my ass, and squeezes, causing my pussy to clench. My hands curl into the black, satin bedsheets, fisting the fabric tightly until my knuckles turn white.

“Do you hate this, too?” he asks, right before I feel his thumb dip into my entrance, gathering my arousal, then spreading it to my clit before lightly circling it. “Do you hate how your pussy cries for my attention? So fucking desperate, you weep at the slightest touch.”

I shake my head, denying the truth. A moan is clawing to get past my gritted teeth as he continues to play with me. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, yet that’s all I can feel as his thumb strokes me harder. My thighs stiffen, both rigid yet overcome with tremors.

Intense pleasure gathers beneath his touch, flowing throughout my entire body until I have no choice but to yield to the euphoria. Right as my eyes begin to drift shut, a bright light appears in my peripherals again, but this time, it stays on.

He’s recording me.

“Zade,” I warn, sliding away. “No—”

His hand comes down on my ass in a punishing slap. I cry out, so shocked by the hit that I can’t even fight him when he grabs my hips and pulls me back towards him.

“Your pussy is next, Adeline. No one is going to see this video but you and me. If anyone did, you know exactly what the fuck would happen to them.”

I bite my lip, battling with the urge to fight him. I’ve never let a man record me before; I refused to end up on porn sites without my knowledge or permission. But then I remind myself that Zade literally chopped off a man’s hands for touching my thigh—and then killed him when he did more than that. If this somehow leaked, anyone who viewed it would have their eyeballs gouged out by morning.

He must feel me relax because he dips a finger inside me, crude noises eliciting as he curls the digit just right and pulls a moan past my lips.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, more to himself than me, adding in another finger. My breath hitches, lust clouding my vision and erasing any lingering discomfort.

He groans. “Your skin is so flushed. You burning up, baby?”

I nod shakily, feeling precisely that. Like I’ve been tossed into a fire to roast alive.

He retracts his fingers and reaches over to my nightstand. I turn my head, confused about what he’s doing, until I see him grab for my cup. It’s full of ice water, and I know exactly what the shithead is planning.

“Zade…” Another unheeded warning. He uncaps the lid, grabs a cube, sets the cup back down, and turns the camera back onto me.

I open my mouth, but before I can get a word out, he’s touching the ice cube to my clit. I nearly jump out of my skin, an embarrassing noise slipping free.

“Move away, I dare you, little mouse,” he barks when I begin to crawl away again. Biting my lip, I force myself to still, bristling when he resumes. It’s so cold; it burns as he swirls the cube on my clit and up to my entrance. He teases for a few seconds before slowly sliding it in.

Oh, no.

That’s just fucking cruel.

“Okay, hold on a second,” I cut in, hesitant to move away, yet all my neurons are firing and screaming at me to run like hell.

“You’re going to sit still like my good little girl and shut that pretty mouth of yours unless you’re begging for more. Argue with me one more time, and I’ll remind you how cold the barrel of my gun is.”

That shuts me up. What’s a little ice anyway?

Once more, he resumes, and it takes all of my energy to stay still. My thighs shake, and my stomach clenches tight as the ice breaches past my entrance. I suck in a shuddering breath, squeezing my eyes shut as the bitter coldness invades such a sensitive area.

Just when it begins to feel like too much, his thumb finds my clit again, firmly rubbing the bud in tight circles until my attention is well and truly split between the two sensations.

Freezing water leaks down the back of my thighs. Just as the water drips, so do the moans from my tongue.

Without stopping his ministrations on my clit, his middle and ring finger slip back inside me, plunging in deeply before retreating to the tip and then driving inside me again, pushing the ice deeper.

In a past life, he must have been Beethoven because only a pianist can move his hands the way he does. He pleasures me like his fingers are stroking ivory keys, producing music from my lungs. He’s an artist, and I’m the instrument that feeds his muse.

I grind against his fingers, losing myself in the sensations. Right when I get close to exploding all over his hand, he withdraws from my pussy.

I gasp, anger rising as I whip my head around and glare at him. But his eyes are focused on my cunt, glimmering with carnal desire. Any insult I had loaded gets jammed in my throat when he licks his lips, props the phone on his chest with the camera pointed upwards, grabs my hips, and lifts my ass above his face.

Not into, above.

“Zade,” I breathe, balancing on my forearms and now watching him from between my legs. “What are you…” I trail off when he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. My brows knit, confused on what the hell he’s doing, but then I see the melted ice drip into his mouth.

“Oh…,” I breathe, my mouth drying from how insanely hot that is.

Freezing water continues to pour into his mouth, drinking from me without even touching me. He’s a man dying of thirst, and I’m the fountain that will give him life again.

Quickly, I become restless, wanting to feel his tongue sliding against me.

“Zade,” I plead, wiggling in his grip.

“You want me to lap it up from this pink little cunt, don’t you?” he asks, dropping my hips closer to his awaiting mouth. His lips are wet from the water, but I want to see them dripping with my cum instead.

“Yes,” I whisper, my shoulders beginning to burn from the position.

He notches his chin up, his breath fanning across my pussy, causing a shiver to wrack my spine. He’s so close…

Maybe he needs encouragement.

I lift up on my hands, balance my weight on one of them, and then reach down the length of my body to grab his cock. He stills completely, his chin dropping an inch as he waits to see what I’m doing.

“If I’m going to allow you to defile me, it’s only fair I get the same privilege,” I sass, squeezing his length for emphasis. If he asks me to beg like a simpering little girl, I will bite his toe.

He drops his head fully, peering at me from between my legs with a cocked brow and amusement simmering beneath the heat.

“Do you think it will still be a privilege when it’s shoved down your throat, and you’re choking on it? I love the way you sound when you can’t breathe.”

He’s trying to scare me.

It’s working, but I won’t let him win.

I slide my hand up just enough to tug on his belt buckle. It’s awkward from this angle, but I eventually unfasten it, and then his jeans. His eyes darken as I drag down the material, his cock springing up.

It takes effort to keep from gulping. With his threat still lingering, I remember why I always try to run when Zade pulls out his dick. I could choke just looking at it.

And the asshole would only watch while I struggle not to die.

“Come closer,” I say, voice tight. Sensing my trepidation, he smirks, sliding down the wall until he’s nearly flat on his back, and his cock is in my face. He drops my hips until my knees are on the bed, now supporting my weight. Then, he grabs the phone and readjusts the position, so all of my backside and his face are in the shot.

I’m still staring down at his length, wondering how the hell Zade was lucky enough to be blessed with such a beautiful dick—especially because he’s actually Satan himself—when I feel him nip at me.

I jerk, inhaling sharply when his tongue quickly soothes the sting.

“Let’s play a game, little mouse. I will lick your sweet little pussy as long as my cock is as far down your throat as you can take it. The second you come up, I stop.”

My mouth drops. “That’s evil.”

“That’s religion. You need to worship in order to experience heaven, so start fucking worshipping.”

Snarling, I open my mouth and swallow him as deeply as he’ll go before retreating a moment later. If he wants to taste me so badly, then he’ll have to wait until I’m good and ready.

I may experience heaven every time Zade bows for me, but he’s a goddamn liar if he acts like he’s not ascending right along with me.

If he wants me to suffer, I’ll be damned if he doesn’t suffer with me.

I lick him thoroughly, earning growls from deep in his chest, as he’s snapping demands to suck him. I ignore them, focused on wetting his cock until it’s dripping with saliva. If I’m going to swallow him, then I need lubrication to handle it.

It turns into a game of who can hurt who more. He reaches over and grabs another ice cube, giving me the same treatment as before. The burning cold seeps into my sensitive clit, then up to my entrance. He slides the cube inside of me, though he doesn’t distract me from the pain this time.

Gritting my teeth, I suck on the tip, roving my tongue over the swollen head. Dragging out my own personal hell in the name of pride.

“I will remember every fucking second you delay, little mouse. And you will regret each one when I’m counting them on your ass with my hand.”

He’s tense beneath me, and I believe this is one of those rare moments where Zade is impatient. It’s enough to bring a grin to my face before I finally give in, sliding his cock down my throat until nothing exists outside of him.

He groans but doesn’t waste time plunging his tongue inside my pussy, finally adding pleasure to the pain radiating from between my thighs.

I moan around him, sending vibrations up his length while bobbing my head up and down just enough to give him stimulation.

He sucks my clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue rapidly until my eyes are rolling and my knees are shaking. Oxygen runs thin in my lungs, and as hard as I try to hold on, panic is beginning to set in when I can’t get any air.

I lift up, sucking in a deep breath, nearly sobbing when Zade rips his mouth away. He’s panting, too, his free hand sliding along my ass and squeezing to relieve his frustration.

“Fuck, hurry up, Adeline. You taste so fucking good.”

One more deep breath, and I’m gulping him down again. When my clit is back in his mouth seconds later, I grind against him while sliding my tongue around his girth as best as I can.

He hums against me, expertly strumming his tongue and slurping the cold water leaking into his mouth. I glimpse at him to see several streams sliding out of the side of his mouth, past his jaw and down his throat. 

The sight is so erotic, that I almost forget what I’m choking on. Until he rolls his lips, sending the tip further down my throat. Tears spill from the corner of my eyes, and I begin to gag from how fucking intrusive he is.

Why couldn’t he have a pencil dick?

My muscles tense, but I’m out of oxygen and desperately need it. I tear myself away from him, earning a vicious growl and his teeth sinking into the apple of my asscheek in retaliation. I cry out, frantically sucking in air before swallowing him down again, nearly shoving my hips in his face.

His teeth nip at me, his entire mouth covering me as he licks and sucks. I cup his balls in my hand, squeezing firmly. He jerks up into my throat, choking me again. Tears continue to flood from my eyes, and I work not to gag.

My orgasm is peaking, the ice cube completely melted again, though the chill still lingers. I’m pushing back against his mouth, shamelessly grinding against him until I’m tumbling over the edge and shattering into the unforgiving rocks beneath.

I scream around his cock, eyes rolling as wave after harsh wave batters my body, robbing me of mind and soul. Zade growls as I buck against him, vaguely feeling the excess liquid flowing down my thighs.

Seconds later, he’s exploding into my mouth, ribbons of cum shooting down my throat as he snarls and groans against my pulsating pussy.

It never seems to end, and eventually, I’m lifting up and reaching behind me, clawing at his hair, and begging for him to stop. Surprisingly, he listens, and I collapse back down, both of us spent. My quaking knees slide further apart, incapable of holding my weight.

“You’re not done yet,” he warns, reaching for the cup again.

“You’re trying to kill me,” I mumble, words muffled against his thigh. The phone light is still on, which means he hasn’t stopped recording me yet.

I’m not sure I’ll ever have the courage to watch the video. Though I have a feeling Zade would just force me to until I turn into Pavlov’s dog and drool anytime I see it.

I’d rather just throw my phone into the bay than become his slobbering puppy. Except for when his dick is down my throat, of course, but that doesn’t count. That’s for my benefit, not his.

When he grabs another ice cube, I lift my head up to watch him but then immediately put it back down when I notice the string of drool connecting from my mouth to the puddle on his leg.

I hate him.

“What are you doing?” I ask, tensing once more when I feel the biting cold traveling up my thigh and towards my center.

“Just collecting on what’s mine,” he says casually. My brows pinch, then jump up my forehead when he inserts the ice inside of my pussy.

Once more, I’m strangling the sheets in my fists, and my back is bowing. He twirls the cube before sliding it out.

The phone light shuts off, and I twist my head to peer at him over my shoulder. Just in time to watch him suck the ice between his teeth, his cheeks hollowing as his tongue swirls around it. His yin-yang eyes are pinned to me, boiling with desire, and reflecting what must be in my own gaze.

I regret him turning off the camera because that sight right there—I’d kill to have that frozen in time.

He pulls it from his mouth, licking his lips as he does. Streams of water trail down his hand, and I wonder if he even notices how cold his hand must be.

Then, he’s putting the cube back inside of me. I jump, but this time, I’m more fascinated with what he’s doing to be overwhelmed by the chill.

Electric currents crackle in the air, and tension thickens the space between us as we both get lost in each other’s stare𑁋an exchange full of unquenchable desire and expectations.

Slowly, he withdraws the cube from my pussy, covered in traces of my orgasm.

“Turn around,” he demands hoarsely, his deep voice full of gravel.

It feels as if I’m in a trance as I sit up and twist around. He quickly pulls up his jeans to cover himself before I can settle back down on his lap, and I refuse to acknowledge how disappointing that is.

That disappointment dissipates when he plops the cube into his mouth, grabs my jaw, and pulls me forward until our lips are colliding in a cyclone of fire and ice. Where his mouth is cold, mine is hot, and the mix is as dangerous as a livewire in water.

He pries my lips apart with his tongue before shoving the ice cube between my teeth. Instinctively, I suck on the ice, the taste of my arousal faint.

Back and forth, we trade the cube between us until water is spilling from between our lips and down our chins. One hand is tangled in my hair, while the other is curled around my back, holding me in place.

The kiss is feral and messy, and it doesn’t take long before my hands are roaming his chest and stomach, frantically and without direction.

I’m out of oxygen, yet it feels like he’s feeding me life with each stroke of his tongue.

Eventually, he tugs me away, both of us greedily sucking in air yet wholly unsatisfied by it. Before I can blink, he’s setting me to the side and standing up, refastening his jeans and belt.

I’m almost disoriented by the sudden change, and then even more so when I find a red rose on my bed. I swear he pulls them out of his ass.

He tosses my phone onto the comforter next to me, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I snap, beginning to feel uncomfortable. Reality is setting in, and I’m very tempted to snatch the stupid device up and delete the evidence of what we just did. Then throw it in the toilet and flush it, purely because I won’t be able to look at it without remembering this.

It shouldn’t have happened.

“Have you fallen in love with me yet?” he asks, his grin widening when I shoot him a nasty look.

“No,” I clip.

He hums, nodding his head as if he’s learned something new about me. He’s about to learn what my fist feels like in his nose.

“Your heart isn’t any different than the ice inside your pussy, baby. It’ll melt, and I’ll devour that, too.”

He’s heading for the door, and I’m sputtering for a response.

“That video stays on my phone,” I call out finally, cheeks burning from embarrassment.

He cocks his head over his shoulder with a devilish smile. “Don’t worry, little mouse. I’ll just rewatch it from the cameras in your room.”

Then, he’s out the door, firmly shutting it behind him.

Oh my god. I actually hate him.

Mouth open in outrage, I look over to see my phone replaying the video. At one point, he must’ve changed the angle because he’s staring into the camera, licking my pussy like a goddamn fiend. The bright light accentuates his unusual eyes and the white scar slashing down his face, highlighting the obsession in his expression as he devours me. My stomach drops, butterflies sprouting.

I snatch the phone up, staring into the screen with wide eyes.

Okay, fine. I don’t hate him completely.

Addie

“We’re moving into a new era, my brothers and sisters, and it’s nothing to be scared of. Take my hand, and I will lead you there…”

Snarling, I click off the T.V.

“Was that Gabriel Dubois?” Daya asks through the phone. I almost forgot she was there.

I sigh. “Yeah. Can’t fucking stand the dude, and for some godforsaken reason, he’s only getting more popular.”

He’s nothing more than another psycho maniac claiming to be God’s disciple. Really, he’s a regular, ordi-fucking-nary man that’s convinced himself he’s special.

"Zade will correct that real soon, especially considering who he is,” Daya says. “Are you home alone?"

"Yeah," I answer, sipping from my wine glass. The rain patters loudly against the bay window, the lights flickering from the severity of the storm. I’m rocking in Gigi’s chair, laptop resting on my legs while I go over my manuscript before sending it off to my editor.

Nights like these are my favorite.

"Well, as alone as I can be,” I correct. “Even with Claire gone, Zade refuses to relax and keeps security around the property. I swear to God, they’re so bored, I saw one of them jacking off behind a tree the other day."

"That's disgusting," she responds dryly.

I cringe, almost regretting saying that when I remember that my fiancé is a psychopath. "Don't tell Zade that. He'll chop off the dude’s dick."

"How would he even know which guy it was?" she challenges.

I bite my lip, remembering the time when he delivered Archie’s hands in a box on my doorstep. Still extremely fucked up. And still slightly pissed about that.

But it’s the least traumatizing thing I’ve been through and well… he did deserve it.

"You're right. He'd chop them all off and call it a day.”

I can't see her, but I'm confident she just rolled her eyes.

“He’d chop off their dicks for less. I have no plans to say anything.”

The lights flicker again, and my heart flutters with excitement. I’m not exactly looking forward to having no power, but Parsons Manor being cast in complete darkness with the entities that roam the halls, sounds positively dreadful. And I fucking love that.

“Thanks,” I murmur, the sound of footsteps creaking from above, disturbing the steady sound of rain bulleting into the house. It pulls a grin out of me.

My phone buzzes in my hand, distracting me from the restless spirit. I pull the phone away long enough to glimpse who messaged me, and my heart flutters with excitement.

"Daya, I gotta go.”

“Okay, but don’t forget about wedding planning tomorrow!”

Now I’m rolling my eyes. “I told you, nothing extrava—”

“Shut up, this isn’t about you. It’s about me and fulfilling my maid of honor dreams.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still holding out until we find Sibby anyway," I remind her. “No one would fulfill flower girl better than her.”

It’s only been four months since she’s been gone, but her absence weighs heavily on us. Parsons Manor isn’t the same without the little creep wandering around.

I miss training with her, and I miss her eating all the Pop-Tarts.

Worst of all, I just hate that we don’t know where she is.

Daya sighs. “I know. We’ll find her. And then, you will have the most over the top wedding imaginable. In the meantime, I’m bringing over cake tomorrow.”

I snort. “As long as there’s options. I’m hanging up now.”

I end the call in the midst of her singing adieu, a grin on my face while I click on the new message.

UNKNOWN: You’re so pretty when you smile.

Said smile widens, and I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as I read it over again, knowing exactly who it’s from. Yet, I feel adrenaline zip down my spine anyway.

Another message appears.

UNKNOWN: But you’re prettier when you cry.

Bastard.

He’s a sick fuck, yet somehow, I'm in love with him anyway. I look out the window, squinting to see through the blurry glass, but he’s not out there. At least not that I can see.

A moment later, all the lights cut out, drowning me in near darkness. I have a fire going, but the light isn’t strong enough to brighten more than ten feet or so, leaving most of the living room and kitchen completely shadowed.

I'm not so sure the storm was the cause.

Heart pounding, I set my laptop on the stool in front of me and stand, every little creak in the manor amplified. Already, my eyes are playing tricks on me. Shadow fingers skirt across the edge of light, and for a second, I swear I see something standing by the TV.

My phone buzzes in my hand again, and I nearly jump out of my skin from the unexpectedness of it, a yelp slipping free.

Jesus fucking Christ, I’m going to have a heart attack by thirty at this rate.

UNKNOWN: Hide, little mouse. If I find you, I fuck you.

Immediately, heat courses through my veins, and I’m clenching my thighs as I read over the message a second time.

How tempting to stay put. But I can’t deny the thrill of being chased by my shadow.

ME: No watching me through the cameras. Let's see how good of a hunter you really are.

Tucking my phone in my back pocket, I scamper to the stairs and begin to quietly creep up them right when a flash of lightning blares through the windows, highlighting the living room in a moon-white glow for half a second. Part of me expected to see Zade standing there, hiding in the shadows, but I knew he wouldn't make it so easy.

Hurrying up to the second floor, I keep one hand planted against the wall as I make my way down the hallway. I can’t see shit, and the adrenaline polluting my system like smog is making me feel dizzy.

I could use my phone's flashlight, but what's the fun in that? It would also give me away, and I won’t make it so easy for Zade, either.

It’s freezing, the unusually cold temperature only heightening the foreboding feeling clinging to my bones like marrow. As if to prove a point, something breathes down the back of my neck, sending an ice-cold chill down my spine.

That lights a fire under my ass. I scurry into the first room on my left, softly closing the door behind me. The hinges are flush with the corner of the room, so I tuck myself in the alcove. That way, when he opens the door, it will conceal me.

My heart thuds heavily in my chest as silence presses in around me. I’m shaking, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the adrenaline or because of the ghost that was way too close for comfort.

Several minutes tick by before I hear a distinct creak from down the hall. There's no way to tell if it's Zade or a spirit.

Footsteps slowly trail toward me, the pace casual, not a care in the world.

It's Zade.

I bite the inside of my cheek, my stomach somersaulting when the footsteps cease outside my door. Hiding in the first room is too easy, we both know that. But I have no intentions of staying or letting him catch me.

Tension builds as the silence drags. The fucker is playing mind games with me.

Right when I'm convinced that he's moved on, a loud bang reverberates on the door, the sound thunderous. Just barely do I slap my hand over my mouth before a startled yelp escapes.

That didn't come from outside the room.

It came from the inside.

My wide eyes are locked in the direction of the closet, where the noise originated from. Someone is in there, and I've lost all confidence on who is in this room with me, and who is outside.

My heart is pounding wildly against my chest, and I think the adrenaline mixed with the terror is making me feel a little nauseous.

Before I can decide what the fuck to do, the door next to me is slowly creaking open.

Thank fuck. I'm desperate to get the hell out of here.

Zade's profile appears as he enters, but I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse that he's not the one in the closet.

Carefully, I slide along the wall until I reach the edge of the door while he walks deeper into the room. I’m fully prepared to slip out and make a run for it when Zade stills, his back to me, and his hood over his head. I freeze, too, hoping he doesn’t turn yet. Surely, he can hear my pulse from where he stands.

"Little mouse," he calls dangerously.

Fuck this.

I dart out from my hiding spot and race back into the hall, plunged into complete darkness once more.

Zade’s deep laugh follows me as I sprint down the steps and into the living room, his footsteps close behind. I'm aiming for the sunroom when I hear Zade coming down the hall that's on the other side of the steps, headed my way.

Shit.

I pivot and race back toward the staircase, my mind racing. I can either try to sneak out the front door or go back up to the second floor.

Or—I could come up behind him in the corridor and slip into one of the bedrooms down there, though I haven't been in any of them since I renovated the place.

Biting my lip, I tip-toe past the stairs, and pop my head into the hallway, listening for my shadow. I hear nothing, so I slowly creep down toward one of the bedrooms, keeping my left hand planted on the wall to ground me. Straight ahead is the sunroom, but there's nowhere to hide in there.

My hand brushes against wood with ridges in it, and I stop, remembering that there’s a closet here. I don’t use it, so I completely forgot about it. There’s a chance Zade has forgotten it exists, too.

Backtracking, I quickly open the door just enough to slip through and softly close it. It’s a spacious closet, but I stay close to the exit in the case I need to make a run for it.

A stillness descends over me, and if I’m not careful, Zade will feel my breath through the shutters once he passes by. My breath is stuttering out of my throat, broken up by the erratic pulse of my heart.

For several minutes, it’s quiet. Until it’s not. There’s a low creak from down the hall, stemming from the direction of the sunroom.

Heavy footsteps start my way, and I can’t help but take a step back, the doom of being found hanging low over my head.

Alarm bells blare as the footsteps near, and while the danger is definitely outside the closet door, it feels as if it’s also inside. Behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, an ominous feeling needling into every one of my pores.

A warm gust of air fans lightly across my nape, and like a judge, it calls the goosebumps on my skin to all rise.

I freeze, every one of my joints locked as someone presses against me, molding their front to my back. My heart drops into my stomach, flipping it over until I feel like vomiting it back up.

Fuck. Me.

“Do you think it can smell your fear, little mouse?” he whispers before his finger feathers along the column of my neck. “Or maybe it can hear how hard your heart is beating—feel the pulse in your throat.”

I work to swallow, feeling like a rock is in my throat, but I can’t deny the low thrum beginning between my thighs.

“Fuck off,” I whisper unevenly, just as the footsteps pause outside of the closet.

His hand circles around my throat, the act as deadly as if it were a python.

“Shh,” he hushes darkly, punctuated by a low creak outside the door. Heat gathers low in my stomach, and I clench my thighs, the only thing that abates the need throbbing in my pussy.

Whatever is outside isn’t friendly. But I’m used to the foul spirits that reside in Parsons Manor. They don’t scare me any more than the predator at my back, playing with its food before going in for the kill.

Gradually, he severs my oxygen supply while something shakes the closet door violently. Despite myself, I flinch in Zade’s hold, the malice radiating from outside this confined place I’m trapped in unmistakable. His other hand glides across the waistband of my leggings before slipping beneath it. A gasp gets stuck in my throat as his fingers lightly brush across my clit.

“Maybe,” he starts again, his deep voice dropping lower, sending chills down my spine. “It can smell you.”

The moment the last word leaves his mouth, he plunges a finger inside my pussy. I can’t make a sound, the vibrations of a scream redirected to scatter across every one of my nerve endings.

My back bows, and the closet door shakes again.

“It must be hungry,” he murmurs, a low growl emanating deep from his chest when he adds a second finger, feeling my arousal flood around him.

Blackness licks at the edges of my vision, and the panic is steadily climbing as I struggle for oxygen. He pumps in and out of me, the noises emanating from his movements obscene.

Whatever is outside rattles the door again, harder this time, but it’s difficult to focus when Zade begins to circle my clit with his thumb.

He loosens his grip around my throat just enough to allow a sliver of oxygen through. I breathe in desperately, though it comes out choked when he adds a third finger.

“Zade,” I rasp, my hips involuntarily rolling into his hand.

“What do you think will anger it more, baby? The fact that it’s not fear that’s making you tremble or that the only monster that can hurt you is me?”

An uneven moan is the only response I’m capable of, though it bleeds into a sharp gasp when the negative spirit hits the door, causing me to jerk against him.

My heart jumps into my throat, and I’m convinced all my organs have decided to go AWOL, an attempt to abandon me and leave me with the beast. Whether it’s the one outside or the one behind me doesn’t matter. They’re both intent on possessing me.

As if to prove a point, his teeth clamp down on the delicate flesh beneath my ear, earning another husky moan.

My stomach is tight with a quickly growing orgasm, and I know the moment he pulls away, I’ll feel fucking empty.

He pumps his fingers quicker, and the sounds pouring past my lips are becoming cruder as he brings me closer and closer to the edge.

I think the door rattles again, but I’m past caring. My tunnel vision is focused on how fucking good he makes my pussy feel.

“Oh, God,” I groan.

“I’m here, baby. Now show that demon outside who truly possesses you,” he whispers, pressing firmly on my clit.

I squeeze my eyes shut as the knot in my stomach snaps, and I’m erupting all over his hand.

My head kicks back, a staccato scream surging from my throat as I’m swept away by a force that can only be wielded by a god.

A deep growl rumbles against my back, and I can feel Zade tensing as he continues to pump his fingers, drawing out my orgasm until I’m boneless. I collapse in his arms, but he holds me steady, and I can feel the slickness between my thighs, causing my leggings to stick to my skin uncomfortably.

Panting heavily, I lean a hand on the door, right as it stops shaking. I hadn’t even realized it had started again.

“Fuck,” I wheeze, though the word barely makes it out.

He pulls his hand away, and I can’t see a damn thing, but I can hear him licking his fingers clean. Even post orgasm, that turns me on, which is incredibly annoying.

And also, the perfect time to make an escape. He may have briefly distracted me, but I’m not ready to admit defeat.

There’s no time to give myself a mental pep talk, so I just act, whipping open the door and barreling into the hallway.

Fuck the ghost, I have an actual murderer chasing me.

I hear the door hit the wall as he charges out behind me, a deep growl following me as I sprint toward the entryway by the staircase, past them, and into the living room. The fire is still going, casting dancing shadows across the room that are suspiciously lifelike.

The adrenaline rushing through my system is convoluting my common sense, but the only place I can think to go is the sunroom.

Of course, the fucker doesn’t let me make it three more steps before he’s fisting my hair and jerking me back. Before my brain can catch up, I’m falling backward, though he controls my descent and softens the blow just enough that I won’t need to visit any hospitals tonight.

I yelp, curses pouring from my mouth as I struggle in his hold, desperately trying to break free. It takes a few seconds before my training kicks in and I outmaneuver him, but he’s already two steps ahead of me and easily counters my attempts. He’s always two steps ahead of me.

My hands are trapped on my sides, in between his thick thighs, and he sits on me heavily, preventing me from doing nothing more than wiggling like a worm on a hook.

Bastard.

Heaving, I glare up at him, huffing through my nose like a raging bull. The bright, orange glow from the fire creates a startling effect on his face. Light and darkness wage a war across the sharp planes of his features. His light, blue eye is brightened, the scar slashing through it prominent, while his dark eye retreats into the shadows.

He seizes my face between his fingers, pinching my cheeks roughly as he gets in my face.

“If I find you, I fuck you,” he snarls.

“Fuck off,” I bite out, more contrite that I lost. I’m a sore loser, and the dickhead knows it. So, I do the worst thing possible and spit in his face. Because self-preservation is so last season.

He rears back in shock, enough time for me to wiggle one arm loose and send my fist flying into his cheek.

A wicked laugh booms from his throat, and he catches my wrist easily, squeezing hard enough to give me a warning.

I don’t listen. I buck beneath him, and the power struggle renews. I’m able to land one more punch with my other fist, but within seconds, he’s pinning my arms above my head with one hand, and once more rendering me useless.

“Asshole,” I spit, right as he grips the collar of my t-shirt and rips it off in a single move, my bra quickly following. My mouth drops open, helplessly watching the tattered remains be tossed to the side.

“I liked that bra.”

He ignores me, and I feel him grab the waistband of my leggings next. I struggle hard, but to no avail, and my anger spikes when they briefly tighten around my waist, only to be ripped from my body.

“Zade!” I shout, growling as he turns me over onto my stomach, locking my wrists behind my back. Instantly, I freeze, my eyes widening with true panic, and my stomach revolting.

For a moment, it’s not Zade behind me anymore, but Rocco.

Convinced of it, I renew my fight, but he’s bearing his weight down on me.

“Get off of me!” I shout, desperate to break free. My thoughts race a mile a second, tripping over themselves as I try to find a way out from his hold.

“Say my name again, baby. Let me hear it,” he demands roughly. I scream at him instead, but he persists. “Say it, Adeline.”

His sharp command pierces through the panic long enough for his name to slip out.

“Zade,” I whisper, though I refuse to still completely. Terror is pumping into my system steadily, and my vision is tunneling.

“Say it again,” he orders, his palm gliding over my asscheek and up my waist, the action possessive—claiming—yet comforting.

“Zade,” I choke out, my voice broken with too many emotions to sift through. Rocco is disappearing, but my chest aches with how hard the muscle within beats.

“Good girl,” he praises, rolling his hips into my backside. I feel the hard press of him against my spine, and the bite of his zipper. “Focus on me, and only me.”

He pulls back enough to tear at my thong, the material biting into my skin and offering a small dose of pain to ground me. Then, his teeth are sinking into the apple of my ass, drawing a hiss from between my teeth. I arch into his mouth, pain and pleasure threading together like a strand of DNA.

His wet tongue glides up toward my hip before he takes another savage bite, a groan releasing from his throat, mingling with my own.

Just as the pain becomes too much, his fingers brush against my pussy, dipping inside me briefly to gather my arousal on the tips, before sliding them up to my clit.

My eyes flutter, my stomach tightening as his mouth gradually ascends my body, delivering sharp, unmerciful bites. Within moments, I’m shuddering, my teeth chattering as his fingers continue to work me skillfully.

“Say my name,” he demands roughly, then clamps his teeth down on the back of my shoulder.

“Zade!” I gasp, and as a reward, he sinks two fingers inside me, causing my eyes to roll.

His teeth release me, only for him to crowd over me, his hot breath fanning across my ear.

“Now scream it,” he whispers. Before I can open my mouth, he’s gone, only to reappear between my legs. In seconds, my wrists are free, giving me just enough time to balance myself on the floor as he lifts me up by the hips.

I don’t even have a moment to breathe before his tongue is swiping up my pussy before sucking my clit into his mouth.

Unconsciously, I heed his demand and scream his name.

How silly of me to think I had any choice.

He growls against me, the vibration running through my entire body as he feasts on me. My legs tremble violently while he trades between licking and biting me.

“Ahh! Oh my God, Zade, oh fuck,” I chant, arching my back impossibly farther, desperate to feel more of him yet already feeling too much.

He groans again, lapping at me sensually, dipping his tongue inside me, only to circle back to my clit once more.

“You’re told to get on your knees to pray so you can make it into heaven,” he starts, his voice a deep rumble. He can’t resist licking me again before continuing, “But I’m your God, and the only way I will take you is when I’m on my knees.”

I bite my lip, overcome with sensation as he quickly brings me to another orgasm. It rips through me like lightning, and it feels like I’m exploding from the force of it, until only stardust remains.

A scream rips from my throat as I seize against him, my head dropping heavily to the floor, my moans turning into sobs.

Right as I come down, he bites my clit, and the outcry that bursts from my throat is one born of overstimulation and pain.

“Zade!” I shout, squeezing my eyes shut as he relentlessly suctions it into his mouth, until I’m quite literally kicking at him to get away.

I manage to land a solid kick to his shoulder, knocking him away enough to free myself from his hold. By pure instinct alone, I start crawling away, the checkered tiling digging into my knees uncomfortably.

I hear him chuckle darkly from behind me, which only serves to heighten the adrenaline churning in my stomach.

A startled yelp escapes when I feel his hands clamp around each ankle and drag me back toward him, my nails clawing into the floor. It feels like I’ve stumbled my way into a horror movie, the psychotic serial killer hunting me down and dragging me into the depths before brutally taking my life.

And while Zade would never kill me, my life has always been his for the taking.

I kick at him while he wrangles me onto my back, allowing me to put more strength behind my strikes. He easily overpowers me, though, and forces his body between my legs, hands on either side of my head while he grins manically in my face.

“Where are you going, little mouse?” he taunts, before leaning in close, delivering a sharp nip to my jaw. “I’m not finished eating my dinner.”

“Oh, fuck off,” I gasp.

My back arches when he rolls his hips against mine, the sharp bite of his zipper grinding directly on my sensitive clit, concealing his hard cock.

I’m not sure the sound that leaves my lips is one of protest or encouragement, but it wouldn’t matter either way. Nothing would stop Zade from taking what he wants.

My mouth falls open when he grinds against me a second time, and he seizes the opportunity by capturing my lips with his, dipping his tongue inside and curling it erotically along the roof of my mouth.

Electricity pulses under the surface of my skin, and I’m simultaneously melting and coming alive beneath him.

My hands shove at his hoodie, forcing him to break our kiss while I tear the offensive fabric from his body. He descends back onto me immediately, and I slide my palms along his chest, feeling the raised texture of the rose scar carved over his heart. I trace the other one on his chest down to the contours on his stomach, brushing the pads of my fingers across a third scar.

He’s heartbreakingly beautiful.

Not wasting any more time, I pop the button on his jeans and slide the zipper down, reaching beneath his briefs to grip his cock. It’s almost disturbing how tiny my hand feels when wrapped around him.

A growl resounds in my mouth, and his teeth gnash savagely at my lips while he rolls his hips deeper into me.

I shove down his pants impatiently, prompting him to kick them and his briefs the rest of the way off, completely baring himself for me.

Instantly, his cock slides against my pussy, and we both groan into each other’s mouths. He grabs himself and glides the tip through my slit, a low growl radiating from his chest.

Slowly, he pushes inside me. I’ve no idea how many times Zade has fucked me by now, but every time feels like the first time.

His breath fans across my neck, traveling to right below my ear before delivering a sharp bite.

“Oh my God,” I breathe, shuddering as he sinks deeper, his palm sliding up to my breast and cupping it tightly.

I feel him grin against me before he whispers, “I am your God, and you, little mouse, are my favorite creation.”

My eyes roll as he fills me completely, the sound erupting from my throat choked and high-pitched.

He doesn’t let me adjust any longer, immediately pulling his hips back only to drive inside me to the hilt, his body slamming into me hard enough to slide me up the floor an inch.

My hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging in deep to anchor myself as he sets a harsh but steady pace, pulling more otherworldly moans from my mouth.

It’d be embarrassing if I hadn’t already gotten used to the sound of my body falling apart.

“Shh, baby, the ghosts might hear you,” Zade murmurs, the glow from the fire highlighting the devilish grin on his face.

“Let them,” I bite out, my brows furrowing when he rolls his hips just right.

Curling my legs around him, I force him closer until he’s grinding against me, his pelvis rubbing my clit and causing my nails to dig deeper.

“You like being watched, Adeline?” he questions darkly. “What do you want them to see, hm? I could bring you to the brink of death, get them excited that maybe you’ll be joining them soon.”

His hand brushes across my throat threateningly, the act as sinister as the words coming from his mouth. Butterflies unleash in my stomach, my instincts remembering just how often Zade follows through on his promises.

“You’re psychotic,” I breathe, though my eyes are threatening to cross from what he’s doing to my body.

He hooks his arms underneath my thighs and lifts them, my knees nearly up to my ears. I cry out, the sensations sharper as he continues to grind against me, keeping up the movements that he knows drive me wild.

Then, his hand is closing around my throat, causing my heart to drop with fear.

“You won’t do it,” I challenge, my oxygen quickly depleting as his grip tightens. “You couldn’t live without me.”

“No, little mouse, I couldn’t. I’d follow you in death, and then you’d never be able to escape me.”

I bite my lip as he clamps down on my neck completely, and whatever words that were on my tongue dissipate alongside the air in my lungs.

Deep in the pit of my stomach, an orgasm is forming—like a storm brewing, beginning with a few storm clouds and growing into a hurricane.

He hits that perfect spot inside me that has my thighs tightening and my toes curling. The pressure in my stomach sharpens, creating a desperation that never seems to wane, no matter how often Zade makes me come.

No sound can breach the constriction around my throat, causing my heart to pick up with adrenaline and panic. I flail, but he doesn’t relent as he fucks me harder.

“Do you hear that?” he whispers.

I didn’t—at least not at first. But now that he’s brought attention to it, there are footsteps pacing the floor behind me. My heart pounds harder, the terror swirling in my veins only intensifying the pleasure.

The crease between my brows deepens, and I know my face is on the verge of turning purple. My vision is fading, yet the orgasm only grows stronger.

I tap at Zade’s hand, desperate for air, but he only unhooks his other arm from my leg, reaches between us and firmly circles my clit.

Then, my vision does blacken completely and moments later, I’m exploding. Immediately, Zade releases my throat, and the breath I suck in is obnoxiously loud as I completely unravel.

My first scream is almost entirely silent, overcome with the climax that is ripping my insides to shreds and battling with my body’s instinctive need to fucking breathe.

When I can finally suck in enough air, the second scream begins as a cry and ends in a sob.

Zade doesn’t relent. He continues to drive into me, his teeth clamping down on my neck in a savage bite that has my eyes crossing and another wave of ecstasy rolling through me.

“Fuck, oh fuck, Zade,” I cry, the words garbled.

Shudders are racking my body, and I’ve lost control over all functions.

Right when it becomes too much, his arms move to slide underneath my back, and then he’s standing, bringing me with him. I clutch onto his shoulders while he walks us to the fireplace, tension building in my muscles as we near. My orgasm has retreated enough for me to regain my senses, and a part of me wishes I hadn’t.

Any other woman would find this romantic, to be fucked in front of a fireplace—if they were dating a normal man. And while Zade is romantic, he also finds every opportunity to push my boundaries, and I have a sinking feeling this will be no different.

“Zade,” I hedge, his name coming out as a warning.

He doesn’t answer, instead sinking to his knees right before the fireplace, my back directly to it. I peek around my shoulder, the heat sinking into my skin and making me uncomfortably hot.

“Zade,” I try again, my voice pitching with hysteria.

Still, he stays quiet and reaches beyond me to grab a gothic candelabra that sits next to the pit, the five candles halfway melted down to the black ornate arms.

“Lean back on your hands,” he orders. I hesitate. I’m on his lap, his knees spread wide as he balances on his heels and his cock trapped between our bodies. Moving back would put me too close to the fire for comfort.

He meets my eyes, a feral expression on his face, all his sharp edges and harsh lines even more prominent. His icy, blue eye looks like moonlight, and just like the ocean tides, it sucks me in.

It’s enough to suspend my heart in my chest. Swallowing nervously, I do as he says, the heat intensifying as I near.

He gives no warning before he’s lifting my hips and sinking inside me once more, my previous orgasms offering only a small reprieve from his size as he stretches me. It doesn’t abate the burn, but right now, it’s the only one I welcome.

My back arches, my head beginning to fall back and instantly causing me to flinch, scared that my hair is going to fall victim first to the flames. I’ll be so fucking pissed if that happens.

Reaching forward, he grabs my jaw and pushes me back farther, and my entire body cements into stone, a startled gasp slipping past my lips.

“Do you feel as I do?” he asks, a snarl forming as he sinks inside me, jerking my body even closer to the heat. “Like you’re burning alive, and the one holding you over the flames is the one you can’t live without?”

I can only stare at him with widened eyes as he releases me, then grabs one of the candles and sticks the tip into the fire, the wick igniting instantly.

“Do you trust me?” he questions, flicking his mismatched eyes to me.

“Yes,” I whisper without hesitation. “But you’re also a freak, and that’s a little scary.”

His answering grin is wolfish. My heart pounds inside my chest, uncertainty holding me hostage as he brushes the bottom of it down through the valley of my breasts, across the planes of my stomach and to my pussy. I tense as he uses it to circle my clit, the flickering flame inches from his own stomach.

I shudder, my thighs stiffening as he coaxes pleasure from between my legs, the wax beginning to slowly melt in his hand. Then, he begins to roll his hips seductively, the movements slight but effective.

“Oh,” I breathe, my eyes fluttering. “That feels so good.”

He’s watching what he’s doing closely, but I can’t look away from him and how fucking devastating he looks beneath the flames. His long lashes brush across his cheeks, and his lips are slightly parted. The defined contours of his physique thrive beneath the firelight, and more than anything, I wish I could capture this image of him forever.

Sensing my stare, he lifts his yin-yang eyes to mine, suspending the oxygen in my lungs. A slight smirk tips up the corner of his lips, and my stomach clenches from the sight.

He’s an unnatural being that has no business walking this earth.

“But is it enough?” he questions.

Before I can ask, what he means, the first drip of hot wax has a sharp yelp rupturing from my throat as it burns a trail down the inside crease of my thigh.

“Fuck,” I curse, my voice breathless.

My eyes fly to the candle just as another drop lands on my flesh, drawing a hiss from between my teeth.

He hums, the sound of a beast that’s been caged for too long. “Your cunt looks so pretty when I make it red.”

Gradually, Zade quickens his pace, and I’m helpless to stop the low moans from breaking free. More drips of hot wax land on my pussy in quick succession. My entire body flushes, the heat at my back as relentless as the wax burning vengeful trails down between my legs. A thin layer of sweat coats my skin as euphoria builds beneath his ministrations.

My arms are trembling, and I’m no longer in control over myself. My own hips are rolling to meet his thrusts, no longer caring where the hot wax lands—it feels too good.

It doesn’t take long before I can no longer hold myself up, so I drop onto my upper back. He raises up on his knees, my back arched, and ass now completely lifted as he drives into me. One hand holds onto my hip, while the other continues to swirl the melting candle on my clit.

Sharp cries fill the empty space, broken up by Zade’s own moans, and the sounds of his cock sliding in and out of me.

“Fuck, you take it so good. You make me so proud,” he rasps, enraptured by the sight of him fucking me.

“Yes, yes,” I moan, the word saturated with desperation. “Don’t stop.”

“Look at you, begging for my cock like a greedy, little slut.”

I shake my head, incapable of uttering a single word when sharp pleasure is building too quickly for me to grasp onto.

He lifts the candle from my clit, and the loss of pressure has a mewl slipping free, though it quickly bleeds into a cry as a hot trail of wax drips up my stomach and to my breasts. He lets it melt onto each nipple, my cries growing sharper from the stinging pain. His hand is covered in the white coating, trails of it leading across the back of his hand and down his wrist, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Greed, lust… you know those sins are deadly,” he admonishes. “And you know what happens when you sin, don’t you, baby?”

The only response I’m capable of is a gargled shout when the searing trail leads back down toward my pussy. He angles his hips, hitting that spot inside me that sends my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

“Oh my God, Zade!” I sob, my hands flying to my breasts, the cooled wax cracking beneath my palms as I squeeze tightly.

“That’s right, little mouse. And I will make you burn.”

Then, he hovers the candle directly over my clit, setting it aflame, though careful to keep it away from my entrance.

My mouth falls open on a silent scream, the flames sinking into my skin, merciless as he fucks me. The raging fire is right before my face, and when the orgasm crests, I open my eyes, lost in the inferno as he takes me over the edge.

Vaguely, I hear something hit the ground before his thumb swirls firmly across my clit. My back bows until only my head remains on the tiled flooring. My soul is being ripped from my body; an exorcism performed by a godly being.

He is the one who dragged me under, and he is the only one who can bring me back.

Something carnal is ripped from my throat, but it’s lost to my ears. I’m no longer of this earth, of this plane of existence. I’m somewhere deeper—hotter—somewhere eternal.

I’m burning alive.

A roar rips through the static in my head, and Zade fucks me faster, filling me with his own release while I contract around him.

I think my body is shaking, and my lungs are no longer functioning as I lose myself to the waves of bliss coursing through me.

An indiscernible amount of time passes before the orgasm wanes, and I slowly regain my senses.

He pulls out from me, settling my body flat on the cool tile and dragging me away from the fire.

It takes a few moments for my vision to filter back in, and when it does, I find Zade crowded over me, his lips gently pressed into the rose carved over my heart.

Breathing heavily, I toss my limbs out to the side, utterly spent.

“I totally let you win that game,” I pant.

His chuckle vibrates against my chest, and he lifts his head to meet my eyes, lifting his hand to thumb my bottom lip fondly.

“As if you could ever escape me, little mouse.”

I grin. “As if I’d ever want to.”

THE END

Sometime in the Future

Addie

“Zade, please put my legs down right now,” I sigh, my flushed, sweaty face flattened into a wry expression.

He has both of my legs pressed together and hiked up, forcing me to lie on my upper back with my toes pointed toward the ceiling. And, of course, I’m completely naked and still reeling from the last orgasm.

“You know that’s a myth, right? It’s won’t get me pregnant.”

He splits my legs enough to poke his head between them and present his dancing ying-yang eyes and a wolfish smirk.

“I know, baby. I just like seeing you in this position.”

I roll my eyes and kick my legs, prompting him to chuckle and release me. I flop back onto the bed, the black silk sheets sticking to my skin uncomfortably. He wastes no time crowding over me, planting his hands on either side of my head and leaning down until the tip of his nose brushes against mine.

He’s quiet for several beats, studying my face closely. Annoyingly enough, the scrutiny sends my still racing heart flying into my throat, and the ravens scattering amongst the cemetery of my decimated organs. Not only does the fucker destroy them on a damn-near daily basis, but I think he’s permanently relocated all of them, too.

Lord help the doctor unfortunate enough to give me an X-ray should I ever need one.

“I love seeing you like this,” he says softly. “When your cheeks are this red, it brings out your freckles even more.”

Now my organs are liquid, and I’m convinced he threw acid on them to make them melt.

I drop my stare to the scars riddled over his chest—some old, some new. All of them holding different violent stories that he’s lived to tell about. Violence is his genetic makeup, but fuck, sometimes I hate how every time he leaves for another mission, I have to face the knowledge that one day, he may never come home.

I swallow, forcing my heart back down.

Sometimes, I hate that he really is just a man, even if he walks through life as a god.

“I just love seeing you,” I reply, resenting the way my voice cracks a little.

His devilish grin returns, crinkling the scar slashing down his left cheek. I can’t stand how beautiful it makes him. A man like him shouldn’t exist. It’s not fair to the rest of humanity.

“I knew you’d fall in love with me,” he brags, though his tone is more affectionate than boisterous.

Again, I roll my eyes, huffing and shoving at his chest, though a smile breaks through my weak attempt at appearing annoyed with him. It is a little annoying that he was right, but I’m too happy to be angry about it.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” I mutter petulantly, my grin widening when he grabs my wrists and holds them to his chest. His heart thumps steadily beneath the side of my palm, and it’s as soothing as it is terrifying.

As long as his heart pumps blood into his veins, many evil people in this world will continue to suffer.

But I am not one of them, and I don’t feel bad for them, either.

“I never had a choice, either, little mouse,” he murmurs, leaning down to place a soft kiss against the tip of my nose, trapping my arms between the two of us.

His chin dips an inch, and his smooth lips descend onto mine. He captures them in the softest, yet most erotic kiss, keeping it slow but spine-tinglingly sensual. Instantly, my blood heats and goosebumps rise on my skin. I clench my thighs, helpless to stop that warmth from travelling straight to my core.

I just spent the last hour with my face stuffed into my pillows while he fucked me from behind, and despite how incredibly sore I am now, my body seems to regard that flippantly. Where Zade is concerned, it gives no fucks about its own well-being.

Just as his tongue dives between my teeth, the doorbell rings. He immediately retreats, and my groan is full of both protest and relief. I think if he went back for seconds, I might’ve cried a little. My vagina currently has a heartbeat of its own with how painfully it throbs.

Zade groans, though if I heard the same sound in the woods, I’d think it was a growl.

Seizing the opportunity, I slip out from beneath him with a laugh.

“It’s probably just the mailman,” I placate, reaching for my underwear that is impressively hanging from a sconce on the wall. I don’t think he planned it that way when he flung them off me.

He stands from the bed, causing me to nearly choke on my tongue. To this day, I still have not gotten used to Zade in his full, naked glory. Even with a semi-erect dick, it’s dangerous. An incredible sight to behold, but fuck, it’s also far too much to look at for long without your heart threatening to give out.

He points a finger, oblivious to me being in a constant state of near-death.

“You better dress properly this time, then. None of that robe shit. The last mailman nearly got his eyeballs carved from his fucking skull.”

I’m also in a constant state of rolling my eyes.

Admittedly, the FedEx driver absolutely could not keep his eyes off my tits the last time I threw my robe on and answered the door. Licking his lips was Zade’s last straw, and I had to put my entire body weight into his chest to push him back into the house before he killed the guy. And it was extremely embarrassing how epically I failed at it, too. My feet slid against the checkered-floor more than I successfully moved the stupid barbarian. It was only him taking pity on me and stepping back that allowed me to slam the door shut in the idiot’s face and save his life.

With that in mind, I tighten my lips into a firm line and dress into the clothes he scattered across the room earlier.

By the time I’m clothed and reaching the foyer, I’m out of breath again. The smile on my face instantly dies when I swing open the door to find a complete stranger on the doorstep, and a random car retreating down my driveway.

Confusion takes over, and I blink at the beautiful woman standing on my porch. Her dirty blonde hair is arranged into a sloppy bun at the base of her neck, though several wavy tendrils frame her face. Her eyes are heart-stopping—an incredibly unique shade of grayish-brown, and so light that they remind me of a Collared Dove’s feathers. It’s not readily noticeable, but after staring at her for a few moments, I realize her right pupil rhythmically shakes side to side. Nystagmus—something I’ve only learned about from albinism, but based on her olive skin, light brown eyebrows, and dark eyelashes, that is not the case for her.

She raises a hand and waves awkwardly before quickly tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. I shake my head, my mouth flopping soundlessly as my brain attempts to process who she is.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, her eyes widen in panic, her cheeks flushing red as she scrambles to pull out her phone from her back pocket. Her thumb flies across the screen before she practically shoves it in my face. I flinch, then squint my eyes to read what she wrote.

“You look incredibly confused to see me, which is totally cool since you didn’t know what I looked like, but also extremely embarrassing if I’m at the wrong house.”

I blink, and she winces before quickly deleting the message and typing out a new one. She faces the screen toward me again, while darting her eyes over her shoulder as if planning her escape route. Whoever dropped her off is long gone, though.

“Or maybe you forgot? I’m Tomasin Grey. I was supposed to paint a mural for—”

“Oh my God,” I exclaim, realization dawning on me the moment I see her name. I dramatically slap a hand over my forehead, completely fucking humiliated. Of course, only now do I notice the huge bag in her other hand. Paint brushes, dozens of bottles of paint, and a folded white sheet speckled with an array of colors are nearly spilling out of it. But truthfully, it’s her texting that should’ve tipped me off.

I’ve been in contact with Tomi for the past several weeks, and one of the first things I learned about her is that she’s mute and only communicates through text. While I, on the other hand, am a fucking asshole.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking sorry. Yes, Tomi, hi. Fuck. You’re at the right house. I’m Addie.”

Her shoulders droop with relief, and I rush to grab the bag from her. I don’t even know why. I know she can carry it herself, but it feels like the proper thing to do after rudely forgetting she was coming and forcing her to explain herself, like a fucking idiot.

Stupid Zade and his stupid magic dick. I was psyching myself out all morning for her arrival and worked myself into a huge ball of anxiety. So what did he do? Distract me with sex. And what did that accomplish? Making me forget about it completely. And even worse, he knew it was her at the door. I made him promise to make himself scarce the first time she comes over so he didn’t scare her off. And alas, the dickhead is nowhere to be seen. Which is really, really fucking annoying because now I’m the one scaring her off.

This is all his fault.

“Thank you,” she silently mouths. She takes the opportunity to quickly swipe her hands over her paint-splattered overalls. Yet another detail I missed while my brain was slowly downloading after being reset to its factory settings.

“I’m so sorry,” I say again, my sheepish smile more of a grimace as she steps inside, her eyes darting over the interior. “Believe it or not, I’ve been really looking forward to today. My head is just a little scrambled, and well, I don’t really have an excuse other than that.”

She shakes her head and waves a dismissive hand, seeming to be unbothered by the little hiccup.

“If it’s easier to text me, you can do that, too. I have my phone on me.” I slide it out of my back pocket with my free hand and wave it in the air awkwardly.

She offers a grateful smile before turning her attention to the house. Her face is incredibly expressive as she takes it in, displaying awe and wonder in dozens of ways.

After several moments, she focuses on her phone and taps out a quick message. “You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you,” I beam, pride hiking the corners of my mouth up into a real smile. “My great-grandparents built it back in the early 40s. Several construction workers died…” I trail off when her head snaps to me, and I wince for what feels like the fifth time in the span of five minutes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that. That was really unnecessary information. Please don’t quit.”

Rather than high-tailing it out of here like any sane person would do, her shoulders shake with silent laughter as she types out her response.

“Honestly, I think a ghost would be the least traumatizing thing I’ve seen in my life.”

I snort. “You have no idea how deeply I relate to that,” I mutter, relaxing now that she didn’t run out of the house screaming.

Truthfully, I’ve given the poor woman every reason to, even before she stepped foot in Washington.

I researched artists for months before stumbling across Tomi, and it was by complete accident. After several hours of falling into rabbit hole after rabbit hole of talented artists, I somehow ended up on a social media page of a quaint coffee shop in New Hampshire. Still, I don’t know how I got there, but I’m so grateful I did. Because the moment I saw the stunning image of a forest landscape spanning across an entire wall, I knew immediately that whoever painted it was the one.

Except, the owner of the coffee shop, Zaza, is a cranky old witch, and she did not make it easy figuring out who the artist was. When I called the shop and asked, she outright accused me of being a psychotic stalker, yelled at me to get a life, and then hung up on me.

Fortunately for her, if she considers me a psychotic stalker, then she has very little experience with a real one. Unfortunately for her, I do, and I’ve learned a thing or two about persistence.

So, when I proceeded to call her for the next two weeks straight—every. Single. Fucking. Day—she threatened me in every possible way, cast about four separate curses on my bloodline, and vowed to haunt me in the afterlife. I accepted my fate in having to call her for the rest of my life and collect curses and threats like dust on a mantle, until finally, she gave me the artist’s name and number. Apparently, she only conceded because Tomi came in one day for a coffee, and Zaza lost her ever-loving mind about the “psycho stalker” calling the shop and harassing her every day, so Tomi gave Zaza permission to hand over her information.

I ended that final call letting Zaza know how much I’m looking forward to her joining the ghost family at Parsons Manor, and that when I die, we’ll reunite and I’ll ensure to make her afterlife a living hell, too.

She didn’t like that too much, but my heart is already set on the two of us spending our eternal ghostly lives together, so she’s really stuck with me now.

“I know I apologized a million times already, but I am sorry for every one of my actions leading up to this point. I know this is probably really weird for you to show up at the house of a random stranger who nearly sent an old woman to an early grave just to find out who you are.”

She shrugs, and her grin is both shy and amused as she responds. “Zaza is so used to giving everyone else hell—I don’t think she knew how to handle someone giving it back. So truly, I couldn’t say no to the person who succeeded in shoving a boot full of her own medicine down her throat.”

I bite back a smile and try not to look so pleased with myself.

Except, I don’t think my ancestors are too pleased with me now that I’ve potentially endangered the lives of our descendants.

“Serious question, though,” I prompt, holding up a finger and hoping to God I don’t have to explain to Zade why our future family is super fucked. “Is she a real witch? I think I have a handful of curses on my bloodline now, and I’m slightly concerned about that.”

Tomi silently chuckles, shaking her head as she responds. “I don’t know of a single person she hasn’t cursed, including myself. And there’s a very microscopic possibility that she likes me, so I think we’re safe.”

Zaza definitely likes her. She spent ten minutes screeching in my ear about Tomi’s selective mutism. She made it abundantly clear that I better not make Tomi feel weird about it, and that I better keep my phone on me at all times so I don’t make things more difficult, or so help her God, she will curse me with night terrors for the rest of my life.

When I told her I already have those, her voice rattled with conviction as she vowed to make my demons look like angels, and honestly? It was a little scary.

So it’s a huge fucking relief that they’re empty threats.

I’ve gotten myself into a hundred too many stupid situations—I’d hate to add generational curses to the mix.

“Good, ’cause I think my husband would’ve had to become a warlock just to reverse that shit, and I do not want to live to see that man have that much power.”

Her brows rise, and she seems to be internally battling with herself about whether she should ask for clarification.

I decide for her and wave toward the staircase.

“The room is upstairs. Let me stop being a distraction and show you.”

Oddly enough, she asked me not to tell her anything about the commission and who it’s for until she got here, so the entire way up, I waste no time filling her in about the little girl who stole mine and Zade’s heart.

We’re getting close to the big day, and I’m anxious more than ever to make sure this room is perfect.

“—So, she is absolutely obsessed with the Little Red Riding Hood fairytale. I’m more than happy to let you have your artistic freedom, but my only requirement is that the wolf is wearing the red hooded cloak.”

I finish just as we step into the empty room. It’s a fairly large space with a full walk-in closet, and a cute built-in window bed facing the driveway and woods. Just like the rest of the second story, the floor is black stone, but it’s the only room in the entire house with white walls. Zade and I painted them last week to give Tomi a clean slate. Typically, I wouldn’t waste the time commissioning a mural for a child, only for them to outgrow it and want to paint over it, anyway. But I believe Tomi’s art style will ensure this piece is timeless.

I turn to find her staring at me, her head cocked and brows creased curiously. Her expression doesn’t waver as she taps out a text and sends it.

“You want the wolf wearing Red Riding Hood’s cloak?”

“She does,” I correct with a grin. “Zade read the book to her a while ago, and she’s been obsessed with it ever since. Last Halloween, she insisted on dressing up as the wolf. She went around the neighborhoods, growling at everyone with her fake monster teeth and showing off how sharp they were. All the parents kept asking why she was wearing Little Red Riding Hood’s cloak instead of the grandma’s clothes, and I just said because that’s how it’s meant to be. I think they assumed we got the fairytale wrong and were too embarrassed to admit it, but that’s exactly how she wanted to dress.”

Tomi’s brows shoot up into her hairline, though rather than criticism, an amused grin plays at her lips. A lot of parents looked sideways at me and Zade that night. Maybe they were right to condemn us for allowing a little child to dress up as the villain, but honestly, we loved how she didn’t view the wolf through such a black and white lens.

Plus, it’s fucking Halloween. They’re literally supposed to be the villain.

My phone buzzes. “Why does she want the wolf wearing the cloak?”

I turn my gaze to the ceiling and rock heel-to-toe in contemplation, trying to find the right words that will do justice to a brilliant little girl’s mind.

“She doesn’t believe the wolf is a villainous beast trying to eat Red Riding Hood, but that the wolf is Red Riding Hood—a version of herself wanting to be let out. She thinks the real villain in the story is the grandma, and the only way Red Riding Hood could survive was to become the wolf. In the end, she destroyed not only the real monster, but the old version of herself that fell victim to it.” I shrug. “Basically, she views the story as a metaphor for a victim taking back her power and transforming into the very monster the villain forced her to become. Except, I don’t think she views Red Riding Hood as a monster, more so a product of her circumstances.”

When I return my focus to Tomi, her mouth is slightly parted as she stares at the ground, emanating a familiar type of sadness. It takes several moments before she drags her focus back to her phone to respond.

“That is a wild perception for someone her age, but also extremely impressive.”

I smile fondly, already so proud of her. “I thought the same. She didn’t describe it to Zade and me as eloquently, of course. But she never asked us to explain the story to her, it’s just the natural interpretation she made. She heard and understood the story in the only way that made sense to her.”

And it was an absolute punch to the fucking gut knowing it’s because of what happened—what almost happened—before Zade saved her from that sick man’s house.

It was impossible for either of us to contain our reaction to that realization. Fury and sorrow played across our faces, and when she noticed Zade’s expression, she grew concerned, placed a little hand on his cheek, and peered up at him with big blue eyes as she gently assured him, “Don’t worry, Daddy. I won’t let them eat me. I’ll eat them first.”

That was the second time I’ve seen Zade cry.

It was a moment that filled me with a boundless amount of love, but even more staggering, it was admirable.

Not only because she’s so young and already so goddamn resilient, but because her reason for loving the wolf is because that’s who she believes herself to be. Not a helpless victim, but a girl who always possessed that power and strength, and all she had to do was… set it free.

My phone buzzing snaps me out of my thoughts, causing me to jump.

“I’m sorry that she had to become the wolf at all.”

Tightening my lips, I nod. “She didn’t exactly have the easiest upbringing, and let’s just say the story of Little Red Riding Hood being eaten by a big, scary wolf is a little too relatable. But regardless, neither of us plan on stopping her from becoming the wolf. And I want this painting to remind her every day of who she is.”

Tomi slowly turns her eyes to the wall before they glaze over, and she retreats in on herself. It’s a look I’m all too familiar with, so I stay quiet, letting her process.

After several moments, she inhales deeply and refocuses on her phone, collecting herself again before writing out a message.

“This is going to sound weird, but I have very poor vision. I’m not technically legally blind, but if you asked me to describe exactly what you look like, I’d probably get a few details wrong.”

Now, my brows are hiking up my forehead in surprise. Aside from the mural in Zaza’s coffee shop, she’s only shown me a few of her other paintings. But every one of them are incredibly detailed. I can’t imagine how she creates such masterpieces through blurred vision.

Another message appears. “I wear contacts to help, but I still can’t see very well unless I’m extremely close. But I’m okay with it because my hands have always been my eyes. I can paint in the dark or with a blindfold, and still get the same result. But I don’t accept commissions because I can only paint what I see, not what people want me to see.”

Frowning, I glance up at her. “Then why did you accept mine?”

Her lips tighten as she taps at her phone, her responses coming through in multiple messages.

“If you asked me this ten minutes ago, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you.”

“But I know now.”

“I didn’t realize it before, but deep down, I knew whoever needed this painting—I needed them to have it.”

“And I think that’s because Sarah and I… we see the same wolf.”

***

Zade

“Zade Jackson Meadows, where have you been?”

I stop before the closing door in the flower shop, grinning at the woman glowering at me from behind the counter. Or, at least, attempting to. Her glares are as weak as the ballsack hanging between my legs, but arguably just as endearing.

“That’s not my middle name, either, Mabel,” I say, a charming grin curling my lips as I saunter toward her.

She’s been trying to guess it since I started coming here regularly a couple of years ago. Back when Addie was an ambition, rather than the woman who sleeps in my arms every night.

Mabel’s lips twitch, and her glare melts after three whole seconds.

New record for her. She’s been practicing on holding out on me, but she usually lasts a solid two-point-six seconds before turning into a puddle of goo.

When I first walked in to A Dozen Promises, Mabel was standing behind the counter as she always does, clipping flower stems and prepping them for bouquets. I asked her for three dozen red roses, and she proceeded to tell me that if I wanted to be so unoriginal, there’s a Lowe’s nearby and to buy them there instead of wasting her damn time.

That was all I needed to hear to solidify that I would never buy flowers from anyone else ever again.

Maybe she sensed the monster lurking in the shadows of my soul, or saw the crazed look in my eyes from being deep in the throes of my obsession with Addie, but she wanted nothing to do with me. Only after great, astronomical resistance would she sell me the roses, if only to get me the hell out of her store.

And every time I came back, there she’d stand, glaring at me from behind the counter. Back then, she meant them. Now, she can’t hold on to them—and she really fucking tries. She often gripes about how she’s lost her touch.

“I’ll get my ability back one of these days,” she mutters beneath her breath.

“I don’t doubt you,” I purr, setting a steaming cup of lavender tea on the counter, the sweet aroma wafting from the mouth hole in the lid. It’s her favorite from the shop across the street, Kettled. I bring her a cup every time I come here, and to this day, it still makes her blush.

“You shouldn’t have,” she mumbles, flicking her warm chocolate eyes my way.

With pink staining her olive cheeks, her gnarled fingers wrap around the warm paper cup and drag it toward her. As she sips from the steaming cup, she settles her stare on me, full of appreciation and joy, but a little grievance, too.

She’s not very good at accepting gifts, but we’re working on it.

Humming with delight, she sets the cup down, then parks her hands on her hips, brows lowered, and eyes narrowed.

“You didn’t come around last Sunday,” she accuses.

It’s very rare I miss a Sunday with Mabel, though she’ll never admit how much she looks forward to my visits.

She’s been the sole owner and employee of her little shop for three decades. A small business she started with her husband, Rafael, and continued on after his passing only three years in from a brain aneurysm. The man quite literally dropped dead as he was walking out of a gas station, right in front of his wife, waiting for him in the passenger seat of the car. At the time, she had no idea she was about six weeks pregnant with their daughter, Jemma.

She freely tells her story because she full heartedly believes that her husband gave his heart to their daughter at that precise moment, and had he lived, Jemma wouldn’t be the woman she is today.

“My Rafael had the biggest heart, and I think he knew it was needed elsewhere. It never stopped beating—he just gave it to her. When his ended, hers began at that exact moment, and it didn’t skip a single beat. My husband isn’t dead, he’s just living on through our sweet Jemma.”

“Forgive me.” I place a hand over my heart, prompting her to scoff. “I took Addie down to the Oregon coast over the weekend for a little getaway.”

Her expression softens, the fine wrinkles around her eyes and mouth smoothing with appeasement. Mabel has taken on the fortunate position of listening to me babble about Addie and how fucking head over heels in love I am with her. She’s met Addie several times, and of course, supplied all the flowers for our wedding. I think she cried the loudest that day, though Ruby was a close second.

She never remarried after Rafael—never wanted to. He’s the love of her life, and even though Jemma now has a family of her own, she says as long as his heart beats inside her daughter’s chest, she can live knowing he’s still close by.

She’s a goddamn romantic, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my irresistible charm that won her over, but how I can’t seem to shut the fuck up about my girl.

“I suppose that’s a good enough excuse,” she relents, dropping her hands from her hips before adopting a dry look, despite the amused twinkle glimmering in her eyes and slight curl to her bubblegum pink lips. “So, let me guess, you want red roses?”

The answering grin that slides across my face is devilish. “Careful,” I warn, my voice dropping into a low but teasing lilt. “If you keep guessing correctly, you’ll have me all figured out. Then how will I continue to be so mysterious and sexy?”

Her lips purse and eyelids lower into a dry expression, though her smile finally breaks through.

“How many you want this time, Mr. Mysterious And Sexy?” she asks, unimpressed.

She lies.

She’s so fucking impressed with me.

I bite my lip, and her cheeks tinge red. “Four dozen this time.”

Mabel raises a brow but rings up my order on her extremely out-of-date register. She refuses to let me buy her a new one. She says she likes the little beeps every time she presses a button, and the new ones just don’t do that anymore.

I drew the line at her having no security, though, and installed cameras and a system regardless of her griping the whole time, insisting no one is going to rob a flower shop. When I gave her a sharp look and told her very seriously that she has no idea what people are like these days, she clicked her teeth and relented.

I have Jay check on her a few times a day to ensure everything’s all right, but I ensured to install a system that instantly detects weapons and sends both of us alerts. She also has a panic button tucked beneath her register—something she hits accidentally at least twice a week.

Pain in my ass.

“You been comin’ in here for years, and I’m still scared to ask what you do with all these flowers,” she muses. Then her tone turns stern as she threatens, “You better not be wasting my beautiful flowers. I’ll have to stick you in the eye with one of those thorns you keep cuttin’ off.”

She’s adorable. Truly.

I lean my elbows on the counter, dropping to her eye-level. She bristles beneath my attention, and I don’t bother hiding my smirk.

“I pluck each petal off one by one, and play the ‘she likes me, she likes me not’ game. Usually, I land on ‘she likes me not,’ so then I’m forced to restart.” I roll my eyes, feigning annoyance. “You know me, I refuse to give up until I land on the only answer I’ll accept. Sometimes that can take a few dozen roses.”

She quickly busies her hands with the forgotten flowers on the counter next to me, her movements a little choppy.

“You are insufferable,” she mutters. She pretends to be unamused, yet her eyes dance with mirth. She often teeters between wanting to laugh and wanting to smack me upside the head.

Gathering the bundles of lilies, tulips, and baby’s breath in her arms, she pivots on her heel and stalks toward the back.

“I’ll get your damn roses, but you better not be pluckin’ them,” she calls behind her. “Otherwise, I’ll pluck every one of those hairs off your head and see how you like it.”

She disappears before I can respond, which is exactly how she planned it.

My head tips back with a laugh.

If she knew what I really do with some of those flowers, I think she’d beg me to rip off the petals instead.

But I find the roses smell much better after Addie comes all over them.

***

Addie

I swipe my finger along the top of his computer desk, not a speck of dust gathering on the tip.

“Why don’t you sell?” I ask, jutting my bottom lip in contemplation as I wipe my hand on my jeans and study Zade’s—almost—pristine warehouse-factory-type-house-thing. We’re in his office area, filled to the brim with computers and devices.

And that’s all this place is to him anymore—just an office that he only comes to for work. Lately, he’s been helping the Basilisk Brotherhood with… something, and needed to come here to do… something. Some complex shit that I don’t have the comprehension to fully understand. I keep out of the technical shit and stick to the part I’m good at—joining him on missions and helping him take down rings. Which we’ve decided to slow down on while he helps the Brothers, and prepare for Sarah’s arrival.

I’ve been anxious and driving myself insane trying to get the house ready for her today. Tomi spent hours drawing the mural with a charcoal pencil, and so far, it’s turning out even better than I had hoped. Meanwhile, I deep cleaned the manor—though pointedly ignored the attic because fuck that—built a few pieces of furniture for her room I didn’t have any business building, and did too many loads of laundry washing the new clothes I bought her. And by the time four o’clock hit and Tomi left, and I showered the grime off me, I still couldn’t sit my ass down. So, to give me a reprieve, Zade convinced me to get out of the house and try working here with him.

I’ve been to his house several times throughout the years, typically just to come visit or hang out if he’s working late. After I returned home from Francesca’s hellhouse, Zade unofficially moved in with me. For obvious reasons, he refused to leave my side, so him going back to his place just never felt right.

Before either of us knew it, he’d been living with me for months on end, and truthfully, I didn’t want him to go back home, anyway. To this day, we never really had an official conversation about it, the two of us content with accepting it for what it is.

Parsons Manor is our home.

Zade sits at his desk beside me, his fingers flying over the keyboard a million miles a minute, working across various programs that look like they’re written in the lost language from Atlantis.

“You can move your computer stuff into Parsons, ya’ know,” I continue.

One corner of his mouth curls, though he doesn’t spare me a glance.

He stops typing to pin me with an incredulous look. “You know how much of a goddamn headache it’d be to move all this equipment over? I don’t like people touching my shit, so I’d have to do it all myself, and getting it all moved and set up once was enough for me. I’d much rather sacrifice the twenty-minutes to drive here.”

The corners of my lips curl down in a fair-enough expression. “I get it. Just seems like this big ass building is going to waste almost, since you only use this room now.”

“It has its uses,” he responds vaguely.

I narrow my eyes, and his lips quirk.

“Are you sneaking hostages and torturing them here without me?” I accuse, crossing my arms.

His brow arches. “Every time I brought you in, you’d get impatient and end up killing them before we got all the info we needed.”

“That’s only happened three times!” I defend, whipping out my arms defensively. When he just stares blankly, I recross them again and glance away while I mutter, “They were annoying.”

“I also have so many fond memories here,” he says, turning back to his screen with a grin.

My expression flattens, and there’s a bite to my tone when I warn, “You better be talking about murdering people and not fucking other women.”

He flicks a glance at me, humor dancing in his eyes. “There isn’t a woman in existence I hold fond memories with other than you, baby. This is where I chopped off Arch’s hands. One of my favorites.”

I park both hands on my hips, my annoyance shifting at the reminder of that stunt.

“That was really fucked up of you, you know that?” I berate. “Like, you do realize you’re a goddamn psychopath for that, right?”

There’s not a single atom in Zade’s body that gives a fuck—I know this. Yet, when he ignores me and starts typing again, I only grow more irritated that he’s not on his knees groveling.

Something he’d do, but only because I asked him to, not because he means it.

Dickhead.

He must feel the temperature of my glare heightening because, after a few more moments, he finally slides his gaze to mine. I lift a brow, my expectations clear, while he appears thoroughly amused.

“I warned you what would happen,” he says simply.

“That literally doesn’t make it okay.”

He cocks a brow. “Baby, what’s not okay is you letting another man touch you. What’s not okay is bringing him home and kissing him. And what is sure as fuck not okay is allowing his fingers to touch your pussy and make you come.”

By the time he finishes, his eyes have darkened and his voice has deepened into a menacing growl.

My heart skips a beat, then takes off. If it was sentient, I imagine it’d call me a fucking idiot before running off to hide somewhere.

Working to swallow, I force steel into my spine. I’ve seen this man’s hairy asscrack. I refuse to let him intimidate me.

“You act like you haven’t fucked other women,” I retort, giving myself a proverbial pat on the back when my voice doesn’t shake.

“I haven’t since the moment I laid eyes on you.” He says it like it’s a gotcha moment.

I gape at him. “We made eye contact in that bookstore for two seconds, and I didn’t see you again until you were standing outside my window like a creep. That doesn’t count!” My hands flail as I rant, giving him the most incredulous look I can muster.

Silently, he leans back in his computer chair, his stare intent but unreadable, as he rests his hands on his broad thighs. It has my heart kicking up a notch, and my chin lifting higher.

“I told you what would happen,” he repeats slowly. “You didn’t listen.”

“Let’s not pretend like you’re not capable of putting yourself in my shoes,” I argue. “If I was some random chick that started texting you out of the blue telling you not to touch another woman or else, you’d write me off as a weirdo.”

His lips twitch. “I’d find out who you are after the first message. And the second I saw your pretty little face, I’d listen.”

I drop my head back and groan dramatically before returning my glower to his frustratingly calm self.

“I’m not you!”

I feel my cheeks burning hot, my frustration rising to levels that definitely would result in immediate blood pressure medication.

His answering chuckle is low, which only serves to make me angrier.

“What are you aiming for here, baby? An apology?”

“I don’t know, maybe some shame?” I grumble. “It was only a traumatizing event in my life that you caused.”

He opens his mouth, but I hold up a hand. The minute the last word left my mouth, I immediately knew what his response would be.

You refusing to listen was the cause.

I’ll never win this argument, and while I knew that going in, I’m still aggravated that he’s being himself.

“Don’t even bother gaslighting me,” I mumble contritely, rolling my eyes and turning back to his tidy desk.

The lack of victory has me restless, and I have the urge to fidget with something. I grab a weird-looking handheld device from his desk and start pushing the buttons.

“Addie.”

“Hmm?”

“Stop pressing random buttons.”

“Why? It’s fun.”

“You could be setting off bombs for all you know.” My thumb pauses over a button for a moment, briefly panicking over that thought, but then I go ahead and press it, anyway.

If it’s setting off bombs, they probably deserve it.

He snatches the device from my hand, shooting me an exasperated look.

“I won’t apologize for the hands because I’m not a liar. But I can acknowledge I could’ve handled my anger in a healthier way.”

“Wow,” I state dryly. “It’s like you recited the first step to anger management directly from a therapist’s guidebook.” Crossing my arms, I lean my ass against the desk and pin him with an accusatory look. “You ever been accused of plagiarism?”

A couple of years ago, I would’ve interpreted that calculated gleam in his eyes to mean he’s contemplating punishing me. Now, I know better. He’s much more thorough than that.

He’s weighing a million different scenarios, ranging between ignoring me and returning to whatever he’s doing on the computer, to chasing me down and slapping my ass until it’s purple, to calling my mom and telling on me.

While my father still treats us like we don’t exist—and we’re perfectly content with that—him and my mom actually talk on the phone now, and somehow, he’s convinced her to take his side when he complains to her about the “latest personality I introduced him to.” According to the two of them, I have twelve so far.

It’s not my fault I have range and that his default setting is to act like a goddamn caveman.

“Keep it up,” he says, his tone casual. “I could’ve preserved his body. Maybe I’ll gift you his tongue next, since yours runs loose so much.”

It’s a completely involuntary reaction to roll my lips together, eliciting a wicked smirk to curl his lips.

I push away from his desk and put much needed distance between the two of us. “Whatever, Zade,” I sigh, feigning boredom and attempting to sound unaffected despite my racing pulse. “I’ll be over here doing something important with my life like pressing buttons on more bombs while you finish doing… whatever it is you do.” I wave my hand flippantly, and don’t dare stick around long enough for his response.

His low chuckle follows me out of the room, while I silently berate myself for not being able to keep my mouth shut just once.

We both know his buttons are the only ones I’ve pushed tonight that’ll actually result in anything. And I’m pretty damn confident I set off a bomb, all right.

***

Addie

With the amount of monitors peppered throughout Zade’s place, it’s like walking through the house of mirrors at Satan’s Affair.

No matter where I go, at least one massive TV displays a grid of security feeds of the house. The only reprieve from seeing myself on a screen is the bathroom, and I’m fully convinced that Zade has a secret camera in there, too. Thankfully, that feed isn’t readily visible like the rest are, and I’m happily content with my out-of-sight-out-of-mind approach on that matter.

Several hours have passed since I left Zade alone, and the only work I’ve accomplished is a few measly hundred words in my current manuscript, an accidental two hour nap, and mindlessly scrolled through social media since I awoke ten minutes ago.

Super productive.

My latest novel, When a God Falls, hit new records in sales, so the pressure to write the second book has become overwhelming. Which means there are many days I spend not writing at all.

“Still struggling?”

Zade’s deep voice sounds from behind me, where I lounge on his oversized black couch in the living room area. I glance up at the screen mounted on the wall before me to find him walking toward me, my gaze shifting to him when he comes into view.

“If by struggling you mean giving my undivided attention to the pandas I was feeding pickles to? The answer is a resounding yes.”

His brows lift. “Is that why you have drool dried on your chin?”

I give him a blank stare, refusing to give in to the urge and wipe at my chin. There’s a sixty percent chance he’s teasing me, and those odds are good enough for my pride. “I’m detecting judgment in your tone.”

Grinning, he nods toward my still-open laptop as he comes to sit on the couch beside me. “Let me see where you left off.”

I groan. “Do we have to do this? The book sucks, and I think the sooner we accept that, the sooner I can go back to feeding pandas pickles.”

Ignoring me, he reaches over me and snatches my laptop from the couch. I’m tempted to fight him for it, but that honestly sounds incredibly exhausting right now, so I silently pout while he powers on the screen and starts reading through where I left off.

It didn’t take long for Zade to read every one of my books and become my sounding board. He learned my worlds almost better than me, and he was perfect to bounce ideas off of. Whether I was starting a new series and building a world from scratch, or continuing a series where he remembers all the little details from the previous books, he’s right there to work things through with when I hit a wall. Sometimes, I just need to talk things out before the solution becomes clear. Other times, we’re standing at my white board drawing graphs, diagrams, and stick figure scenes to get it solved. He’s incredibly skilled at asking the right questions to get me where I need to be.

Yet another talent he annoyingly possesses.

He continues reading while I proceed with my pouting.

“Okay, so they’re stranded in the Whispering Forest,” he says after a few minutes. “And their map and most of their supplies were destroyed after this last encounter with a nuckelavee. Ilaria has a dislocated shoulder, which Kaeto can easily fix. And he has a claw marks slashed over his chest, but he’s a big, sexy badass—” Eye roll—“and can handle it for now. Infection’s a concern, but it isn’t enough to debilitate him. So we’re not too concerned about their wounds, just more so how to get out.”

“Yeah, they’re lost in a forest the size of Texas, and I don’t know how the hell to get them out. Whistle and hitch a ride on the back of a dragon? Click their heels three times? Or just go the easy route and not have the map destroyed, but then what fun is that?” I return to my pouting—this time at myself—annoyed that my characters are floundering in a deadly forest and now it’s my responsibility to save them without making the story boring.

Any other time, they take on a life of their own and do whatever the hell they want, no matter how hard I fight to rein them back in. But of course, the times you want them to work shit out themselves, they’re silent and staring up at you with puppy dog eyes, waiting for you to rescue the goddamn day.

“Well, the path is magical and only presents itself when they’re on it and have the map in hand,” he continues. “But maybe there’s a different way to trigger the path. It could be something as simple as a plant native to the forest.”

I stare at him blankly. The suggestion is so incredibly simple that a prepubescent child could think of it. Yet, it’s a conclusion that I’ve been agonizing over for days. Hours upon hours brainstorming different ways for them to magically teleport out of the forest, or get so incredibly lucky and find an old dirt path that appears so conveniently, not a single reader will believe it.

“Why must you use logic and reason with such ease? Do you just repel flaws? Flick them away like little ants when one dares to touch you?”

He arches a brow, his eyes dancing with mirth.

But an idea has already popped into my head, derailing my extremely valid criticism of his personality disfunctions. “I think the blood of a creature is cooler, though,” I tell him. Instantly, excitement sparks in my veins, and the cogs in my brain that I thought were rusted and bent now churn like they’re freshly oiled. “Maybe a super ancient creature that existed long before the forest. Oh! Maybe even the forest is a manifestation of its magic, so like, if you kill the creature, the forest would also die. Which means the path would respond to the creature, and obviously the most efficient way to keep the path illuminated without having to drag its body around is just to use its blood.”

His grin widens, this time something like pride twinkling in his gaze. “Sounds like you got it figured out, baby.”

I sigh, forcing myself not to snatch the computer and start typing away like a madwoman. It’s getting late, and I’m guessing Zade’s finished with work now, so I’ll think on it and flesh it out further in my head for the night.

I have a feeling this new creature has a very interesting lore lying in wait for me to discover, and by the time I open my laptop again tomorrow, I’ll have a full backstory to work with.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “Although I’m still annoyed how I agonized over that for two days, and it took you two seconds to come up with something.”

He gathers me in his arms, his warmth seeping into my pores. Instantly, it soothes my stiff muscles, and I slump into him. He leans the two of us back against the couch while I curl into him like a cat.

I inhale his leather and spice scent like oxygen, overcome with a feeling I’ll never know outside of him. It’s beyond comfort, and beyond a sense of home. Those are things I can find in Daya, or Sibby, and even Parsons Manor. But with Zade, it’s like two cells fusing together. Our biological makeup is designed to be together, and if separated, we’re unable to thrive.

It’s a belonging that not even science can argue.

“You’re stressed, and you have a lot on your mind,” he assures quietly while swiping strands of hair away from my forehead. It sends shivers racing down my spine and I purr like a goddamn kitten, signaling for him to continue softly run his fingers through my hair. My eyes flutter closed, melting into a puddle of goo against him.

“Do you think she’ll be happy?”

I don’t need to clarify who. “I think she’s been waiting for you her whole life, little mouse,” he murmurs. “Just like I have. And there’s nowhere else either of us would rather be.”

“Yeah, but she’s also made so many friends at the sanctuary. Ruby takes such great care of her, Katarina reads to her every night, and even Jillian and her have bonded. We’re taking her away from that.”

I quickly swallow, the rock forming in my throat threatening to splinter my words. The mere thought of taking away a little girl from her safe space and bringing her into a place she’s miserable has an ache spearing in my chest.

More than anything, I understand how detrimental that could be, especially after all she’s been through.

“We’ve taken every step possible to integrate her into our lives and make her comfortable first,” he reminds, his voice soothing. It’s a tone I’ve only heard him use with Sarah and me, and I’m glad for it. It’s dangerously effective in exploding my ovaries. “We’re taking it slow with her, and having bonded with her for the past year. We’ve made sure she’s ready before moving her in. And she is ready, Addie, because she understands that we’re not taking her away from anything or anyone. Her routine will change, and it’ll take adjusting. But her friends, Ruby, Katarina, Jillian—they’re not going anywhere. I’m sure we’ll be drowning in sleep overs within the month.”

I smile, both excited and incredibly nervous about that.

I have no prior experience with children. And while I don’t necessarily dislike them, I’ve never been overly fond of them, either, and avoided babysitting jobs as a teen.

With Sarah, I fell in love with her immediately, but I’m still learning how to navigate this parenting gig. So, I can’t say I won’t panic when there’s multiples of her running around the manor.

Especially when me and Zade likely won’t be the only ones running after them. The spirits in the manor have always loved a good chase.

I think I’ve sent a few of my organs into failure from stressing about how irresponsible it is to move a child into a haunted house. Zade’s convinced he can fistfight ghosts, so he’s not much help, so I’ve resorted to verbal threats.

There have been several occasions where I pointed my finger at empty air and warned them that should any of them dare touch a single hair on her body, I’m not afraid to pull up a YouTube video of How To Exorcize a Ghost, whip out a bible and holy water, and evict their asses. Even if they so much as make her shiver, they’ll be on their knees begging for forgiveness at the pearly gates before they can make a lightbulb flicker.

I may have also called out to Gigi and reminded her she’s a great-great-grandmother now, and I fully expect her to provide protection, too.

I feel Zade dip his head, his breath warming my ear and sending another shiver down my spine.

“If you can make a monster happy, you can make an angel happy, too, little mouse.”

***

Addie

At this point, I’m going to craft a Daya voodoo doll and find a couple pins and poke her for leaving me alone.

She was supposed to come over tonight for the release of a new horror movie I’ve been blabbering nonstop about for weeks, but she had to bail because her cousin broke down on the side of the road, and had to have Daya be the one to rescue him.

And, of course, Zade took a trip down to Portland today to continue helping the Basilisk Brotherhood, and I don’t expect him home for another couple of hours or so.

So now here I sit, alone, watching a new slasher film that released last week, and I’m anxious as hell. My insides are also on fire, with my thighs clenched tightly and flushed cheeks, but that’s besides the point.

My heart is in my throat, pumping at double its normal speed. I’ve nearly jumped out of my skin too many times to count now, and I’m on the verge of turning off the movie, then flipping on every single light available in the house until Zade gets home.

I’m an absolute idiot for turning them all off, making it so the only light source is from the TV.

Maybe it’s because this is the first horror movie I’ve watched alone in Parsons Manor, along with it being an extremely windy night, sending a plethora of branches and shit whipping against the house, but I’m more on edge than usual.

It doesn’t help that most of the movie takes place in a mansion where a masked murderer is terrorizing and killing a family for their father’s crimes. It’s set in the 90s, and somewhat of a mix between supernatural and slasher.

A construction worker, Mason, specialized in digging tunnels and building underground facilities. One day, he and twenty other men died on the job from the tunnel system collapsing. Turns out, the corrupt CEO funding the project they were building made terrible investments. As a result, he was going broke and on the verge of bankruptcy, so he orchestrated the collapse in order to collect insurance. Consequently, Mason returns from the dead to exact revenge on the CEO for causing his and those innocent men’s deaths.

He’s a large, muscled man who dons the black gas mask he wore when working in the tunnels, with the goggles and respirators a burnished copper color. And, of course, he only wears a white tank and dark blue jeans, his clothing and tanned skin mottled with dirt and blood, and coated in a fine layer of sweat.

The director made him hot as hell—but also really fucking freaky with the way he creeps around the house.

I get to the part where they lull you into a false sense of safety. You think Mason is dead, the remaining two daughters and son are home free, and then bam! He’s jumping out unexpectedly with an axe and swinging it at the son, who was leaning against a wall, relieved and attempting to catch his breath. The blade cuts directly through his face, chopping it right across the middle and separating the top half of his head from the rest of his body.

I jump, slapping my hand over my eyes as a loud squeal leaks from my lips. Instantly, I clear my throat and pull my hand away, then attempt to act like I’m a total badass bitch who fears nothing, and wasn’t two seconds away from pissing myself.

I’m confident the ghosts are all laughing at me, preventing me from being able to act like a little bitch in the comfort of my own damn home. Instead, I’m glancing around, embarrassed because dead people are judging me.

God, if Zade heard that… the dickhead would definitely laugh at me, too, and he’d have every fucking reason to call me a little mouse.

Sinking further into the couch, I tuck my knees into my chest, cross my arms over the top of them, and duck my face behind them until only half of the screen is visible.

I’m still being a pussy, but I don’t care. The outside wind is whistling loudly, creating an ominous ambiance, and the house is making weird noises—I swear to God I just heard a floorboard creak. At this point, I’m half-convinced the serial killer is actually here in my house.

The two daughters are screaming and running for their lives, while Mason stands still, his attention on the dead boy he just killed. Even though the gas mask covers his face, there’s a cold detachment in the way he stares at the mutilated corpse.

Yet, my body responds to it, attracted to his indifference because it reminds me of my very own husband. Warmth flares in the pit of my stomach when Mason cocks his head, appearing almost fascinated now. It doesn’t feel like I’m staring at Mason anymore, but Zade, who has displayed those same mannerisms on many occasions while standing over a dead body. Heat travels directly between my thighs as my brain tricks itself into seeing him on the screen instead of Mason.

I shift, a heady feeling gathering in my core, causing me to clench my thighs to abate the growing throb.

It pans to one daughter hiding in a goddamn crawlspace, which means another jump scare is coming up soon. She’s breathing heavily, though she desperately attempts to smother the sound beneath her hand. Then, her eyes round with terror, a shadow passing across the tiny cracks in the door.

My heart stops, but not because the girl’s breathing is growing louder, and she’s giving herself away. But because it looked like that shadow manifested in real life at the same moment.

From the corner of my eye, I swear I saw something fucking move.

It’s just a ghost fucking with you, Addie. Ignore it.

Yet, my stomach is twisting into knots while my bloodstream floods with adrenaline.

I work to swallow, now intent on keeping my eyes locked on the TV. The deeper I descend into panic, the more shadows will manifest. And the more I react to their mind games, the further they take it.

Instead of showing Mason catching the girl in the crawlspace, it cuts to the second daughter, who managed to escape out of the house and is bolting across a lawn, covered in blood and sobbing uncontrollably.

She’s planning to get help and go back for her sister, but these movies always go one of two ways—either she’s going to die when we least expect it and leave her sister in the crawlspace as the sole survivor, or she actually makes it, but her sister will be long gone.

There’s always only one that makes it—it’s just a matter of which one.

The scene cuts to the girl tripping over her own feet, knees hitting the grass. And when she sloppily gets back on her feet, Mason is standing in the background.

“Oh, shit,” I mutter, ducking my chin a little lower. “Turn the fuck around, dumbass.”

She doesn’t, of course, and my anxiety spikes.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper, shifting nervously when she trips again, and still doesn’t look behind her. “Just turn around, like he’s right fucking there.”

My heart rate climbs and my muscles tense as Mason gains on her, and just as he reaches her, I hear the slow creak of a door opening from the hallway off the kitchen.

I snap my head toward the noise, and this time, real terror takes over. Movie completely fucking forgotten, I stare into the kitchen, the pit of darkness swelling with shadows that seem to appear and then disappear.

I can’t hear anything outside of my heart pounding in my chest, and when slow footsteps thump somewhere in the kitchen, I fly to my feet.

For a moment, it’s quiet, save for the movie playing in the backdrop, and the sharp wind outside wreaking havoc on nature.

I’m frozen solid, but my mind is screaming at me to grab my phone, call Zade, and tell him that if he doesn’t invent teleportation and get here in two fucking seconds, he will not have the privilege of me haunting him as a ghost.

And when he inevitably follows me, I will spend the rest of my afterlife avoiding him and hang out with Zaza instead.

The fucker can kiss my incorporeal ass for leaving me alone the one night a serial killer comes out of a movie and murders me.

I don’t hear any other sound for several long minutes, and just as my panic begins to ebb, the motherfucking TV shuts off, descending me into complete darkness.

I gasp, and dive for my phone on the couch, barely processing the flare of pain in my eyes from the bright screen. Hands trembling, I dial Zade’s number and slap the phone to my ear, my eyes pinned to the darkness.

The ghosts in this house have fucked with me more times than not, but I’ve never been this scared. I’ve confronted an unhinged stalker and giggled when I should’ve screamed when facing a ghost. I’ve fought more evil men than anyone should in a lifetime, and I’ve gone head-to-head with death like it’s a tangible being that can be tamed.

I know I can kick a grown man’s ass—Zade and Sibby have more than made sure of that.

However, this is a completely different type of fear. I’m not even sure whatever’s fucking with me is alive and punchable, and out of all the encounters I’ve had with the ghosts in this house, there’s only one entity that’s ever scared me like this—that’s ever felt so fucking predatory—and that’s the one in the attic. And there’s a reason I avoid it at all costs.

And maybe that’s what has me so fucking terrified.

Because it’s also never left the attic before.

So what—or who—the fuck is in my house?

“Motherfucker,” I hiss when the phone goes to voicemail before immediately hitting redial. “You’re so, so dead, asshole. You’ve never been so dead in your fucking life. You’re going to wish you’ve never been so dead.”

The phone continues to ring, and I continue to spit senseless threats into the air because hearing my own voice is better than listening to the sounds I don’t want to hear.

Again, I reach his voicemail, and this time, it makes my bottom lip tremble.

“Fuck this shit.” Finally getting my feet to unglue, I speedwalk straight toward the hallway, my trembling hands fumbling with the End Call button so I can dial him yet again.

I will gladly drive my ass to Daya’s and hang out at her house—whether she’s home or not—before I stay in this stupid ass house a moment longer.

And I also decide in this second I’m selling it, too.

“Yep, I’m selling and you stupid ass ghosts will never see me again,” I rant aloud. “You know what? No. I’m not selling. I’m just gonna abandon it and you can rot in here all by your lonesome selves ’cause that’s what you assholes deserve.”

I step foot in the hallway, mid-rampage, and veer toward the front door. But then stop dead in my tracks. Instantly, my blood runs ice cold, and once again, I stand frozen.

Because there’s someone standing in front of the fucking door, the moonlight filtering through the windows offering just enough light to showcase a rather large silhouette of a man. But it’s so goddamn dark in here, I can’t make out any distinctive features.

I could turn on the flashlight on my phone and see for myself, yet the thought of doing that literally makes me want to simultaneously vomit and shit myself. Somehow, actually seeing him is so much fucking worse than reducing him to a faceless shadow person.

As if reading my mind, he steps forward and I hear a very distinctive sound that has another shot of panic detonating in my chest.

Heavy breathing, but not just normal heavy breathing. It sounds as if he’s wearing a fucking gas mask.

Absolutely not.

I unfreeze my limbs enough to press Zade’s contact on my phone and call him again.

A low buzz sounds a moment later, and my heart stills. Slowly, the man’s arm shifts, and then he’s pulling out a phone from his back pocket, the screen lit up. And the moment the bright light casts over his chest and face, I see my psychotic husband in all his glory. Or at least, most of him. His face may be covered, but I’d recognize those tattoos anywhere.

Yet, I only feel a small amount of relief that it’s not a random stranger or a demonic ghost. Because he is wearing a gas mask just like the one in the movie, along with a white tank and black jeans. It’s a view I could easily spend hours appreciating if it wasn’t for the fact that he took it upon himself to research the movie, and cosplay as the goddamn serial killer.

It doesn’t help that he technically is a serial killer, so I’m admittedly freaked the hell out.

“Oh my God,” I breathe. “I really am married to a psychopath.”

Fucking duh.

Except the man somehow manages to make that a whole revelation at least once every few months. I trick myself into thinking he’s somewhat normal until, oh—there he goes—acting like a fucking crazy person again.

Silently, he clicks off his phone and tucks it away, descending himself back into the shadows. I, however, hold on to mine with a death grip, the abysmal light it offers a small comfort.

He takes a step forward, and I take a step back. And there, beneath the fright and unease, is a tendril of excitement threading throughout my system, seductively brushing across my nerve endings and lighting them aflame.

Instantly, my blood warms again, and liquid heat gathers low in my stomach, slowly sinking between my legs. My breath saws in and out of my chest, choppy and staccato. My nipples tighten painfully beneath my t-shirt, and butterflies unleash in my stomach.

I want to run, and he’s going to chase me.

Finally, I shut off my phone and slide it into the waistband of my soft shorts, fully immersing myself in the darkness.

And then I hear it—the quiet zing of metal sliding against itself, before he raises his hand enough for the moonlight to glint off a metal blade.

“Nope,” I declare, then pivot on my feet and take off down the hallway.

There’s nowhere in this house I can hide where Zade won’t find me. It’s a matter of evading him, rather than sticking to a single spot and hoping he doesn’t notice me.

Because that is one thing I will never accomplish with Zade—going unnoticed.

His footsteps are heavy as they follow me down the hallway and into the kitchen, his pace quick, but deliberately not a full sprint. I’m thankful I opted out of slipping on fuzzy socks earlier, because I would absolutely eat shit if I were wearing them now.

A whisper of his hand breezes across my hair as I aim for the kitchen island, evoking a small squeal from my throat. I round the island while he goes the opposite direction, forcing me to skid to a stop. I’m trapped, and the two of us face off on either side.

I’m panting, and the level of adrenaline flooding my system is making me shake, while his chest barely pumps a fraction quicker than normal.

Fucker.

Every step I take, he mimics, his movements predatory yet completely languid and at ease. A beast that moves with confidence because he’s never failed to catch his prey.

For a moment, we both watch one another, frozen still. Then, he’s planting a hand on the counter and vaulting himself over the island. I scream, and dive out of the way just in time, his hand coming within a few centimeters of me.

I bolt out of the kitchen and back through the living room, my nape pricking with awareness as he gains on me. Even in the darkness, the two of us navigate around the furniture with ease, our intimacy with every facet of the manor as deep as one another’s bodies.

As soon as I near the staircase, I grab ahold of the bannister and swing myself around onto the steps, nearly flying into the wall from my speed. His fingers catch ahold of my t-shirt just barely enough to tug on it, but not enough to keep a firm hold as I rip myself away with another squeal.

I take the steps two at a time, nearly tripping over them as his hands continue to swipe at my shins, coming close to grabbing onto them far too many times. His legs are so much longer and eat up the gap between us with ease, yet I manage to crest the top of the stairs and barrel down the hallway without being caught.

There’s a single sconce illuminated at the end of the hallway, allowing a heart-stopping view of the entire hallway covered in red roses. And I don’t need to look closely to know he’s severed the thorns.

Which means the fucker planned to catch me in this hallway—like he’s done so many times before.

The sight is enough to cause the slightest falter in my step. I only make it a few feet before his arm circles around my waist, and he tackles me to the floor.

With a scream, I land on my side, while he catches himself on a hand before his weight crushes me.

I’m not sure I can count the times Zade has chased me down in this house. Inevitably, I take the same pathways, because as big as the house is, there’s only so many places to run. And all those other times, fighting him was fruitless.

But not this time.

He lifts on his knees to correct his stance, and I move quickly, rolling onto my back and pitching my knees up toward my face before locking my legs around his neck. His hands grab ahold of my thighs, but I’m already twisting my body with all my strength, sending him flying to the side while I roll myself on top.

He lands with a grunt, and I scramble off him and go to make it a run for it again. The deepest of chuckles reaches my ears, the sinister sound sending chills down my spine as I struggle to gain traction against the stems and petals peppering the floor.

I make it five steps before he scrambles onto his knees and lunges forward, his hand closing around my ankle and sending me careening forward, my knees cracking onto the floor painfully.

“Motherf—” I kick out my other leg, but he catches it before it can connect with his mask. With a steel-like grip on both my ankles, he harshly tugs me back, forcing me to drop to my stomach with a painful thump, then drags me toward him. My shirt lifts in the process, allowing stems and leaves to grind against my skin uncomfortably, sparking little flares of pain that only seem to further excited my frayed nerves.

He flips me onto my back and climbs up my body, imprisoning me between his thick thighs. I land one hit to the side of his head, briefly stunning him, but not long enough for me to wriggle out of his hold. The second time I swing, he catches both of my wrists, then roughly pins them to the floor above my head.

Panting heavily, I force myself to still. Slowly, I take in the near exact replica of Mason’s gas mask, then trail my eyes down to his tight, ribbed tank that adheres to his body like a second skin, before dropping them to the black jeans that hug his broad thighs.

A fine sheen of sweat coats his skin, and the limited lighting creates shadows over the planes and divots of his muscles. The effect is breathtaking. Sharp lines cut across glistening, inked skin, highlighting his white scars, and contrasting against the protruding veins roping down his neck, arms, and over his hands.

He’s otherworldly. A sight that is almost too comprehensive, too complicated, for the human eye to fully appreciate.

Bringing my attention back to the goggles masking his eyes, I watch him watching me. They’re completely concealed, yet I can feel them burning into me.

If I wasn’t so intimate with this man’s body and every little move he makes, I’d question if it was even him. And I think a part of me likes that. I enjoy having the same comfort and familiarity that Zade brings me, while also being able to trick my brain into feeling like he’s someone I don’t know. Not someone else—never someone else. Zade still, but him as a stranger.

Truthfully, it teleports me back to when he was a faceless, nameless man texting my phone, making dark promises, and standing outside my window watching me.

And staring up at him now, that silent understanding passes between us. It’s wordless, but we’ve become so in tune with one another that nothing needs to be said.

Right now, he’s a deranged man who broke into my home, chased me down, and is taking advantage of my body. And I know with every fiber of my being that this is exactly what Zade wants me to feel, further proven by the way he stays quiet. He’s never touched me without taunting or praising me. Without whispering something, anything, into my ear. He’s always been vocal, and now, he only offers a deliberate silence.

There’s a cool detachment in the way he regards me, as if I’m a science experiment and he’s studying my reaction. A little mouse beneath his microscope, seeing me as a thing to be played with rather than a being with feelings.

And I’m… I’m helpless to stop him. I’m a woman who’s so fucking tired of fighting all the time, and instead, can do nothing except soften beneath his razor-sharp teeth.

I want to be his victim.

With that decision comes a rush of excitement that has my back bowing from the ground, pushing my tightened nipples against his chest. My clit pulses, and a breathless mewl builds in the base of my throat.

Zade cocks his head, almost with morbid curiosity. The little mouse is behaving in a way he didn’t expect, and that’s just fascinating. His indifference deepens the sense of him feeling like a stranger.

And for whatever reason, that only turns me on more.

Instead of whispering his name, I bite my bottom lip, holding onto the fantasy that I don’t know what it is.

“Please,” I whisper, the sound weak and pleading.

Sensing my body melting beneath him, he gathers both of my wrists in one hand before roughly knocking my knees apart with his own and settling between my legs.

With his free hand, he grips the collar of my t-shirt and tugs harshly, drawing a sharp gasp from my throat as the material tears, pinching my skin around my neck. After a few more tugs down the middle, the fabric falls away, exposing my heaving, bare breasts.

Again, my spine bows, feeling the electric caress of his stare brushing against my nerves. He doesn’t even need to touch me and I’m overcome with sensations, undulating beneath him as if his hands are all over me.

After what feels like eons, his hand curves around my hip. A single touch, and I’m shuddering beneath him. His palm slowly slides across my stomach, causing it to tighten beneath him, before moving up toward my breast and cupping the underside of it. He squeezes firmly, as if testing the weight.

My whimper is quiet, yet it sounds loud when no other noise but his steady breath beneath the gas mask fills the silence.

Except, he doesn’t touch me where I need him to yet. Instead, he takes his time exploring my body, moving his hand between the valley of my breasts and feeling my heart thundering against his palm, before gliding it back down my stomach and toward my shorts.

When he only teases the sensitive flesh there, swiping his fingers beneath the waistband but not exploring any further, I let out an impatient whine.

His head lifts the slightest bit, my only indication he’s brought his gaze to mine to find a crease between my brows, the inner corners curving upward with frustration.

Instead of dropping his chin again, he studies my expression carefully as his hand slips beneath my shorts and panties at once, then slowly coasts down until the tip of his middle finger brushes against my clit, just barely.

My mouth parts, and a shudder overtakes me from the pleasure that simple little touch elicits. He refuses me any real pressure as it flicks against me again, causing me to jolt beneath him.

I roll my hips against his hand, silently pleading for him to touch me. I want him to feel how drenched I am—how I’ve completely soaked through my underwear and shorts with need.

He’s motionless for a few beats, as if to test my patience, and then his middle finger slips down my pussy, parting my lips and circling around my hole.

My teeth dig into my bottom lip again, though it does nothing to contain my moan. He doesn’t tease me for long before he plunges two fingers inside me, sending my eyes rolling and another gasp spilling from my lips.

I drop my eyes to watch his hand move and stretch beneath my gray shorts, concealing the ecstasy he so effortlessly draws out of me. Somehow, the sight is even more erotic than if I were naked. Like only being able to feel the pleasure rather than seeing it, too, makes it more salacious.

Cries pour from my lips as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of me, while still watching me with that same indifferent curiosity.

And I want nothing more than to perform for him, to give him something to be fascinated with.

 “Why are you doing this to me?” I ask, my voice scarcely above a whisper and saturated with pleasure.

He doesn’t answer, though his fingers curl, targeting a spot that has my eyes crossing, and earns him a lewd moan. I don’t care if it sounds like I’m in a porn video. I’m so turned on that I can hardly see—or even think—straight, and there’s nothing fake about the way my body responds to him.

The wet, vulgar sounds of his fingers pumping inside of me prove that.

“Please,” I whine, arching my back as my pussy begins to tighten around him, the pleasure climbing and climbing at a dangerous speed. Already, I’m so close, and he hasn’t even touched my clit again. “You know this is wrong. You shouldn’t be here, and you shouldn’t be touching me.”

It takes effort to form words when all my body wants to do is to keep crying out.

“This is wrong,” I repeat breathlessly, attempting to keep my vision straight, yet utterly failing. “Please don’t make me come.”

Again, he cocks his head—his only response—other than to continue relentlessly fucking me with his fingers, curling them into a come hither motion with each thrust.

The pressure in my core peaks, and I thrash against him. “I can’t stop it, I can’t stop it,” I chant, completely consumed by the euphoria.

And then I explode. My eyes squeeze shut tightly as I rocket into space with a scream. I know my body thrashes and seizes beneath him, but I know nothing else beyond that. The only thing I’m aware of is how little control I possess.

By the time I float back down to earth, the first thing I realize is he’s ripped off my shorts and panties, leaving me completely naked save for the thin scraps of my t-shirt sleeves clinging onto my arms. The next thing I notice is that he’s now sitting upright, leaning on the backs of his heels and in the middle of unfastening his jeans.

I lean up and rest back on both elbows, allowing the fabric to fall off my shoulders. One by one, I slip my arms free of the t-shirt, freeing myself from it completely before settling back onto my elbows.

Still breathing heavily, I watch him with awe as he tugs his briefs and jeans down just enough to free his cock. It’s a sight I’m more than intimate with, yet even outside of our make-believe world where we don’t know one other, it never fails to make my heart drop.

Then he lifts his tank high enough to reveal his sculpted abs, causing my mouth to water.

How am I supposed to play the victim when he’s so fucking irresistible? Even back in the day when I was a victim, it was a fucking fight to resist him.

And now… now I have no chance. It’s impossible, and I don’t want to.

But it is so much fun pretending to.

So, I lift my gaze to his, still completely hidden beneath his mask, and peer up at him with shame and concern. Using my elbows, I drag my lower body a few inches away from him, causing his chin to snap down an inch and clock my bold move, the act purely predatory.

“I shouldn’t be letting you do this,” I say softly, shaking my head. “You can let me go, and I won’t tell anyone.”

He’s so still that it causes tension to build in my muscles, poising for an attack that I know is coming, but can’t predict when or how.

I move my elbows back and then drag my lower half away a few more inches, testing how far he’ll let me go.

“No one has to know about this,” I continue, keeping my voice hushed.

He only stares, his controlled breathing distorted beneath his gas mask. My heart pounds against my chest heavily, and I bite my lip as a dangerous cocktail of adrenaline and excitement spills into my bloodstream, causing an avalanche of butterflies to set free in my stomach.

Fighting to keep my expression controlled, I move my elbows back once again, preparing to slide away from him for a third time as I whisper, “I’ll be a good girl and keep our secret.”

He snaps, sending a shot of terror through me. An involuntary scream bursts from my throat as he roughly grabs my hips and drags me back toward him, the roses trapped beneath me scraping against my back. Before I can blink, he’s leaning over me, his cock pressed into my stomach, and the pointed edge of his knife digging into my throat. My hands press against his chest, not only feeling his thumping heartbeat, but the raised, uneven edges of his rose scar.

I didn’t even notice he was still holding onto the switchblade before, and he moved so fucking quickly, I had no time to process him flipping it open and holding it against me.

It’s a delicious reminder of how dangerous he is, and that I can do nothing but helplessly submit to his will.

“I’m sorry,” I rush out, panting heavily from the extra shot of adrenaline. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything you want.”

He balances on his bent arm, the same one that holds the switchblade to my throat, while the other reaches down between our bodies and grabs his cock.

Though he still doesn’t say a word, I can feel the anger rolling off him for daring to try and escape him. And though I still can’t see them, I feel my skin burning beneath his heated stare, warning me not to test him again.

Part of me wants to, just to feel that serrated edge dig a little deeper and draw out a prick of pain—a bead of blood. But I’m also desperate to feel him inside me, and that urge is so much more demanding.

The tip of his cock slides down my drenched slit, and before I can take another breath, he’s driving inside me. I gasp loudly, the sound like the crack of a whip. For a moment, I’m so shocked that he could seat himself inside me all at once that I can hardly process how it feels. Zade has had me drowning in my own cum countless times, but I can’t recall him ever being able to completely fill me in one attempt. He’s always been far too thick and met some type of resistance.

Except now—only further proving how fucking soaked I am.

A heavy breath rushes out of him, the first uncontrolled reaction he’s given me, likely just as stunned as I am.

And then the rest of my brain catches up, and all I can focus on is the burn of him stretching me, and a distinct ache behind my belly button from him being so deep.

His name teases the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back just in time, immersing myself back into the fantasy.

“Please,” I choke out, unsure and uncaring if the word was even intelligible. “I-it’s too much. I don’t think I take anymore.”

That’s not even a lie.

My thighs are shaking violently around his hips, and I feel so entirely overwhelmed that tears prick the backs of my eyes.

His answer is the slow drag of his cock pulling out of me, and I can feel my face twisting in preparation, knowing what’s coming, yet unable to stop it.

 Unwilling to stop it, despite how devastating it will be.

Only when just the tip remains does he drive inside me with full force again, wrenching another scream from my throat. He’s more controlled this time, allowing the quietest of grunts.

“Oh, my God,” I gasp, my hands desperately moving up to clutch the back of his neck, digging my nails into his skin as he fills me again, and again, each thrust forceful enough to jolt me up an inch.

His hand closes around my hip in a bruising grip, dragging me back down and pinning me in place as he senselessly pounds into my pussy.

Those three words continue to bubble out of my throat, unable to string together another coherent thought. Vaguely, I feel the edge of the blade catch my skin, followed by a sharp sting. Yet, it’s like feeding fuel into a fire, only heightening the pleasure flooding my body.

My back arches, and while I’m not necessarily searching for more pain, I’m certainly not cowering from it, either. A small trail of blood trails down my neck, the blade prodding at the cut.

Bliss becomes a violent wave, crashing through my system and destroying everything in its path. My stomach tightens as the throbbing radiating from my core intensifies. I take in the sight of his powerful body mounted over me, his cock disappearing inside me, and the gas mask concealing his face, immersing me deeper into the fantasy of him being a stranger.

It’s enough to send me straight to the edge, so incredibly turned on by him I feel my arousal trailing down my thighs and pooling on the floor beneath me.

“You can’t make me come,” I whine, shaking my head. “Don’t make me.”

A low growl rumbles from his chest, and his hand on my hip moves to my pussy. Without breaking his stride, he carefully fits two blunt fingers inside me, sliding them in with his cock and stretching me further, sending a mix of pleasure and discomfort through me. But within seconds, any semblance of pain dissipates, replaced by utter euphoria.

“Ohhh, fff-fuck,” I cry, my eyes crossing.

I’m just on the verge of exploding when his thumb presses into my clit and draws tight, firm circles.

A sharp scream leaves my throat, and then my vision snuffs. The second orgasm rips through my insides before I can fully comprehend its existence. My ankles lock around his back to hold him tight against me and my head kicks back, an outcry shredding my throat as I plunge headfirst into a deep, black abyss.

The ecstasy splits my mind into two. One side is floating aimlessly in the darkness with no direction, and the other side is aware of my fists hitting against his chest as my spine bows and limbs violently tremble. My body contorts in unnatural ways, so overcome by it—it’s more reminiscent of a demonic possession.

I can’t fucking breathe beneath the brutal wave of pleasure wreaking havoc on me. It becomes too much, too quickly, and a sob bursts from my throat.

I can no longer hold on to our fantasy, and I no longer care to.

“Zade!” I cry, blindly grasping at him, searching for him in the darkness. If he’s my demon, then I will gladly let him have my soul.

A growl reaches my ears, followed by the clatter of the knife and his mask against the floor, before he slips an arm beneath my head and cradles me to him. His bare lips press against my temple, and he whispers, “I’m here, baby girl.”

Another sob rips from my throat, the pleasure relentless in holding me hostage. After several long moments, it finally loosens its grip on me, offering a hint of relief.

“That’s it, baby, ride it out,” he coaches gently, feeling my body slowly relax around him.

My hips are already gyrating against him, doing exactly as he commands without question, and wringing every last drop of bliss out of me.

“There you go, good girl,” he purrs, retreating his fingers and pressing a sweet kiss to my forehead. “Look how good my wife takes my cock.”

“I ca-can’t,” I cry, finally opening my eyes. His face is pressed into mine still, preventing me from getting a good look at him, but I can feel his stubble pricking against my sensitive skin, and his heart thundering against mine.

Every single nerve in my body feels exposed and raw, making even the smallest of movements too much. I’m overly sensitive and riddled with lingering aftershocks. I don’t think I possess even a sliver of control over myself.

My teeth chatter and I hiccup—two reactions that only prove my body has no idea what the fuck it’s doing right now.

His breath shudders out of him, warming the side of my face as he brushes his soft lips down my nose and across my cheek.

The gesture is soothing, and I stupidly allow it to lull me into a sense of safety. Until he murmurs, “You can, and you will.”

My eyes round at the corners, and I rear back, though I go nowhere. His arm tightens around my head, holding me more firmly against him.

“Zade, no,” I croak, pushing against his chest.

He pulls back just enough to align his lips with mine, finally offering a view of his eyes. They’re both nearly black with how dilated his pupils are, sending a wave of fear and dread rolling through me.

“What did you think would happen when you’ve spent all night watching another man on screen, allowing him to make your pussy wet, hmm?”

Panic sinks in, slowly at first, and then all at once. It rattles my bones as I process his words.

He places the softest of kisses against my lips, and it almost feels patronizing. A little pity kiss to soothe my sorrows.

“Did you think I wasn’t watching you sit on that couch, clenching these pretty thighs while he massacred that family?” he growls, the words coming from his throat no longer sounding human. “Did you think I couldn’t see my wife getting turned on by someone who isn’t me?”

Fuck, he’s terrifying.

But what’s more terrifying is that I’m in big trouble. And while my body is a traitorous bitch that has no issues getting excited for him all over again, my mind logically knows he’s going to rip me into pieces and do it mercilessly.

I work to swallow the lump in my throat, having no excuse to offer. Not that he’d listen to it, anyway.

I’m sure somewhere in my husband’s brain, he knows it’s the fear that turned me on, not the man himself. But that’s not something the psychopath will bother acknowledging until after he’s punished me.

And while I just might be desperate enough to try and remind him, anyway, I’m not naïve enough to believe it’ll work.

“Zade—”

“Shh,” he rasps, his tone unforgiving. He brushes away a few strands of hair sticking to my face, the act just as remorseless.

My muscles tighten as he slowly rolls his hips against mine, reigniting those sensitive nerves. His cock feels impossibly harder than before, only deepening that little well of dread in my stomach. Yet, the barest of movements still produces a loud squelching noise, as if to taunt me with how soaked I am.

“Did you imagine him fucking you just now?”

I vehemently shake my head.

“Only you,” I rasp. He loosens his grip, allowing me to speak. “You as a shadow again, and I wanted nothing more than to be your play toy, even if it was so wrong letting a psycho fuck me.”

I’m still letting a psycho fuck me, but I’ve made peace with that a long time ago.

An approving growl rumbles in his chest before he crushes his mouth against mine. While still punishing, there’s an undeniable undertone of desperation to it—but there always has been. No matter if they were soft and short or long and thorough, I can’t recall a single kiss that didn’t feel like it may be our last.

His tongue spears past my teeth and sweeps against mine with a demanding swirl. Chills scatter across my flesh, and my spine curls, seeking to feel every inch of him against me. Before I can get lost in it, he’s ripping himself away, but not without one last rough kiss.

“That may be true,” he begins quietly, teasing his lips against mine and sipping on my labored breaths. His next thrust is a little rougher, and he eagerly drinks down my mewl. “But I watched you for a long time. Imagining all the ways I’d remind you who’s the only one allowed to make this little cunt weep.”

Another quick, cruel kiss against my lips.

I sightlessly grab for his tank with both hands, needing something to hold on to as he leisurely draws pleasure out of me. It’s the calm beneath the storm. The tsunami rolling through the deep before it reaches the shallow.

“Zade, please,” I whimper, my eyes fluttering as his pace quickens.

With my head still cradled in his left arm, his free hand lightly cups my throat.

“What, baby?” he taunts, now sliding in and out of me in harsh thrusts. His jaw tightens, biting out the rest of his words through clenched teeth. “You want me to play nice and treat your pussy like a princess, don’t you? You want me to lick it and kiss it until you feel better?”

His hand gradually tightens around my throat as he speaks until all the blood has rushed to my head, and only a sliver of oxygen can leak through.

A high-pitched squeal is all I’m capable of, though it barely makes it through my constricted windpipe.

He leans down close, his breath skating across my lips. “You don’t get that privilege,” he snarls.

My brain is slow to process his words until he pulls out of me completely. It’s an instant feeling of emptiness. Though I’m sensitive and there’s no universe that exists where Zade’s dick doesn’t feel like too much, I whine at the loss.

His blunt fingers swipe up my slit, gathering my arousal on the tips.

“What are you—”

They sweep down past my pussy to prod at the tightened hole beneath. I tense, his intentions quickly sinking in.

Fuck. Me.

Zade has fucked my ass several times, but I could probably still count those occurrences off the top of my head. While I do love it, I would be lying if I said the first several minutes didn’t hurt like a bitch, and often brings a sense of dread before it eventually bleeds into pleasure.

Every time, I curse Zade’s big dick genetics at least a thousand times.

“Wait, Zade—”

“Are you scared, little mouse?” he questions, his tone condescending.

“You don’t have lube,” I reason breathlessly, latching onto that excuse to get me out of the inevitable pain.

One corner of his mouth twitches. “I don’t?”

My brows furrow. “No? I don’t see any?”

His hand disappears to reach into his back pocket. My hope fizzles, then dies a fiery death as he produces a small bottle of lube. Of course, the asshole came prepared.

I work to swallow, and his yin-yang eyes drop to follow the rough movement, amusement radiating from his pointed stare.

He’s so evil. So, so fucking evil.

“I wasn’t wet for the serial killer,” I say, pivoting my tactic. But we both know Zade is anything but reasonable.

He hums, popping the lid to the lube open with his thumb. Then, he slides his arm from out beneath my head and sits upright, kneeling before my spread legs again. His cock juts against his stomach proudly, still glistening with my cum.

“But you didn’t get wet for me.”

If there was even an atom-sized amount of hope left in me, it’s dead and buried.

I bite back another argument, sensing I’m at my limit, anyway. Anymore push back will only poke the beast.

I trust that if I truly told Zade to stop, he would, yet I hold my tongue. A nervous sweat is breaking out along my skin, but I also trust that Zade will take care of me.

He squeezes out a generous dollop of lube onto his hand while I work to control my breathing. The first touch of his wet fingers against my asshole has me inhaling sharply. Slowly, he slides in his middle finger first, and I close my eyes and tip my chin back, allowing myself to enjoy this part.

After a few minutes, a second follows, causing me to tense at the initial burn, before quickly melting into the floor, a groan building in my throat. And just as I begin to lose myself in the pleasure, I feel his wet tongue slide against my clit.

I gasp, my head lifting to see him bent over and thoroughly licking me.

“Ohh,” I moan, my eyes fluttering and my head dropping back again with a thump.

He hums, stretching me with one hand while his tongue expertly lashes against me. My hands grapple with something to hold on to before finding his hair, holding him to me as the pleasure quickly climbs.

I’m panting out moans and sharp exhales, on the precipice of tipping over the edge, when he pulls away.

“No,” I whine, rolling my hips and meeting nothing but air. I’m not surprised he’s tormenting me, but I want to slap him, anyway.

He grasps his cock with one hand and squirts more lube onto the tip. My mouth parts as I watch him glide the liquid up and down his hard length. Even with his hands being closer to the size of bear paws, they certainly don’t dwarf how long and thick he is.

The sight is incredibly hot, and I have no shame as I lick my lips, fighting the urge to crawl up to him and replace his hand with my mouth.

He won’t let me, but fuck, Zade stroking himself will always be my undoing.

As he leans over me again, his eyes glitter beneath the abysmal lighting, and that earlier fear makes its way back through my system again. My stomach tightens with nerves, and sweat forms along my hairline.

Remember, Addie, assgasms are some of the best orgasms you’ve ever had.

Yet, all my brain can remember is that searing burn when he first enters me. I mean, the man is fucking massive. It’s entirely unreasonable that I’m expected to take it up the ass without sending out a few quick prayers and breaking out into a sweat.

The tip of his cock prods against me and every bone in my body turns to steel.

Goosebumps scatter across my arms and legs as his lips whisper over my cheek, the sharp stubble over his cheeks pricking at my sensitive nerves. I shudder beneath him, my body at war with itself. My pussy is throbbing with my lost orgasm, yet my insides are being ravaged by anxiety.

“Relax, baby,” he whispers, his deep voice gruff with desire. “The more you resist, the more it hurts.”

Just as I get my muscles to comply, he nudges against me again, this time applying pressure and slowly breaching the tight ring of muscle. A whine leaves my lips as the burn instantly arises. I tense again, and he chuckles darkly. The sound instantly has my cheeks burning hot, and my mind latches on to the patronizing ring to it.

As if it’s amusing that I’m so nervous.

Asshole.

Gritting my teeth, I coerce my muscles to relax again, and he hums in approval.

“That’s it. Show me how good you can take it,” he encourages, pushing deeper.

My eyes brighten with stars while the burning in my backside intensifies.

“God,” I choke out, then clench my teeth again, biting out, “You’re so fucking big.” I don’t say it to be sexy, but as a complaint.

Right now, I wish he was a normally endowed man more than anything. I’d happily take a pencil dick at this point.

My entire body is flushed and coated in a thin layer of sweat. Everywhere feels too hot, and I can’t tell if I’m panicking or if I just need to cry. All I can focus on is how badly it hurts as he pushes deeper and deeper.

Just when I’m ready to burst into tears, Zade stills, only about a third inside me, and places soft kisses down my neck. He pauses on my racing pulse and sinks his teeth into the soft flesh there, evoking a sharp squeal from my throat.

“There’s my little mouse,” he taunts quietly against me before nipping at my skin again.

The burn eases, and slowly, I relax in his hold.

“But I think you can scream louder than that.” I have no time to prepare before he sinks the rest of the way inside me.

I’ve never heard the sound that comes from my mouth in all my life, but I have no room in my body left to care.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He doesn’t move while I squirm beneath him, having no idea what to do with myself other than writhe while I process the discomfort.

“I hate you,” I gasp, but the pain is ebbing already, and my pussy still pulses with need.

He clicks his tongue in admonishment. “Do I need to remind you how unforgiving God can be?”

I bite my lip, swallowing down my retort. I know better than to antagonize him while he’s balls deep inside my ass. The only thing that could come from that is no mercy.

Instead, I rut my hips against him, igniting a flare of pleasure. I’m ready for him to move, yet he doesn’t.

“Zade,” I mewl, lifting my knees further up and hooking my ankles over his back. “Please.”

“Show me how you pray first,” he rasps, lifting his head to stare down at me.

My mouth opens and closes, speechless as I peer up at him.

“How do you pray, Adeline? Show me.” His tone is harsh and unyielding. And though I’m at a loss for what exactly he expects of me, I do the only thing I can think of.

I plant my hands together against my chest.

“Now what do you say?” he urges, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

“Please, God,” I breathe. “Please fuck me.”

I only have his pleased growl to warn me before he’s sliding out to the tip and slamming back inside me. I moan loudly and go to wrap my hands around his neck, but he stops me, one hand wrapping around my wrist and pushing it back against my chest.

“Ah-ah, keep your hands like that. This is your punishment, and you’re going to pray for my forgiveness while I fuck you.”

I blink at him, stunned. Releasing my wrist, he plants his palm back beside my head again to mirror the other, then sets a slow, but steady pace while staring down at me, imprisoned between his arms with my hands held together, though the only prayers on my lips are my cries.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, increasing his pace.

My eyes flutter, and it’s nearly impossible to keep my vision straight while he stuffs me over and over. The euphoria invading my body is as merciless as the God above me, and it grows harder to breathe around it—around him.

“Zade, I can’t,” I gasp, my stomach tightening. The sensations flooding my body are too much, too sharp, and I’m battling between wanting to escape it and drown in it.

I thrash my head, overwhelmed and on the verge of tears again. But just as he warned, he’s unforgiving. He fucks me relentlessly and mercilessly, pumping into me with long, harsh strokes that have me seeing stars.

“Pray harder,” he growls before releasing an erotic groan of his own. “You’re so pretty when you’re desperate for forgiveness.”

“Please, please,” I chant.

I’m not entirely sure what I’m begging for anymore. Release? For him to stop? Slow down? I’m no longer in the right mind to determine what I need, just that I need something.

Zade balances on one hand while the other slips between our bodies. Without breaking pace, he plunges two fingers into my drenched pussy, sending my back flying into an arch.

And when his thumb presses firmly onto my clit and rubs tight circles, I break. Blood rushes into my face before it crumples, and something between a sob and a scream rips past my lips. The ecstasy that rushes through me is lethal.

I clamp around his cock and fingers with a force that feels cosmic, eliciting the sexiest sound from Zade. A whimper, followed by breathless, steady moans as I shatter around him.

“Yes, yes, fuck, Addie, that’s it,” he babbles, his pace quickening.

My vision snuffs, and I’m upside down and inside out. Dust in the wind, vaporized molecules, nothing but fucking atoms floating somewhere in the universe.

Vaguely, I’m aware of Zade groaning and slamming inside me a final time, then grinding his hips into me as he fills me with cum. Curses spill from his lips, but they’re nothing more than muted sound waves.

After several blissful moments, I’m brutally slammed back into a malfunctioning body. My arms fly over my face, incapable of doing anything other than crying and coming for endless tortuous moments.

Eventually, I come down until only aftershocks rack my body. The pleasure has ebbed, and now I’m left with bubbling emotions that can only manifest as sobs and a river of tears.

I feel Zade’s hands wrap around my arms and force them away. Instinctively, I turn to hide my face, but he doesn’t let me.

“Shh,” he whispers, cupping my face between his large palms, his thumb swiping away each and every tear. “I’m right here. You did so good.”

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut and blubbering more nonsense. He slips out of me with a low grunt, but I hardly feel anything past the overwhelming need to just… wail like a baby.

He slips an arm beneath my head, just as before, and balances on his elbow while he cradles me against his chest. With his other hand, he continues to swipe at my tears, intermittently placing sweet kisses over them.

I’m not sure how much time passes before I finally calm, though hiccups insist on erupting from my chest every few moments.

“Ugh,” I groan, my throat raw, my eyes burning, and my head beginning to throb. “Don’t look at me.”

I try to hide my face again, but his hand cups the underside of my jaw and forces my head straight.

“Don’t hide from me,” he says, his tone quiet but firm.

Through blurred vision, I peer up at him, finding him staring down at me with reverence.

“Your God has forgiven you,” he whispers before capturing my lips in a soft but sensual kiss.

I sniff, lifting a hand to cup his cheek.

“Does he love me, too?”

His chest rumbles with a possessive sound.

“More than fucking anything, little mouse.”

THE END