Trusting his threat, my shake switches to a nod. I’m not stupid. He was being honest.
Dexter steps closer to me, crowding me with his impressive frame. “What did you want to do to him?”
I flick open the switch then slice an X pattern in the air half an inch from Dexter’s neck. My movements are so rushed, cool air rustles between us. I’m fully anticipating for Dexter to check if I’ve maimed him, so you can imagine my surprise when he doesn’t. He merely sucks in a prolonged breath through his flaring nostrils before dropping his eyes to the bald spot between my legs.
“You are like me, aren’t you, Megan.” Although he appears to be asking a question, his tone doesn’t allude to that. It was a confirmation.
When his eyes slowly stray back to mine, demanding a reply, I can neither agree with or deny his statement. His hand is gripping my locks too firmly for me to do anything but glance up at him. The threat of tearing my hair from my scalp isn’t the sole cause of my silence, though. It is the confusion bombarding me.
His hold should be frightening, but for some reason, it isn’t. It increases my pulse, which surges in an area stripped as bare as my heart right now. I love Nick—I gave him my heart for eternity—but as I stare into Dexter’s fiery eyes, I can’t recall if Nick’s eyes are darker than Dexter’s or paler. Does he have more lashes or less? Are his eyes even blue? I only saw his photo mere minutes ago, but I truly can’t remember what he looks like.
My response shouldn’t be shocking. A ravenous wolf has me in his sights, and the only thought I can muster is, “Yes, please.”
I am the sanest I’ve ever been.
“Don’t tempt me.” Dexter’s warning is more a growl than an actual threat. “You couldn’t be so lucky to have someone like me pop your cherry, but every women must drudge through the minor leagues before stepping up to the big hitters. It is a rite of passage.”
His grip on my hair doesn’t stop my eyes rolling skywards. His reply should have me immediately shutting down our conversation. I should demand he release me this instant from his barbaric grip. Or better yet, use the razor to force his relinquishment. But with my veins free of mind-numbing medication, the thoughts streaming through my head don’t belong to a rational woman. I don’t want to dodge Dexter’s attention. I’m encouraging it.
When I return my eyes to Dexter, my determination obvious, his lips curl into a heart-fluttering smirk. “But you’re not like normal women, are you, Megan?”
The agitation that generally arrives with his questions is nipped in the bud when he quickly adds on, “You’re special. Unique. Completely fucking fucked up.”
A thrill jolts down my spine when he yanks my head back. He drags his nose down my neck, sucking in my scent with a long, undignified whiff. Goosebumps follow the trek his tongue makes when it travels the same path, just in the opposite direction. It glides along the throb in my throat, only stopping when he reaches the base of my ear.
“As sweet as heaven but as sour as Satan,” he growls into my ear. “Tell me to stop before I drag you to the depths of hell alongside me.”
I shake my head, deepening his breaths.
Conscious of what is about to transpire, his bite doesn’t hold half the sting it did yesterday. His teeth sinking into my earlobe spikes my heart rate and causes the slippery situation between my legs to become more apparent.
I grow wetter when he growls at the taste of my blood on his tongue. “I can make your cunt bleed just as readily. Do you want that, Megan?”
My mind scrambles for a reply when he seeks a response in a nonverbal way. If I went off my first thought, I’d scream yes. But with my mind as knotted as my lower stomach, I settle on a halfhearted shake.I don’t want you to hurt me.
“Oh, trust me, it’s going to hurt. Whether me or a man with half a cock, you’re going to bleed.”
I don’t understand the origin of his slurred words. He drank more glasses of the fruity drink Joseph topped off all evening than me, but his eyes aren’t carrying the same drunken edge my father’s always did.
“But I can show you how you can achieve pleasure from pain. Would you prefer that?”
I nod without thinking, the promise in his eyes deserving a decisive response.
My scalp stops screaming in pain when Dexter releases it from his grip to shove me backward. I land on the wall with a thud, the pain barely noticeable since my focus is locked on Dexter’s looming frame. The veins weaving through his thick biceps pulsate as his glassy eyes scan my body. His watchful glance sends a fiery sensation shooting through me. This one is welcomed, minus the truckload of confusion it generally arrives with.
Only now am I realizing why I had an instant connection with him. We are one and the same, two misunderstood people shrouded by darkness. He doesn’t care about the immorality in my eyes because he has no intention of dousing it. He wants to nurture it, to see it reach its full fruition. The thought is both terrifying and exciting. I was told for years to ignore the voices in my head. I won’t have to do that with Dexter. I can explore why it feels good to stand a little jagged and separate from the crowd. I’m not different. I am unique. Those are two entirely different things.
“When was the last time you were medicated, Megan?” Dexter raises his eyes to mine before counting down. He starts at mere minutes before extending to hours, then days.
“Three days?” he confirms when I nod.
I nod again.
His lips twist as he contemplates. I don’t know what he is pondering, but he reaches his deliberation quickly. It isn’t just the fire in his eyes bringing me to this conclusion; it is the growth between his legs that even a sturdy pair of jeans can’t hide.
“Fifteen is old enough to bleed.” My pupils widen to saucers when he adds on, “I’m not going to cut you today. We’ll work up to that. But I will lick your greedy pussy. Tease your clit. Maybe bite it a little. Then once you shatter like glass, I’ll teach you how to please me.”
I shudder at the thought. It isn’t a scared tremor. The confidence in his tone assures me this is going to be a lot of fun.
