“Then you’ll stroke me with your hand, your mouth, and your pussy.” He tugs my hands away from my erratically panting chest to expose my breasts to his hungry gaze. “I might even fuck these.”
My nipples stiffen into hardened buds.
“Then, once you’ve mastered my lessons, you can test them out on Nick, be one of the many hoes he fucks while on tour. Is that what you want, Megan? Do you want me to show you how to please him?”
Just the mention of Nick’s name has my feet scampering backward. Not because I’m filled with remorse at how horny Dexter’s words make me feel but because of the hate in Dexter’s eyes. He isn’t looking at me with love and admiration. He’s glaring at me like he despises me. Like he wants to use and abuse me like every other man in my life. I thought he was above the manipulation and underhanded tactics men like my father used.
Clearly, I was wrong.
“Ugh!” I grunt when the back of Dexter’s hand grazes my erect nipple. He chews on his lower lip, loving how it buds even more firmly under his touch but blinded to my growing anger.
I slap his hand another two times before ducking low and skirting past him. It is virtually impossible with how imposing his body is, but I manage it—barely!
My feet nearly slip out from underneath me when I enter the slimy shower stall at the speed of a rocket. With a grunt, I close the soap scum-covered door before raising my eyes to Dexter. He is watching me as fervently as he was earlier, except this time, his eyes aren’t blazing with lust. He’s fuming mad.
He’s not the only one. My fists are balled so firmly, the razor in my hand sends droplets of blood dripping down my palm. The ghastly scent is even more rampant because of the steamy conditions, but it has nothing on the undisclosed scent lingering in the air. If I weren’t stuck in mind-debilitating confusion, I would say it was angry lust, but since I can’t contend with more confusion, I’ll say it’s unexplainable.
Dexter steps closer to me, his strides as wobbly as the sneer on his face. “He told the world you were scum, yet you still want to be with him?”
I shake my head, but even with him staring straight at me, he doesn’t see my reply. He’s too deep into his psychosis to see or hear anything.
The harsh lines between his brows deepen when I adjust my grip on the razor so it sits between us. He smiles as if amused by my attempts to protect myself. He shouldn’t be so quick to judge. If I didn’t know how to defend myself, Bryce’s death would be the only one on my scoreboard.
“You wanted to play, Cleo, so let’s play.”
I don’t know who Cleo is, but I don’t have time to ask questions. Dexter is storming for me. His eyes are as dark as death, his lips hard and straight. When he throws open the shower door, I slice my blade through the air twice. The first sliver of the blade misses its target—intentionally. The second hits exactly where I intend. The thin trail of red from Dexter’s ear to his Adam’s apple is barely a scratch, but more than adequate as a warning.If you come any closer, I’ll slice you ear to ear.
My plans go to shit when Dexter knocks the razor from my hand before his other hand shoots up to my throat. He pins me to the slimy tiles, his hold so firm, my feet dangle midair. His disgust at my attempt to maim him floods his face as he glares into my bulging eyes.
As my body panics over the lack of oxygen in my veins, I dig my nails into his hand. I was so surprised by his attack, my lungs didn’t have a chance to increase their stock load. I’m on the verge of collapse within seconds, my throat burning as fiercely as my eyes are teeming with moisture.
When my nails pierce the skin on Dexter’s hand, he draws me forward before slamming me back. My brain rattles in my skull from the brutal impact, and my vision blurs. The coppery taste in my mouth is vastly different than the fruity scent in the air. It is an odd balance of sweet and sour.
As the first signs of a migraine creep up on me, I lessen the severity of my thrusts. I’m too tired to fight. Perhaps this is for the best? I’ve wanted to die a very long time. Dexter can finally grant my wish.
The groove between Dexter’s brows fades when I stop thrashing against him. It smooths even more when I drop my hands to my side, giving up without so much as a single tear.
I’m done fighting. Kill me.Please, I silently request, staring down at him.It may be the most humane thing anyone has ever done for me.
Dexter’s nostrils flare, seemingly annoyed that I’m accepting my fate. He wants me to fight. He wants me to maim.
He shouldn’t be shocked by my cowardly ways. I’ve done nothing but disappoint my entire life.
“Fuck!” he roars when my pulse fades under his fingertips. His word is delivered so violently, it colors my face with the hue his grip stole. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
After a final squeeze of my throat, announcing he isn’t happy about his decision, he releases me from his grip. My backside hits the floor with a thump. My mind is so shut down, it doesn’t register the pain. My body starts to revive my lungs without waiting for permission from my head. It wants to live so it can discover why it thrums every time Dexter is in its presence. Even while being hurt by him, it bloomed under his touch.
The hair slumped in front of my face clears away when Dexter crouches down in front of me. He tucks it behind my ear before raising my eyes to his via my chin. His pupils have returned to their normal size, his psychosis over as quickly as it arrived.
The water pelting out of the shower head runs down his arm and puddles at my jaw when he takes his time assessing the throb in my neck. Confident my neck isn’t going to miraculously snap in half of its own accord, he brings his lips within an inch of my ear.
“If you ever do that again, I’m going to squeeze the life out of you, bring you back, then do it again. And again. And again.” His voice grows angrier with every word he utters. “Do you understand me?”
He seems off, as if he is more annoyed I gave up my fight than that I rejected him.
My assumptions are proven accurate when he snarls, “You don’t live in hell for years to give up the instant you escape. You fight. You maim. You kill if you must. But younevergive up. Gods were born to fight, Megan. Cowards weaken.”
When I sheepishly nod, somewhat agreeing with him, he stands to his feet. His clothes are drenched, showcasing his impressive frame in eye-catching detail. Even with our encounter dominated by violence, it doesn’t alter the facts. He is a beautifully tormented man. The overhead lighting glistens in his diamond-shaped eyes, and the scruff on his jaw enhances the sharp lines framing his face. Even his hair is more alluring from being misted by the shower water.
He stands over me in all of his six-foot-plus glory for the next several minutes, seemingly conflicted. I can understand his struggle. He was on the verge of killing me, and all I am doing is staring up at him in admiration.
I think my daddy was right. There is something terribly wrong with me.
Dexter’s deliberation doesn’t reach the conclusion I am hoping for when he orders, “Shower then straight to bed. Sleep naked. I want nothing between us when I get back.”
When my eyes rocket to his, curious as to where he is going, he says, “I’ve got a virgin to fuck out of my system before I claim her in a way she’s never been claimed!”
