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, and perhaps this is for the best? I’ve wanted to die for a very long time. Now 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 it 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 his six-foot-plus glory for the next several minutes, seemingly conflicted. I 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’s 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.”
fourteen
DEXTER
My trek to an overflowing bar two blocks up from the motel I left Megan at slows when a text message sounds from my jeans pocket. My hands visibly shake when I lug out my phone. I nearly killed her. Megan’s pulse was nearly decimated because of me.
Usually, I’d feel no remorse, but even a man as emotionless as me can’t deny the sensation thickening my veins right now. Her denial angered me. It stripped my veins of blood and left me to die.
But that isn’t the reason I nearly strangled her.
I was stuck in a debilitating blackness. I knew where I was and what I was doing, but the person I was doing it to wasn’t the person I saw when my hand curled around Megan’s throat.
I thought Megan was Cleo.
I’m unsure if Megan’s rejection was the catalyst of my breakdown or if it’s the way she’s snaking herself beneath my skin. Whatever it was, I’m losing control—and not in a good way.
I could pretend I was teaching Megan a lesson about what happens when something I’m dying to taste is brutally stripped away from me, but then I wouldn’t have let go. I would have killed her.
