“But it was someone else tasting your pussy tonight, wasn’t it?” Abruptly, he lifts his face and tightens his grip around my wrist, his knees closing in on my hips. “I can’t have that. You are mine, Reagan. No one touches what’s mine. Not even in your head. Do you hear me?”
“You’re crazy.”
“Maybe. Yes. I cross the lines of sanity for you, but when you let someone else touch what’s mine, watch me cross the lines of insanity. Who is it?”
“No one,” I lie.
“Who is it?” he hisses. “The cop? The man with the motorcycle? Both of them together at the same time?” He presses the gun to my vagina. “Tell me.”
“It wasn’t them. I swear.” I’ve never been more terrified, and I’ve never throbbed harder.
“No more games. Tell me the fucking truth.”
I can’t. I can’t just tell my stalker how wet I’ve become imagining him in my bed in his creepy mask fucking me into oblivion. How curious I am to find out how many times he’s come watching me touch myself. How close, when he’s holding a gun to my pussy, I am to orgasm.
A gasp breaks on his lips. Then his breath hitches. “Oh.”
The room closes in on me. The arms of the abyss open wide. A chasm of no return. My stalker has figured it out. He knows he’s been my darkest fantasy. The secret I can’t hide in a grave.
Slowly, he takes my hands and places them on his chest, and his heart dances against my palms. “Then why lie and say you don’t want me to touch you when I’m here, ready to take care of you, darling?”
“Because it’s wrong and sick.” It’s everything I’ve feared, everything I’ve secretly desired. “Even if you’re real, in my head you’re still a fantasy I control. But this…”
He caresses the back of my hands, his grip freeing my wrists. “This is what?”
The moment I’ve been waiting for.
I gather all my strength and speed and push myself back, yanking my hands out of his hold and kneeing him in the groin. Swiftly, I wriggle my feet out of my underwear and roll out ofthe bed, his groaning curses following me, and dash toward the dresser.
My fingers claw at the drawer and tear it open so hard it nearly comes off its tracks. I plunge my hand inside. The darkness thickens around me, mocking my fingers as they scrabble uselessly against wood and fabric to find Blake’s gun.
“No, no, no.” Panic rises in my throat. The gun is not there.
“Looking for this?” Butterfly Man’s voice cuts through the darkness. “Didn’t think I’d come unprepared, did you?”
I whirl around. He’s already on his feet, towering over me, a dark silhouette against the faint moonlight. My eyes strain in the gloom to see what he’s holding. My stomach drops as realization hits. The gun Butterfly Man has is Blake’s. My stalker has been holding me at gunpoint using my husband’s weapon all this time.
Backing up, I slam into the dresser. My mind races, cataloging everything within reach. Lamp. Books. Picture frame. But nothing that can match what he’s got. “If you take another step, I’ll scream.”
“What is this all about, darling? You want me, and I want nothing more than to make you happy. But then you call our love wrong and sick, and then this. I don’t understand. Do you like to be chased, my love? Is this what’s happening here? I’m more than happy to oblige, but tonight we don’t have the time.”
“Just get out of here.”
He chuckles nastily. “No.”
My muscles coil, ready to spring. But he’s stronger, faster, darker. His big arms squeeze me from behind, a snake capturing its prey. “Go ahead. Scream, little butterfly.”
A knock on the door echoes in my bones. “Mrs. Abel. I mean, Birdie,” Brandon’s hushed voice calls. “Are you okay?”
Hope pulses through me. It’s not Marcus outside, it’s Brandon. It’sGatsby. A sign God hasn’t forsaken me. This is it. My chance to scream for help without alerting Butterfly Man. I don’t have to scream. All I need to do is say, “I’m fine. Just trying to sleep, Gatsby,” and Brandon will know I’m in danger. He will get enough help to take Butterfly Man down.
The gun clicks as my stalker chuckles next to my ear. “As if on cue. The way I see it, you have two choices how this night is gonna end, darling. You either tell him you’re okay and come back to bed so I can give you the pleasure you seek like a good girl or you tell him to come in where he’s gonna get a bullet in his head.”
As much as I dislike Brandon, he’s only an innocent boy. He’s too young to die.If you use your signal word, he won’t because he won’t engage alone. Marcus, Riley, Dixon and more, if needed, will be with him, too. You hired those men to protect you. Let them do their job.
“Birdie, ma’am?” The doorknob moves several times. “Please unlock the door or I’ll have to break it to make sure you’re safe,” Brandon says uncomfortably.
“What’s it gonna be, my love?” my stalker whispers, sending a chill down my spine.
