Page 102 of The Villain We Tempt

“I enjoyed your most recent video.”

The scream strangles in my throat as I whirl, my heart lurching and jangling erratically when my eyes land right on him.

The Ghost Prince slowly descends one of the aisles of the amphitheater. He’s wearing black jeans and boots, and his usual tactical mask with the white crown spray painted on it.

He’s shirtless, and I gasp as my eyes slide over the tattoo ink twisting and snaking up both arms, across his chest, and down the chiseled v-lines of his hips into the waist of his jeans.

His grooved muscles coil and ripple with every step. It's like I’m watching a jaguar or some other nocturnal apex predator prowling through the shadows toward his prey.

A voice inside me screams to turn andrun. Use my keys to sever the zip-ties, kick open the doors, and sprint like hell from this walking nightmare of a man, who for all I know is the very Shoreline Killer that I was worrying about barely ten minutes ago.

I retreat on shaking legs until I’m pressed against the doors behind me.

The Ghost Prince keeps descending the stairs. His eyes are covered by the black eyeholes of the mask, but I can still feel his gaze slicing into me as he slowly prowls toward me.

I suck in a sharp breath, trembling as he comes to a stop right in front of me. He smells woodsy and masculine, with spicy hints of spice and clean citrus. He towers over me, and the sheer presence of him looming so close turns my knees weak and makes my insides liquify.

“POV: the toxic, red flag parade MMC stalks you through the darkness and makes you take it like a good girl,” he murmurs quietly, quoting my last video. His modulated voice scrapes over my skin as heat pools in my core.

I gasp quietly, making a sound that might be a chuckle rumble from his chest.

“Well, we have the darkness, little villain,” he growls. “Would you say you feelstalkedright now?”

I quickly nod, my eyes wide and unblinking as I stare up into his masked face.

“Am I still a toxic, walking red flag parade?”

A whimper escapes my lips when his fingers wrap around my throat.

The thing is, Iwantto be furious.

I want to look inside myself and find the anger and the fury that should be there: white-hot, righteous.Completelyjustified.

This manspied on mewith a hidden fucking camera pointed at my goddamn bed. There isn’t a single part of that which is okay, and I want to scream it into his masked fucking face.

But his hand is still wrapped around my throat, his heat and scent are tearing down any defenses I have remaining, and my body has completely left the fight.

My traitorous, treacherous, unhinged body, which is flooding with heat and melting like wax against the doors behind me even as we speak, while my pulse hammers against his palm like it's trying to escape my body.

And he wants to know if I still think he’s a toxic, walking red flag parade???

"Yes," I breathe. His thumb drags slowly along my pulse point, and I feel his attention sharpen on me in the dark.

"Yes,what?"

"Yes, you're still a toxic, walking red flag parade," I manage, my voice pathetically thin.

He tilts his head slightly to the side, like he's considering something, and I feel his eyes pierce my very soul through his dark mask.

“Then I just have one last question, little villain."

I shiver as his body presses into mine, pinning me against the door. He reaches behind himself with his free hand and then slowly brings it back.

The floor drops out from under me as I stare speechless at the big, thick, veined, slightly translucent pink dildo in his grip.

…Mydildo, that I used as a prop in my last video.

My mouth goes dry.