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Just tell him to stop, goddammit.
But I’m not the type of girl who admits defeat easily. Especially not twice in the same week, and especially not to this cocky bastard. He runs his tongue over my clit again, slowly this time. Like an orchestra conductor, he demands a slow and steady rhythm, and my body is lost in the music, building up to a crescendo.
No.
“Stop.”
I hate the way my voice sounds. An unhinged, desperate rasp filled with defeat. The Devil pauses, grazing an amused eye over my heaving chest and the puckered nipples sitting atop of it. He scans my frantic eyes, my clenched fists. “You don’t look like you want me to stop.”
“I want you to stop.” Jesus Christ. Do. Not. Stop.
He lets out a throaty chuckle, and with all the ease in the world, he draws away from me, plucks up the black silk pocket square from his suit pocket, and dabs at my wetness on his lips. I push myself upright and yank my knees to my chest, trying to grasp at whatever modesty I might have left. Trying to ignore the unbearable throbbing in my pussy.
The Devil glances down to the damp spot between my legs, where his face was just a few moments before. “Interesting,” he says with a smirk.
I can’t help but bite. “What is?”
“My theory is proven correct. You like me touching you.”
His smirk melts into a lazy grin, and he stretches his arm across the back of the sofa. As he crosses one leg over the other, I catch sight of the large bulge straining against his pants. Oh, god. He catches me staring—as if my face couldn’t get any redder— and he lets out a chuckle. “I think you’d like to touch me too, sweetheart.”
Fueled by a cocktail of anger and embarrassment, I leap to my feet. “I won’t play your sick games any longer. If you’re going to kill me, just fucking do it. If you’re not, then get the hell out!”
He looks at me. Really looks at me. Drags a fiery eye over the messy silver bun on top of my bed, down to my aching breasts, then finally lands on the still-quivering space between my thighs, then grins like he’s reliving the recent memory of being down there. Just like when I was pinned under him, I have the urge to crawl into the shadows to get away from the intensity of his gaze. The sofa groans as he leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees, and steeples his fingers together. “You’re confused, sweetheart. I said I came here to kill you. I’ve changed my mind.”
Rage bubbles in the pit of my stomach.
“You’ve changed your mind?” I say through gritted teeth. Hoping that if I repeat it back to him, he’ll realize how ridiculous it sounds.
“Yes. Instead of killing you, I’ll marry you instead,” he says simply.
I blink. “Marry me?”
He nods, deadpan. Like he’s confirming his order at Chipotle.
An ugly snort leaves me. “Did you hit your head on the way here, asshole?”
For a moment, he looks confused, but the expression is quickly replaced with a thunderous scowl. He rises to his feet, and when he does, his looming body dominates the entire space, making my dingy apartment feel even smaller than it is. He crosses the floorboards with the grace of a gazelle and the menace of a lion, stooping to meet my glare when he reaches me.
The sudden change in temperature raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” he says quietly, breath tickling my nose. I concentrate on the vein popping in his forehead, forcing myself not to cower from his imposing presence. His voice lowers to a growl. “Answer me.”
I shake my head.
He nods, pursing his lips. “You must be the only person in New York who doesn’t.” His warm, rough hand cups my cheeks, his fingers interlocking with the strands of my hair. He holds my face tight. “There is something you should know about me, sweetheart. You may see me crack a joke, even laugh every now and again, but you’d be a fool to take my smile as a sign of weakness. I’ll smile as I put a bullet in your head. Laugh as I tie a brick to your ankle and drop you in the Hudson. Is that understood?”
My heart skips a couple of beats. I’m no stranger to monsters. While most kids feared them living under their beds or hiding in their closets, I spent my childhood seeing them in the cold light of day. But this monster, he feels bigger, scarier.
Pathetically, I nod. A move I’ll no doubt kick myself for later.
“Good,” he drawls. Taking a step back, he adjusts his watch and smooths down the front of his suit jacket, like he’s shifting into business mode. “Now, I’ll give you the courtesy to explain a little further. By killing English, you’ve created a big problem for my family and me. Now, you have to fix it.”
“By marrying you,” I say, feeling dazed. God, I’m tired, in both mind and body, and feeling strangely shaken up by his presence.
“Correct,” he says, the hint of a smirk returning to his lips.
“A-And if I say no?”
