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“Such a good fucking girl,” he praises against my mouth before wrapping my swollen lips into another bruising kiss.
Breathless, I force my head away, sucking in precious oxygen. He clamps my cheeks between his large hand, growling against me.
“Give me those fucking lips,” he snarls, forcing his tongue back into my mouth.
My hands wedge between our bodies, traveling up his stomach bulging with muscles to his firm chest. Roughly, I push him away, our lips separating with a loud smack.
“Wait, stop,” I pant, my mind foggy and discombobulated.
“What did I say?” he demands sharply. His mismatched eyes capture my gaze in a drug-inducing hold. It’s hard to look away when I feel like I’m looking into the eyes of a predator.
He is a predator.
“What?” I breathe, still dizzy from the kiss.
“If I catch you, I fuck you,” he repeats slowly, gravel lining his throat.
My mouth opens, but the words are slow to release.
“You’re not fucking me,” I refuse, pushing against his chest harder.
His lips whisper across my cheek, trailing along my jawline before dropping down to my neck.
“Because you’re afraid you’ll like it too much,” he concludes before delivering a sharp nip on my neck. My back arches, goosebumps rising on my skin from the chills. “Because you know that you’ll become as addicted as I am.”
“No,” I deny in a whisper. “Because I don’t want you to.”
He lifts his head, a knowing smirk on his lips.
“So, you’re going to be my bad girl tonight? Lie to my face and act like your pussy isn’t aching to be filled up with my cock.”
I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, a mix of anger and embarrassment.
“Not everything has to come down to physical attraction,” I respond finally. “Maybe my body wants you, but up here”—I tap my temple— “doesn’t.”
He nods his head slowly, his eyes flitting across my face in contemplation. He takes a step back, leaving me bereft and cold.
It feels like a black shroud encasing the sun on a hot summer d
ay—just a sudden, bone-chilling cold.
He grabs my hand and pulls me away from the mirror. He spins me until I’m looking at the countless reflections that surround us, echoing our image from every angle.
I watch him through the mirror. He presses his body back into mine, his warmth soaking into my pores once more. My eyes settle on one mirror, our eyes clashing through the glass.
Slowly, he bends down until his mouth is right at my ear, his eyes never straying from mine.
“You want to know why I love the house of mirrors?” he murmurs in my ear, eliciting sparks throughout my nerve endings. His voice is full of dark promises and dangerous beginnings.
I swallow thickly. “Why?” I whisper.
“Look around you,” he commands softly. Hesitantly, I pull my eyes away from his, dragging my gaze across the dozens of mirrors.
“What you’re seeing now is what I see every day. No matter how far I run, how hard I try to escape you—you’re everywhere I go. You’re everything I see. Loving you is like being trapped in a house of mirrors, little mouse. And I’ve never felt so at home while being so lost inside you.”
My breath hitches, my eyes snapping back to his.
My heart tripped and fell down a flight of stairs the second the word 'love' came out of his mouth. A word he tossed out so casually, I'm not sure if it's a confession or not.
