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“You’ve never insisted on meeting any of the other women I've been with. In fact, you have always made it clear I am to keep them hiding in the shadows.”
His eyes flare as he watches me. “That’s because I knew by your demeanor that you felt nothing for them. This feels different,” he hisses. “Let me make it clear. You introduce us to her… or I will find other means to get to know her better.”
I shake my head, fury making me tremble.
“Are you going to pretend you wouldn’t like that, Greyson? Are you going to pretend I’m the only monster around here?”
50
The knowledge that she thinks she’s free pulses through my veins, as does the anticipation of her finding out that she isn’t.
That everything will not be going back to normal as she believes it will.
I enjoy her hope so much.
The purity of it.
The naivety.
It’s so fucking good.
Almost as delicious as the fear still clinging to her.
The fear merely caresses her now.
Wisps of it cling to her as she moves.
As she tries to breathe.
Soon she’ll be swathed in it. She’ll bathe in it until it colors her every breath, her every thought, her every word.
Her torment moves me like nothing else… other than hiding in the shadows, waiting to offer my aid.
I so enjoy watching her navigate her new life, her fingertips desperately holding on to the hope that she’s free.
That the big bad man has had his fill of hurting her.
That he no longer pleasures himself to the thought of her pain, to the sight of her tears, to the gasps of horror that rip through her little throat that I haven’t used to its full potential.
I can make myself come just picturing her face as she learns to laugh again, to sing again, to build a life again. None of this would be as much fun if she were in fear all the time. I want her to think she’s free. To begin to enjoy the illusion of her new life.
It will make the reality she comes to face so much more pleasurable.
I like pleasuring myself to the thought of her little face as doubt begins to creep in like a spider; to those moments when she begins to question what’s happening—whether she’s paranoid… or whether there really is a big bad monster still after her.
Some beast more savage than she could ever have imagined.
One she was not able to identify while staring him in the face.
Arousal at her distress lights up my body, the flames extinguishing the darkness in which I live.
The hidden cave that no one sees but me and one other.
I hunger to be able to see her eyes close up as they well up with tears so delectable.
To watch them slowly roll down that pale, silken skin of hers and onto the curve of her lips, lips I so need to taste again.
I do so enjoy the taste of her body when it’s wracked with fear. It makes her taste different. It’s sweet and pure.
