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This isn’t me. I like my life. I don’t want to die.
Don’t you?
The thought stops me in my tracks. Adrenaline and shame tango together, and my mind reels from the thoughts whirring inside my brain.
I haven’t been living, and he makes me feel alive.
It’s why the edge of darkness is so appealing. Why, he’s so goddamned addictive.
When his blade pricks the underside of my breast, I come back to the present, worry choking in my throat. I remain as still as I can be, so he doesn’t cut me.
It’s a strange thing, the allure of my stalker. While I know I don’t want him to cut me, and I know I’m afraid, I’m also exhilarated at what he could do. At how he’ll react if I bleed for him. His earlier words twist in my brain, and I whimper.
“Tell me, little one, are you afraid?” he asks, leaning down.
“Yes.”
He stands straight. “Good.”
The pressure on the blade lets up some as I feel him retreating inside himself.
I grab his hand, turning the blade and pressing it to my throat. “Not afraid of you, though. Show me.”
“Carina,” he whispers.
“Show me, stalker. Or I’ll live the rest of my days wondering.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
Gage
Everything in my brain is screaming at me to leave her. Even with her curvy, beautiful body on display beneath my blade. She’s not built to be with a man like me. She’s leaning into the way I make her feel, sure. But for how long? How long until she realizes the derangement that infects me has leeched into her? That I’ve infected her.
Because that’s what will happen.
But as she holds my blade to her throat, her small hand shaking around mine, I have to fight not to jerk. Not to let it draw her blood for me. Because depravity is where I dwell when I’m not lurking in the shadows. And she’s coaxing the dark side of me to step closer to her. Not knowing how much danger it poses for her.
I shouldn’t have stayed.
I broke the fucking door is why I had. Right now, there’s a kitchen chair beneath it, holding it closed from the wind. I planned to fix it as she slept, but she planned to toy with me. And now there’s a slithering power beneath my flesh that needs to be fed.
“Do you know how much I want to see you bleed for me? Don’t taunt me, Carina. It’s not a game.”
“I don’t think it is,” she whispers.
“Then, why?” I nearly strangled the question in my throat.
“Because you make me feel.”
“I make you feel, what?” I ask, now not knowing whose hand is shaking around the blade.
“Everything. Fear, excitement, lust, greed,” she rasps, dropping her hand away from mine.
I pull the knife back, moving to straddle her once more. She’s so beautiful. Her large breasts are pressed slightly upward by gravity, her perky nipples beaded under the current of air in the room. Her stomach isn’t flat, and it gives way to round hips my teeth itch to bite onto and make her scream for me.
Every inch of her is a fucking canvas. If I flipped her over, I could mark her more than generous ass with my teeth and my blade, and I know she’d let me.
She’s a fucked-up man’s dream come true, and her submission gives me something I didn’t know I needed.
