“Arrogant,” he purrs in my ear. “That’s what you are. But you also like this. No—” He presses down again when I start to say something. “That’s not a question. Youlike this. Were you wet for me afterDusk House? Did you go home and get into bed, crawl under your blankets, and touch yourself with the taste of my blood on your tongue?”
Immediately I shake my head, absolutely ready to deny that.
“No? Then let me do better so that’s what you do tonight.”
Those aren’t the words I’m expecting. But I’m also not expecting him to lunge forward until his body is pressed to mine. I flinch and release a soft gasp when I realize that his tongue is on my throat and he’s licking upward. He stops at my jaw, pressing a soft growl to my cheek, before he does it again.
“I could devour you here, in the darkness,” he murmurs after doing it again. “You taste so good when you’re pretending you aren’t afraid of me, Scaredy Cat. Bet you’d taste better when you admit you are.”
“I don’t?—”
He snaps his teeth together right in front of my mouth, causing me to pull back. “You don’t need to lie to me when both of us know you’re full of shit.” He chuckles darkly. “Come on, babe.” His hands find my hips, and he rubs circles in the dips of my hip bones, fingers against my skin under my hoodie. “It doesn’t make you any lesser to be terrified of me right now. I’m a stranger. I have a knife—” When I drag in a nervous gasp, hechuckles. “Did you think I left it at home? Maybe I’ll let you feel it on your pretty lips tonight. I have you at my mercy in the dark, in a place where your screams will just feed the atmosphere.”
I feel his night vision goggles when he presses closer, and I twist my face away from him. But that only gives him better access to my throat, where his teeth nip and nibble along my skin to pull another shiver from me.
“I could do whatever I want to you. Anyone would beterrifiedto be in your shoes right now. But do you want to know what the difference is between you and anyone else, Persy?”
He’s never used my name before, so it sounds almost special on his lips, like the nickname is something more than it is. Any witty retort dies halfway from my brain to my mouth, and finally I take a breath, trying to steel myself before I ask, “What’s the difference?”
“The difference between you and anyone else…” Without warning, he shoves his knee between my thighs, making me squeak like a mouse and lunge up to my tiptoes. With nowhere else to go, I don’t really have any other options. Unfortunately, he follows me, and he’s tall enough to keep me on my toes, leaving his knee between my thighs as the only thing keeping me balanced and on my feet.
“You like this.”
“No, I?—”
He grinds against me, cutting off my words, and chuckles roughly in his throat. “Yeah, you do. You want to be scared because youlikeit. You want me to terrify you. I’ve seen the look on your face twice now. I know what’s under that fear. I know what my precious, perfect little Scaredy Cat needs.” His tone turns almost condescending, cooing, and I should be furious.
I shouldn’t feel heat gathering between my thighs, where his leg presses against my core. My hands shift behind me, fingers curling and uncurling with nothing to grab onto. “Stop,”I protest, hating the weak, guilty note in my voice. He hears it too, I know, because the man gives a soft, breathless laugh and grinds his leg against me.
“You don’t want me to. Do I scare you yet?”
For some reason, my answer is out before I can stop myself. Before I can even think, I murmur, “No,” into the darkness of the cell.
“Good.” One of his hands leaves my skin, the other dragging my hoodie up until he can shove it over my head so it’s just hanging from my arms. Left in the dark, I flinch at every touch, at every brush of his fingers while he effortlessly holds me in place.
I can only shudder when I hear the soft sound of his knife leaving its sheathe. The touch of metal on my stomach, just above my navel, makes me gasp in earnest, and my body flinches away from him instinctively.
“You know it’s real,” the man purrs in my ear. “I cut myself before to show you it was real. You like the taste of my blood,” he accuses. “I bet you were licking it off the whole way home, my little masochist.” The blade presses just sharply enough to my skin that I’m afraid it’ll cut me. But it doesn’t—hedoesn’t. With way more control over the knife than I have over my sleep schedule, he alternates between stroking the blade over my skin and pressing down just hard enough to make me sure that tonight, he’s going to cut me.
By the time he reaches my throat, I’m panting from a mixture of terror and something I won’t name. My bodyachesfor something I won’t give it, and the steady pressure of his thigh isn’t helping.
“Stop,” I breathe, head tilted back with the urging of the knife
“No,” he hisses in response. “I don’t think I will. Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue for me, Scaredy Cat.” When Idon’t, his other hand is on my face, pressing against the hinges of my jaw until the pressure is too much to ignore.
A whimper escapes as my lips part, and I close my eyes hard as if that’ll help me. My heart races in my chest and my stomach twists, but still that damnable heat builds, no matter how much I will it away. This is wrong, I tell myself furiously. No normal person reacts like this to what he’s doing.
Another sound, like a soft sob, is pulled from my chest when the blade strokes over my bottom lip. He doesn’t let go of me, he just taps the blade against my chin.
“Stick out your tongue for me, or I really might cut you.” The warning is dark and warm andwrongall at once. But the thought of pissing him off terrifies me enough that I quickly stick out my tongue until it’s resting on my lower lip, even though I’m trembling under him.
The first touch of the sharp, cool metal on my tongue has me gasping and trying to pull away, though my head only hits the concrete behind me at the motion.
The man shushes me gently, leaning close again so we’re pressed flush together from the chest down. His tactical gear is cool and rough against my skin, and this close, it’s impossible for me not to notice that he’s just as turned on as I am, if not more.
“You feel that, pretty girl?” he growls in my ear, shifting so his hardness presses more firmly to my thigh. “That’s all for you. All for those cute sounds you make when you think I’ll cut you. You look so good with my knife on your tongue. I love you like this, when you’re really afraid of me. You are, aren’t you?”
I can’t move, or speak, but I’m sure he knows that. Without warning, he pulls back and the knife clatters to the ground. Before I can do anything, he spits suddenly, his saliva dripping onto my tongue that’s obediently still extended for him.
