Now this alone could have been enough to finish me, but I don’t want it to end here.
It is in this moment that I realize the rhythm of my heart is matching hers beat-for-beat, and I lean in to kiss her afresh. I put the blade away momentarily as I collect her wrists and cage them beneath my hand, then, in reaching for the hilt of my knife, she does the unthinkable—she stretches, and pulls, my eyes widen as I see she is pullingtowardsme.
W-What, the hell is she doing?
Chapter 5
Emory
"Fear and longing often walk hand in hand through the shadows of our hearts
Iam running. Whyam I running? The darkness follows me in tandem with the resounding crash of each lamp. The bulbs splitting into shards with the kiss of a pebble, going mock holly fuck. I shouldn’t be okay with this, but my heart is more alive than ever, and adrenaline is feeding into it, giving my feet the ‘will power’ to sprint through this dim labyrinth of stone.
A brick wall appears a few feet ahead, and a quick glance to either side confirms the thought that instantly invaded my head before my eyes could come to the same conclusion—trapped, like the little mouse he has made of me. Just when I thought I was in control, I find myself here, at the end of an alleyway... a strange man on my trail.
I twist on my heels, back against the cold material behind me. The vision before me is both entrancing andterrifying. He stands in the shadow as though he were avoiding the light like demons to a salt circle—a delicious cocktail of balefulness and forbidden desire. The only light is above my head, and before its radiance is stamped out, the last thing touched by its beam... glints—bright, silver, mysterious. Then, all is pitch black, and I feel the wind as he rushes forward.
Reaching out, I try to touch him, grasping nothing but air as he steps away from my touch. Standing alone in this leaden alley, my sex is at war with my brain, a tornado forming from the circles my stalker is creating. Stalker… the word brings me closer to reality, and I ask, “Are you going to hurt me?” When he answers, I become weak in the knees.
“Only in ways you'll be begging me for more.” A slight hunger hangs in his words.
Something about it is familiar, and so comforting…but why? Why is it that his voice has such an effect on me?Everything after that was a blur of pure ecstasy. I can't see him—the moon doesn't provide me with that luxury. Touching him is out of the question, but my lips—oh, how my hands are jealous.
Time slips by as his blade dances over my body, peppering goosebumps as the cold steel follows my veins. I can hear iron scrape against something, before there is a firm grip around my wrists, slowly he corrals them above my head and entombs them beneath one of his massive hands. Then I hear the sound again like the sound of a chef's knife on a sharpening block.
I clench my thighs in a failed attempt to hide my arousal, as the edge of the metal drags along my jawline—he pauses for a moment before he spins the knife in his palm again, this time grabbing it by the blade. “It’s no use trying to hide your sweet scent, it will always double-cross you.” His lips meet mine as the hilt collides with my clit, the fabric and seam adding the perfect amount of friction.
As he feathers kisses over every inch of skin that he can get his lips on, something about it feels off. I can’t place it. Was it a beard or stubble? It felt course against my flesh, like one of those silver Brillo pads used for specific dishes. The texture wasn't enough to distract me from my denim being so wet that it may as well not even be there.
I melt into the mixture of his scorching lips and the solid object pressing into my pants—the heaviness of his massive hand enclosing my wrists causes me to stop and wonder about myself.
Is this really the kind of stuff I’m into?
He breaks away, drawing the pommel to his nose, as a seductive laugh escapes him, pushing past the cloth that covers his face.
“Fucking hell.” He snarls, and I catch wind of his breath, it is laced with a familiar scent that lingers between us—a subtle fragrance I knew I wouldn't forget.
Whiskey. Honey. Smoke.
“You!” I fight as the hard object between my legs starts to gain traction, making my limbs weak from its rhythmic motions.
Then, the sensation leaves me as he speaks, “I... what?” he sneers.
The knife handle returns, and he quickens his pace, causing my words to come out broken. “You-you were at... my house.” My voice is shaky with euphoria as my whole being defies the logic in my brain.
His face is iridescent beneath the night sky as he tilts his head to peer at me. His brilliant blue eyes are hooded by his damn near perfect eyebrows. The lower half of his face is still protected, coated in the shadows. Something, like a tattoo or scar, peeks out from the mask so fastidiously placed, allowing him to move and talk freely, all the while keeping him hidden. “Was I?” He teases as he canted toward me—his lips warm against my frozen neck. How is it he can scare me yet make me need him at the same time?
He is planting feathery kisses from my collarbone to my earlobe, in a desperate attempt to try and hinder me from speaking.
“Y-yes, and you’ve been stalking me... since then. From the bus to the alley.”
Stopping at my ear, his words like a gentle lick. “Oh, darling,” he sighs between pecks, the warmth of his breath doing nothing to help the deception of my body in the argumentations of my brain. His dagger hilt, so firm against my sex, finds my clit again.
Why did I wear these thin ass skinny jeans?
Rotating the blade at a nectarous pace, he pushes me to the edge, my eyes close, savoring the pleasure. A small tear slips down my face, as my brain signals its defeat, then the feeling and stimulation vanish, and I gasp in its absence.
“It’s been much longer than that.” His panting is mere wisps over my skin. “You’re going to miss your bus,” he pauses, and I feel him brush the tear away. “Dove.”
