“This isn’t a book,”I tried to tell myself. But if I were writing it…no!This wasn’t a book! This was real and I could die.
But the thing about having all of his attention on me was that I could see everything, and while his eyes were chilling and deadly, I knew that I wasn’t going to die. Not tonight at least.
He slid his hand from my mouth, allowing me to gasp for air as he slid his thumb up and wiped away a tear. “Pathetic,” he mumbled to himself as I ripped my hand from his wrist, unaware that I had been holding it this entire time.
Me.
I was pathetic.
Pathetic forcryingover what mom and Steven said. Pathetic for walking home alone after having that nightmare. The nightmare that he just said was real even though I knew for a fact it wasn’t. It just wasn’t.
Pathetic for putting up with the shit Ialwaysput up with.God, what the Hell was wrong with me that I couldn’t just fight back? Walk away. Call the police.Do something!
I worked my jaw, glaring at him with every ounce of rage I had in my soul. I dropped my hand to the wall, digging my nails into the crumbling brick until threads of pain shot up my arm. “I’ll scream,” I told him, feeling his other hand press my wrist into the wall, a sharp shard of brick digging into it painfully. “I’ll scream so loud God will hear me.”
He smiled as if it were a game. “Good.” He leaned in, my breath catching, until I could feel his hot air dusting my parted lips. “That’s how I like it,” he mumbled.
I swallowed the whimper that tried to work its way up my throat and cursed myself internally. What the actual fuck was wrong with me? I had to be imagining this too. I was having another nightmare. I had too much to drink.Somethinghad to explain this away because this couldn’t be real.
I was having a dream about my book, that’s what it was. That’s it. I was scrapping it. I was going to shred it into a billion pieces and set it on fire.
Sorry Katie, but the book is an illness, and it needs to be destroyed.
It has to be destroyed.
He leaned back just enough to meet my eyes, my thighs involuntarily clenching around his leg, my pussy throbbing. ThankGodI wore panties tonight because I almost didn’t.
His eyes flicked to my lips and back, that soft smile remaining, those eyes holding Satan himself in their depths. In the blink of an eye, he ripped that scarf from my neck, shoving it into his pocket. “Why are you being followed?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I felt bared to the world now. As if that scarf had been my entire wardrobe and now I was completely naked. “If I had a mirror, I’d hold it up so you could ask yourself that,” I spat, shoving myself back against the wall.
“I’m only following you because of your precious littleboyfriend,” he told me. “I said as much the other night, or did you forget how much fun we had already?”
I kept my mouth shut, his scent overwhelming. I could feel his body everywhere. It burned my skin. I could feel his knee pressing into me just right under my clit. If I could just move my ass into the wall a little more, I could make him push right where I needed. And I needed it.
All of sudden it was all I could think about.
I didn’t know why, there were no rational thoughts anymore, there was just his scent and the way it set my soul on fire. The way it made my toes curl and my head spin. The way his lips curled like he knew the secrets to the universe but would kill anyone who found them out.
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Hardly at all, really, his dark lashes casting shadows over the bits of his cheekbones I could see behind that mask. “Did you forget?” he asked, searching my eyes.
I shoved my head back into the wall, trying to get as far away from him as I could. “It wasn’t real.”
He straightened, his knee shifting between my legs, hitting exactly where I needed it to as if he had heard my innermost thoughts. “What?” he said through his teeth.
It was an effort not to moan as I lowered myself half an inch for a little added pressure. “It wasn’t real,” I said on a breath. This wasn’t rational, but I already hated myself. Steven already thought I was a whore, mom was using me for my body, so what was the difference in doing this? In allowing myself this even though I was going to regret every single second of it later.
His hand was around my throat in a second, cutting off every ounce of air I had, my free hand finding his wrist again as my eyes locked with his. “It was as real as this,” he snarled under his breath. “My handprint on your thigh, those wire burns around your wrists, the feeling of a chill you couldn’t escape, that wasreal. The collar is real.”
I swallowed against the palm of his hand, trying to push up onto my very tiptoes to relieve the pressure around my neck as I tried to shake my head, tears springing to my eyes. “No,” I choked out.
His hand tightened, a snarl lifting the corner of his lips. “Steven got a loan from us which he never paid off, so you’re who we’re going after now. The girl with the money, the girl with the silver spoon. The writer. The collar is further proof of who owns you now in case you convince yourself again that this is nothing more than a nightmare. Congratulations, Olivia, once again, the camera lights are shining down on you.”
I swallowed again, my head pounding as my legs grew weak. I slipped, landing on his knee, a shot of electricity running straight up my spine, causing flutters to erupt in my chest. “Stop,” I said, the panic growing as my pussy, now covered in wet silk, slid along the rough pants around his knee. Tingles showered through me, my clit throbbing.
He shoved his knee up, lifting me to my toes, leaning in until there was no air between us but the air that exited his lungs and fell into mine. Until there was nothing between us but our clothes and desperate, angry thoughts. “Why, little writer? Afraid I’ll make you cum without hardly touching you at all?”
No, it just didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel normal. This wasn’t how my orgasms felt. This was out of control and deep. It didn’t make sense. I dug my nails into the leather jacket around his wrist, tears spilling over as I tried to relieve the pressure. “You’re…gonna… kill…me,” I managed to get out, trying to force the feeling down, swallow it whole.
