I can’t breathe. Not from the clamp. Not from his hand. From the weight of knowing—The second stalker was here. Not last week. Not last night. Just now. Just now.
Damien’s pulse thunders against my back. His grip never loosens. His voice is low. Sharp. Savage. “He’s inside the building.”
My legs buckle. He doesn’t let me fall. He drags me tighter. He presses his lips to my ear. “He’s still watching.” His tongue flicks against my skin, filthy, slow, a brand I’ll never wash off. “Good.”
Damien’s grip on me tightens as he crushes the camera in his fist, shards biting into his palm, drops of blood slicking his knuckles. But he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t care. He’s already hunting.
His other hand is still fisted in my hair, dragging me with him as he storms to the control desk, slamming the override keys, flipping feed after feed, moving faster now, sharper now. “He’s inside the building,” Damien mutters, more to himself than to me. “He’s inside. He’s watching. He’s closer than I thought.”
My heart crashes against my ribs, a snare drum beneath his grip. “Don’t look away from the screens,” he snaps, dragging the second monitor into split view.
His voice is flat. Focused. Deadly. I can’t look away.
He’s there. A figure. Blurry. Brief. Passing the stairwell feed three floors below us. Damien slams the emergency lockdown on the building. Steel bolts grind into place. The exits deadlock. The lifts freeze. The cage isn’t just for me anymore. It’s for him, too.
“You won’t move unless I tell you to.” Damien’s breath is a razor against my ear. “You won’t breathe unless I say.” His grip on my throat tightens. “You’ll tell me if the clamp bites.”
I nod, my throat crushed under his palm. Damien slides his gun from his holster, the motion calm, efficient, terrifying. He clicks the safety off. His thumb presses against my pulse.
His other hand fists in my hair. “You’ll count your breaths while I’m gone.” His voice is steady, but his muscles are carved from stone. “You’ll keep your legs open.” His thumb taps the clamp.“You’ll keep this on.”
I nod frantically, breathless, desperate.
“Say it.”
“I’ll count my breaths,” I gasp, my voice cracking, my body trembling. “I’ll keep my legs open. I’ll keep the clamp on.”
“Good girl.” His teeth graze my cheek, his gun pressed to the small of my back. “You’ll beg for me to come back.” My throat locks. “Say it.”
“I’ll beg for you to come back.”
A cruel smile ghosts over his lips. “You’ll beg until you believe I will.”
He presses his lips to mine, sharp and bruising, stealing what little air I have left. And then he’s gone. The door slams. The bolt snaps. And I’m alone.
I drop to the floor, my legs spread, the clamp biting every time my thighs twitch, every time I dare to breathe. I lose track of time until the door grinds open again.
Damien is back. His boots are slick with blood. He doesn’t speak. He just kneels in front of me, his breath sharp, his eyes wild, and he drags me into his lap like he can’t stand the distance for one more fucking second.
His hand fists in my hair. His lips crush against mine. He tastes like sweat and blood and adrenaline. His other hand slides between my legs. His thumb presses the clamp deeper, grinding it against me until I sob into his mouth.
“Say thank you,” he growls against my lips.
“Thank you,” I gasp.
“For what?”
“For coming back.”
His grin is a violent thing. “You’ll always beg for me.” His thumb circles harder, sharper, crueler. “You’ll always wait.”
“Yes,” I sob, my body trembling in his grip, the edge already tearing me apart.
“You’ll always stay.”
“Yes.”
He presses his lips to my ear, his breath filthy and hot. “You’ll cum for me now, little spider.”
