Chapter Eleven
The water strips away the blood, but it doesn’t touch the hunger grinding through me, not even close.
She’s in my shower. In my bathroom. In my bedroom. Naked.
I pull on black sweatpants, the fabric low on my hips, and drag the mask over my face. She already has my name, and the second I heard it leave her lips, my cock was already pushing against the zipper. Even the memory of blood on my hands and the weight of an eyeball in my palm couldn’t take it down.
She’s taking too long. One more minute and I’ll rip that door open and drag her out dripping.
I drop onto the couch in the corner, legs spread, leaning back shirtless while the room swells with the scent of the soap tangled with burning wax of the candles, and I wait.
The bathroom door opens and the candlelight flickers against the walls, shadows shifting over the bed. She steps out in my shirt, damp black hair spilling over her shoulders, water droplets sliding down the cotton and clinging against her thighs. Her eyes find me first, and her breathing changes, her chest lifts higher, faster beneath the fabric.
“So you like sitting in the dark?” she says, arms folding across her chest.
I don’t answer.
“Did you shower with the mask on?” Her gaze roams from my face to my chest, lingering on the pull of muscle, and the hard line of veins along my forearms.
“You’re still standing.”
Her brow furrows. “What does that mean?”
I let the silence stretch, spread my legs wider, my voice sinking low. “Show me how much of a good girl you can be.” My arms stretch across the back of the couch, a space waiting for her between my thighs.
She stays where she is, staring at me.
“On your knees, hellcat.” The growl comes from deep in my chest.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.
“Take your mask off,” she pushes back.
My mouth curves under the fabric. “Do as you’re told, and you can remove it yourself.” My gaze moves over every inch of her: the shape of her hips under the shirt, the hem brushing high against her thighs, the warm glow of her skin in the candlelight.
“Now, Tamsin,” I order and she drops to her knees without another word, legs parting just enough, one hand tugging the shirt lower between her thighs.
Her cheeks heat, and she says nothing.
“Now crawl to me.”
I wait for her to bite back, to throw some little verbal blade my way but she doesn’t, her mouth curves instead and she leans forward. Her ass lifts, the hem of my shirt slipping forward showing just enough bare skin to drive me insane.
She moves, every shift of her hips, every bend of her limbs, is provocative, a predator making the prey believe they have control. My jaw tightens, cock strains against the thin fabric of my pants, already aching. My eyes drag over her, taking in the rise of her body, the sway of her movement, the faint brush of her breasts under the cotton.
I spread my legs wider, making space and she closes the distance, stopping between my thighs before sinking back onto her heels. Her hands settle between her kneesin silent offering.
What she doesn’t realize is that I gave myself to her the moment I watched her cut her first victim’s balls off.
“Such a good girl,” I growl. “Pull it off.”
I brace my forearms on my knees, eyes falling shut for a breath, waiting for the moment her fingers take what no one else has ever had.
“Are you sure?” she whispers, softer now.
“I am.” My hands curl into the fabric of my sweatpants, holding steady.
Her fingers skim the edge of my mask, brushing my skin before she begins to lift past my chin, my mouth, my nose, then finally over my eyes. Her breath catches, her gaze locks to mine, and I see the impact hit her.
