I’ll slip in after she’s finished waiting. When she’s raw and restless and convinced I’m not coming at all.
And when I walk in, I’ll take everything.
Her hunger. Her stillness. Her breath.
That’s when it’ll hit.
The surrender. The rush. The high she didn’t see coming.
A naughty smile curls across my mouth.
It’s after midnight when I move, two hours past her invitation andwhen she expected me—long enough for hope to crumble into doubt, long enough for her to fall asleep thinking I changed my mind.
That’s the sweet spot. When desire curdles into disappointment. When her pulse slows and her guard drops.
The front door’s still unlocked. Oversight or a dare? Maybe she wanted to believe I’d still come.
I step inside without a sound.
Black from head to toe. Combat boots. Gloves. A black hoodie covers the top of my head, pulled low over the skeleton mask that clings to my face. A silver-white skull etched in bone-white, every detail unforgiving. Hollow eyes. Sunken cheekbones. And that grin—jagged, merciless, stretched wide in bone-deep precision. A predator’s smile. Not subtle. Not meant to be. It’s a mask that whispers threat before I even touch her. The kind that says she won’t be kissed—she’ll be claimed.
The point isn’t to comfort her.
It’s to own her fear.
A sheathed knife rests at my ankle, meant to make every breath of this seem real.
The lights are off, and shadows stretch long. Silence fills the air, dense and waiting. A stillness that screams.
I push open her bedroom door without a sound. The candle she lit for me earlier is dark now, wick buried in wax, smoke lingering faint in the air. She blew it out after giving up.
I strike a match and relight it. The flame flickers to life, low and golden, casting enough light for her to see what’s coming.
She’s out cold and unaware, curled into the sheets, one leg caught in the covers, hair a wild halo across the pillow. She slipped into pajamas after she gave up on me—simple cotton shorts and a soft top clinging to every breath. No blindfold.
The necklace I gave her glints at her throat, catching the candle’s glow. Something tightens in my chest, dark and possessive. Primal.
I move closer, watching the slow rise of her breath, the faint twitch of her fingers against the mattress, and flutter of her eyelids.
I climb onto the bed, and she stirs beneath me, then goes rigid. A sharp breath catches in her throat the moment awareness hits. She knows someone’s here and it’s not a dream.
Panic flares.
Her scream tears through the dark. Her back arches, legs thrashing beneath my weight, voice cracking under the surge of fear.
I catch her wrists, pinning them above her head. She bucks hard, squirming, cursing through clenched teeth, pure adrenaline driving every movement. “No, get off me?—”
She’s playing her part. And so am I.
I clamp my gloved hand over her mouth and drop my face to hers, the skull mask filling her vision. Her eyes rip open, candlelight sparking off terror that hits hard and fast.
“Don’t move.” My voice cuts through the dark, low and rough.
She freezes the moment the knife catches the candlelight. Her breath stutters, chest rising fast, but she doesn’t scream again or fight.
Her body tells me everything—tense and trembling, lit with anticipation. Her nipples strain beneath the thin fabric of her pajama top. A flush climbs her throat, and her thighs press together.
This isn’t fear or hesitation.
