The chain of my lamp gets yanked, blooming warmth through the dark and forcing me to see the stains and splatters he’s sitting back down with, the frustration of his plop wafting a mix of gasoline and bleach. “This? What do mean bythis?”
“You kill people,” I rush out with a squeak, my throat thickening. “I hate myself for not hating you.”
Studying me, he reaches out to my throat, tenderly drawing the pads of his fingers down my skin. “I don’t have morals when it comes to protecting you. You understand?”
Caging my neck in his big hand, he tilts his head, giving me a faint smirk to let me know he’s pleased with my flushed silence—all while using his other hand to gently sweep some hair behind my ear.
“Idounderstand. But I don’t know where it’s coming from or why,” I say softly.
Pulling me toward his mouth, his smirk manifests into a sharp smile, his eyes falling heavy beneath his messy hair. “I’ve gone mad from loving you. Now… I wanna know where you’re hiding it.”
Love? Lo-oh, my God.
My next inhale is deep, numbing my face and chest. “W-w-what? What am I-”
“The blade,” he slips impossibly closer, his warm tobacco breath resting on my upper lip. “You had that wild look in your eyes while coming in here… So… where is my slut bunny hiding it?”
Determined to not let him win, even though I want to, I wanna crumble into little pieces he can arrange however he wants, my lips crinkle, trying to decide if I want to stay focused on his godly face or torment myself a bit more with the way his barbed wire chain rests on the side of his stretched neck.
Both options are wilting me.
I look away for a moment, finding the strength to flick back to him waiting patiently. “AndIwanna know how you got Carl in a tank of formaldehyde.”
Like I woke a beast that just fell asleep, his eyes darken and his grip on my throat closes. “Why were you in there? When?”
My face instantly submits to him, clawing into his pants so desperately the thick material jams beneath my short nails. “Earlier. I was told to.”
I can’t reach over a whisper. And I’d love to say it’s due to him applying pressure on my larynx.
But it’s because I’m a whore for him.
I’m entering Slutville. Here, with him, the air is packed with euphoria. It has me writhing between his legs with damp cotton candy sticking to my skin, wanting—no,needinghim to run his hands along my body to get it off.
“Who told you to?” he squints.
“I don’t know. A voice.”
“A voice,” he echoes, as if he doesn’t believe me. Swerving his mouth over to my ear, his lips grazing my skin and his exhale jetting down my neck, he coasts his hand from my hair, tracing down my side to feel my ribs. “I’m the only voice that should be in your fucking head,” he whispers roughly.
Then, he’s locking his hand tighter on my throat and sealing his voice to my mind with a kiss on my ear.
My face pulses, a prickling numbness rupturing up through my lips. I can’t speak. I’m not sure what I would say anyway. His assertive hold on me is invigorating, and his slow exploration down to my hip is sending me down a steep drop.
Fuck me. Just fuck me already.
A panting whine breaks through my nose, hazily watching him shift to look me in the eyes, his fingers toying with my waistband.
“There it is,” he taunts, his slow, deep voice amplifying the ache in my core.
I don’t care that he found it. I’m kind of hoping he’ll want to play with me, finally put his name to use and make me bleed.
Tugging it out from my shorts, his eyes trap mine and he languidly sets the blade between his teeth, loosening his hand enough to dilute the fuzz in my face.
He tips his chin up, signaling me to stand with one palm caressing down my chest, the other grabbing my waist.
“Do I have a choice?” I ask, standing anyway.
Straightening his back, he shakes his head, his eyes still ensnared to mine and his fingertips skating through the passage of my breasts.
