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“I swear to god, if you ruin this for me—”

It’s sprinting past me, straight into the bedroom, meowing as he passes. How can such a loud noise come from such a tiny little thing like that?

I don’t get a chance to turn around before a weight is clinging to my back, legs wrapping tightly around my torso, and the unmistakable coldness of a blade bites into my throat.

A low chuckle escapes me as I grip her legs, gently rubbing the exposed skin of her thighs as she stiffens. A million lightning strikes shoot over my skin, and a calmness flows over me at the sound of her voice. The knowledge of her being safe.

“Get the fuck out of my house before I call the police.” She forces the words into my ear in a low tone, and fuck if her threat doesn’t rush straight to my dick.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Angel.”

“Xander?” she whispers in surprise.

She hops off my back at the same time I let go of her legs, but I don’t get a chance to turn around because she’s already on me, her small body pinning me to the wall of her dark hallway. And though I can’t see her face clearly, the anger radiating off her is palpable. She presses the tip of the carving knife into the bottom of my chin, causing me to lift my head while her eyes sparkle in the small bit of light peeking through a window in one of the rooms.

“What the fuck are you doing inside my house? How did you get in?”

Her body trembles slightly with the aftershocks of fear from my intrusion. I don’t blame her. Maybe breaking in wasn’t the wisest idea.

I smile, bringing my hands to her waist, just below her silky crop top, and pulling her hips into me, the knife holding in place, but her grip on it faltering slightly.

“I wanted to see you. Make sure you were okay. You disappeared after your performance.” That word tastes bitter on my tongue, knowing that I wasn’t the only person watching, the only one she was dancing for. My grip on her tightens.

“And you think breaking in is the way to do it?” she seethes, the bridge of her nose wrinkling.

My fingertips dig into her soft skin with need. Need to be closer. The knife drops just a little bit lower between us. She doesn’t attempt to move. I lower my head so I can look into those emerald eyes, but it’s too dark; I’d give anything to see them in the light right now.

“Xander,” she hisses, pushing herself away from me forcefully. “You need to stay away from me.”

She struts back into her bedroom, and my head spins. I follow her in as she turns on a small lamp by her double bed, revealing her black silky shorts and top. The white sheets are dishevelled, and her bedside table is open.

In milliseconds, I’m spinning her around, caging her in against the wall, knife clattering to the floor. Her fiery gaze snaps to me; a sudden possessiveness sucks me under its spell. I grab both of her wrists, sliding them up the wall and gripping them both with my left hand. The knuckles on my right hand trail down over the curved slopes of her toned arms, down the side of her ribs, and I’m locked in on the way her skin erupts in goosebumps with every inch. I blink back to her eyes—they’re fixed on me. More accurately, they’re fixed on my lips.

I shouldn’t have ambushed her like this. But that unremitting feeling of wanting to be near her, never letting her out of my sight, just doesn’t relent.

“I’m not leaving,” I grit out.

She blinks, eyes burning right into me. “Get out, Xander.”

“No.” I press myself into her, firmly against her flat stomach, my hand wrapping around the back of her neck and tilting her face towards me until we’re both breathing the same air. I take this time to drink her in. The ever-so-light dusting of freckles on her face, the slope of her nose, the prominent Cupid’s bow on her plump lips.

“This isn’t normal,” she whispers, breath quickening.

“Nothing about me is normal,” I say, gently caressing her tangles of hair at the nape of her neck.

She swallows. “I need you to leave me alone.”

My nostrils flare, a twisting starting in my stomach. “That’s not an option anymore,” I whisper.

Her body presses back into me, as if she’s not controlling the movement herself.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” I ask through clenched teeth.

It doesn’t make sense. She should be running a mile from me. She needs to run a mile. She’s not safe with me; she never could be. I’m too dangerous for her. But would that even change anything?

I can feel the pounding of her heart against me, yet she makes no effort to make me leave anymore.

“I’ve been scared of worse than you,” she mutters, her face inches from mine, expression soft.