Haunting Adeline (Cat and Mouse Duet Book 1)

by H. D. Carlton

  It’s all in your head. Breathe, Addie, breathe. He’s not going to find you in here. Nana never could.

  His footsteps have disappeared from above me, meaning that he’s made his way downstairs most likely. I bite my lip hard, tangy copper filling my mouth. And still, I keep biting down.

  Shuffling and distinct noises filter through. And as the minutes pass, my breathing begins to slow.

  But then I hear the door slowly creak open, and my breathing stutters. I clamp my hand over my mouth, refusing to make a sound, even if it literally kills me.

  The closet door slides open, and his scent fills the tiny area. Leather. A hint of smoke. And something else. Something that would ordinarily make my eyes roll if it wasn’t so goddamn suffocating.

  “You can come out now, baby,” he breathes, the sound of his voice gravelly and deep.

  Oh, no. No, no, no.

  I don’t move, hoping that he’s just guessing.

  “I can smell you,” he says. And if that’s not the creepiest thing I’ve ever fucking heard, I don’t know what is.

  Risking a peek around the corner, I see him standing at the entrance of the closet. He’s not looking in my direction. His head is down, staring off at a random spot on the ground.

  “You have ten seconds before I come drag you out.” He takes a step back, and I decide to just go for it.

  I dart out, slipping past him and heading towards the door. He lets loose a deep, cruel laugh. It’s a sound I’ll hear in my nightmares for the rest of my existence.

  But I don’t stop. I run down the hallway and head for the front door, gasping when I find it locked.

  “You unlock that door and there will be consequences,” he warns. I startle at his proximity. There’s not enough time to unlock the deadbolt, knob, and chain. He’s too close.

  Sunroom. It has a back door that leads outside. I turn, and out of the corner of my eye, I see my shadow round the corner of the entranceway to the hallway I came from.

  I bolt through the living room, then the kitchen, and towards the door that leads into the backside of the hallway. Praying that he didn’t stay in the hallway, I fling open the door to find it empty. At least within five feet of me, I can’t see past the darkness beyond that.

  Heading straight for the sunroom, I barrel through the door and find him already there, leaning against the door that I need to escape out of.

  I skid on my feet, halting my momentum before I crash right into his waiting arms. I back up, chest heaving and mind racing.

  He tsks. “You’re very predictable, little mouse. We're going to have to work on that.”

  I just stand there, frozen in place as I process the fact that I won’t be able to get out of this house. He’s incredibly fast, but the scariest part is that I didn’t hear a single fucking footstep from him. I sounded like an elephant and he was quieter than a mouse.

  “You’re not touching me,” I hiss, my voice wobbly and rife with unshed tears.

  “A deal is a deal, little mouse.” He looks up at the night sky. “It is beautiful in here. I think it’s only fitting that the punishment occurs here, don’t you think? It feels like we’ve come full circle.”

  Growling, I finally force my body into action and run right back down the hallway towards the stairs.

  Maybe I can find a spot to hide again. Somewhere he won’t find me this time. My mind turns over every possibility as I swing myself around the banister and charge up the steps.

  A whisper of wind brushes against the back of my thighs, and when I glance behind me, I see him right on my heels.

  I let loose another scream, quickening my steps. I make it up the stairs and barrel down the hallway, my desperation and pure panic clouding my head. I can’t think, I can only act.

  I’m halfway down the hallway before a steel arm bands around my waist and lifts me up.

  “NO!” I scream, kicking at air as I fight his hold.

  “Oh yes, baby,” he growls, swinging our bodies towards the wall. I grunt from the impact, leaning my back against the wall and using it as leverage to kick against the bastard of a man.

  “Let me go, you fucking creepy-ass fuck—”

  “Keep talking and you’ll just make it worse.”

  I screech, out of breath and growing weaker, as he pins my flailing body against the wall.

  “We had a deal, did we not?”

  A tear spills over my lid. And then another and another until I’m on the verge of sobbing.

  “Don’t cry, little mouse,” he coos. “It’s going to get so much worse.”

  His breath skates over my cheek as he presses himself deeper into my body. He’s so much bigger, his body enveloping me until all I can see, feel, and smell is him. Warmth, leather, that unique scent that belongs to only him, and his black-clad body surrounding me.

  “I like you scared,” he whispers, sending shivers down my spine. “I like you begging and pleading. Crying out for God to save you.” I feel the touch of his hand on my face, and I flinch away. His fingers lightly trace over my cheekbone to my hair, tucking the loose strands behind my ear. “I like you trembling beneath my touch, uncontrollably.”

  “You’re sick,” I snap, doing just that. I’m shaking from head to toe, and I can’t seem to stop it.

  “You think you’re only going to beg because you’re fighting for your life, but that’s where you’re wrong. The only way I’ll be sending you to heaven is with my cock.” He grunts out a deep laugh. “And definitely my tongue and fingers, too.”

  “That will never happen,” I hiss, glaring at him with all my might. Or at least I think I am.

  His eyes are shadowed by the dim light radiating from the sconces. It feels almost like being far-sighted. Your face is so close to something, but clarity evades you. The shadows are a part of him. He carries them with him.

  “It’s time to punish you, and I’ve thought of the many ways I could do this,” he says, ignoring my jab. It only infuriates me more that he finds my lack of consent is so inconsequential. So… worthless.

  “I’ll be nice this time.” I open my mouth, but he cuts me off with a deep growl of warning, “But only if you are too, Adeline.”

  The click of my teeth snapping together is audible, pulling another grunt of amusement from him. My pride takes a hit, and I want to knee him in the balls for it, but I couldn’t lift my leg an inch if I tried.

  “What are you going to do?” I choke out, the stutter of my words in sync with the beat of my heart.

  His hot breath fans across my cheek, and I feel the glide of his lips alongside my jaw. I swallow, but I nearly choke from how dry my throat has become. Those lips descend to the column of my neck, skittering along until he pauses on the spot right below my ear.

  “I’m going to claim you,” he says, right before his teeth clamp down.

  My back arches involuntarily, repulsion and pleasure marrying in my nerves, sending misfires to my brain. All coherent thoughts escape from my mind as a result, leaving me with nothing but basic instinct.

  He groans, his teeth piercing as his tongue laps at my flesh. My mouth opens, a silent scream suctioned away just as his mouth does the same, drawing in deep like he’s drinking the essence from my body. And then he’s pulling back, dragging his teeth along my skin as he lets go, leaving the spot smarting with pain.

  My hands press into his chest for stability or to push him away, I am not sure. Though my question is quickly answered when instinct coerces my hands to curl, gripping his hoodie tight and anchoring myself to him as if he’s my lifeline. When really, he’s the one who’s killing me.

  Severe shivers wrack my body when he licks a wet trail down to the juncture of my neck. He pauses, and it feels like my body is hanging over a pointed knife. I hold my breath, the anticipation rattling my bones.

  And then he’s biting down again, pulling an animalistic sound from the depths of my chest. He does this, over and over, leaving a trail of bruises down my neck and across my shoulder.
<
br />   I’m breathless by the time he pulls away.

  “Good girl,” he breathes, his own voice airy. Somehow, that makes me feel worse. I want him to hate it as much as I should’ve.

  I can’t explain why I do what I do next. I’ll ask God later. But in that moment, I’m so overcome with a tsunami of emotions that I reach up and bite his cheek.

  Hard.

  Blood spurts into my mouth, but I don’t care, I just bite harder.

  Maybe I want to hurt him back. Give him a taste of his own medicine. Make him feel whatever I feel.

  Regardless of the reason, he doesn’t take kindly to it. His hand wraps around my throat, pushing me back while he rips his face away. My head thumps against the wall, a dull throb radiating from the spot.

  He’s squeezing tightly, but I don’t care. I feel justified. If he kills me here and now, at least I can say I left one last mark on him.

  He growls low, a sound of frustration and something else that I can’t put a name to.

  I stare up at him, blood coating my tongue and trailing down my chin. It’s a small amount. I didn’t get the chance to rip his face to shreds like I wanted. But the small dots of blood on his face leave me feeling invigorated all the same.

  “I’m beginning to think you like to be punished, which means I’m just going to have to do better.”

  Before I can react, he’s lifting me up and tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  “Fucker!” I snap, banging my fists against his back. I am not a potato.

  A sharp slap to my ass is his only response.

  He carries me down the steps, takes a left turn into the hallway and down towards the sunroom. The entire time I fight, kicking and punching, but he acts like a butterfly is attacking him.

  As if he hears my frustrations, he says, “Baby, the wind can do more damage than what you’re doing.”

  “Want to see my teeth again, asshole? I’ll keep making your face uglier.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, but we both know my scars make you wet,” he retorts, amusement coloring his words. I growl, frustrated by how fucking unruffled he is. And because he’s not entirely wrong.

  No, dumbass, he is wrong.

  More curses flood out of my mouth, but they’re cut short when he drags my body down his front until my legs are wrapped around his waist, and he’s cradling me to his chest.

  Oh, fuck this.

  I lift my hands to scratch his face, maybe do a little eye-gouging, but instead, I just squeal. He swoops me backward, my stomach bottoming out as he sets me on the ground, flat on my back. He kneels before me, his arms on either side of my head as he braces himself over me.

  Above him, the stars are twinkling bright, and the nearly full moon is casting a soft white glow down in the room.

  It’s almost dooming that the sky happens to be completely clear of clouds tonight. Overcast skies constantly plague Seattle.

  I swallow, tears pricking my eyes.

  “Such a gentleman, letting me look at the stars as you murder me,” I mouth off, forcing the words through my tightened throat.

  I really need to shut the fuck up. But I can’t seem to stop myself. Apparently, when I’m in a life-threatening situation, all I can manage to do is make it worse.

  Some might call it fearlessness, but I just call it stupidity.

  He supports himself on one hand as the other reaches behind him. I open my mouth, gearing up for more insults, when his arm reappears, a gun in his hand.

  Another audible click of my teeth later, and I’m back to being choked silent with fear.

  “You let a man touch you in here. Make you come,” he states, his tone bled dry of emotion. “Normally, I’d replace his fingers with my own, but I think you need something else to teach you a lesson.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry,” I rush out, my eyes widening as he points the gun to my chest. “I-I’m really, rea—”

  “Shh,” he hushes. “You’re not sorry yet, little mouse. But you will be.”

  Chapter 16

  The Manipulator

  M illions of thoughts run through my head on what I could possibly say to get out of this. I’m sorry clearly wasn’t good enough.

  “You’re going to shoot me?”

  My bladder is threatening to explode, and the knowledge that I might die in a puddle of pee brings tears to my eyes.

  “I’ve already said I’m not going to kill you,” he responds, his tone dripping with impatience. He punctuates his response by dragging the tip of the gun down through the valley of my breasts. The gun continues its path down my stomach, stopping at the edge of my leggings.

  “Take these off.”

  My lip trembles and a single tear slides down my temple.

  “Please, don’t do this.”

  He cocks a brow, and the act is damning. He looks so damn unimpressed with my pleas, causing another tear to trace the path of the first.

  “Now, Adeline.”

  Sniffing, I finally listen. Hooking my thumbs in the band of my leggings, I pull them down. I’m only able to reach mid-thigh before his body gets in the way.

  He takes the hint, lifting up and ripping the leggings down the rest of the way.

  More tears follow suit.

  “T-shirt next,” he orders, jerking his gun to signal his order. I lift up and slide the shirt over my head, laying back down with a huff.

  “Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes tracing over the curves of my body. Fucker is lucky I’m wearing my black lace set tonight.

  He doesn’t fucking deserve it, either.

  He leans over me again, his mouth kissing the last bruise he left on my shoulder.

  “Do you know what these mean?” he whispers, kissing another spot. I shudder beneath his touch, electricity sprouting from the point of contact and dancing across my skin.

  I don’t answer, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

  “They mean that I own you. Marked you as mine.”

  The tip of his tongue darts out, trailing my flesh as he moves down towards my breasts.

  “Don’t—”

  His teeth pierce the swell of my left breast before I can finish my pointless demand. I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut as he leaves another mark on my skin.

  Once he’s satisfied, he renews his path with his mouth, leaving hickeys on both of my tits and several across my stomach. And all I can do is just take it. Because that gun in his hand is keeping me pliant—just like he planned.

  When my body is well and abused from his teeth and tongue, he lifts up and forces my thighs open. I strain against him, but it only hurts me in the end. He’s too strong.

  His pointer finger curls in the edge of my thong, tracing the lining from the juncture of my thigh, down towards my center. Before he reaches my clit, he pulls the material out and runs his finger up and down the fabric, his finger a mere inch from my pussy.

  I want to cover my face because I know he’s feeling my body’s betrayal.

  “These are soaked,” he rasps out, his lips still wet from his saliva.

  “That’s called discharge,” I snap, hoping my lie turns him off. He smiles in response.

  “As much as I hate to say this to you, I’m no stranger to a woman’s pussy and what it feels like when it weeps for me.”

  I curl my lip in disgust. “Last time I checked, most girls weep because they’re upset. Take a hint.”

  He chuckles. “Little mouse, that’s exactly what I’m doing.” He then pulls my thong to the side, baring my pussy to him, and the arousal glistening from within. He mutters a curse under his breath as his eyes devour every inch of me. Another tremble of my lips has me biting down on the traitorous flesh.

  Keeping one finger hooked in my underwear, he points the gun in my face with the other. I recoil, pinching my eyes shut and letting loose a startled yelp.

  “Relax, I just want you to suck on it.”

  It takes several seconds for his words to process. To process that he didn’t pull the
trigger, and I’m not dead. When they do, my eyes snap open, and I glare at him.

  “Why the fuc—” He taps the tip of the gun on my mouth, effectively cutting me off. The rest of my words dissipate as he slides the gun across my lips, as if he’s painting them with lipstick.

  “Suck,” he orders, his tone deepening with finality. Closing my eyes against more tears, I open my mouth and let him guide the gun between my teeth. I squeeze my lids tighter as I twirl my tongue over the cold metal, cringing from the nasty taste.

  “Such a good girl,” he says, pulling the dripping gun out, a trail of saliva following until it snaps.

  My entire body locks when I feel the cool metal slide against my clit. I flinch against the foreign touch of an incredibly dangerous weapon.

  Pure terror washes over me, and it takes all of my strength to keep from full on sobbing. Holding a gun to my head is far less intimidating than it being held between my legs. A gunshot to the head is instant death, but this? This would be slow and painful. Torturous.

  He leans down, close enough for his hot breath to fan across my core. I lift up for a better view just as he looks up at me through long, thick lashes, his mismatched eyes sparkling with delight. Right when I open my mouth to ask what he's doing, he sticks out his tongue, saliva pooling to the tip and dripping off onto my pussy.

  "Can never be too wet, can you, little mouse?"

  Sitting up, he circles my entrance with the tip of the gun, the metal slipping against my skin.

  “Oh my God, please do—” This time, my words are cut off from the feel of him dipping the gun past my folds. Just the tip, but enough to close my throat, only allowing a startled squeak to escape.

  He laughs cruelly. “You even sound like a mouse.”

  I’d snap at him if I wasn’t frozen solid. I can’t look away. I just watch him push the gun inside me, my rounded eyes barely processing what I’m seeing. What I’m feeling.

  Slowly, he works the gun inside me, drawing out both pleasure and pain. I clench my jaw, shuddering from his ministrations but refusing to make a sound. I won’t give him that satisfaction.