Maybe just this once…
I bite my lip, rolling the bruised and abused lip between my teeth.
He watches me closely, studying every movement like he’s trying to interpret a dead language hidden in the lines of my body.
“Are you only saying that because you think it’ll work?” I ask, my voice husky and uneven.
His mouth is still angled towards my ear, with his eyes locked onto mine. Slowly, he shakes his head, his face severe and gaze intense.
“You’re telling the truth?” I push, my voice hitching with the desperation for him to just lie and tell me no.
“Yes, Adeline,” he whispers.
I close my eyes, resignation seeping from my pores. Sensing the change, his hand travels across my flat stomach. I tense beneath his touch, goosebumps rising on my skin.
His long fingers latch onto the zipper of my hoodie, slowly pulling it down, parting the material at a painful pace. The sound of the metal teeth separating disrupts the sound of my erratic breathing.
“Don’t torture me,” I bite out, anger flashing from his deliberately slow pace.
A wicked smile flashes, and even the mirror can’t lessen the cruelty.
“Poor little mouse,” he taunts. “You’re sadly mistaken if you thought I was going to make this anything but painful.”
Chapter 30
The Manipulator
H e has the strangest ability to suck the air from my lungs with a simple look. And when his terrifying words accompany the deadly stare, it feels like I don’t have any lungs at all.
The hoodie parts and he slowly pulls it down my arms. The material drops to the floor, where muddy shoes have trekked across a thousand times tonight.
It feels like a cruel metaphor. Along with my clothes, my flesh and soul will be stained tonight.
“Someone could come in here,” I whisper, my voice barely penetrating the tension in the air.
He smiles—a wicked smile that tells me he wouldn’t mind if someone did.
“What do you think they’d do?” he implores as he lifts my shirt, the pads of his fingers grazing my skin. Goosebumps rise, a physical reaction from the electricity dancing across my skin wherever he touches me.
“Do you think they’d watch?” he asks. “Do you think they’d enjoy the sight of your naked flesh on display? Maybe they would get off on seeing your dripping pussy reflected back at them everywhere they look. Or the pretty flush on your chest when you come. I think they’d even enjoy watching your eyes roll to the back of your head when my cock fills you so fully, you can’t fit any more of me inside you.”
A shot of fear injects straight into my heart, forcing the muscle into overdrive. But yet, my body still responds in a much darker way.
Just like his words, I feel my pussy pulsate as my panties gradually dampen until it’s exactly like he said—dripping.
Would I be okay with a stranger watching? I don’t think so. But something about the way he paints the picture makes me wonder if I’d let it happen anyway.
“You’d be okay with other people seeing me naked?” I challenge breathlessly, watching my shirt flutter to the black floor. His fingers drift up my spine, slow and deliberate. They burn like lava searing my flesh.
“No,” he murmurs in my ear. I watch him through the mirror, his eyes drifting down until they’re targeted on my chest. The band of my bra tightens, the material biting into my skin before it loosens. The black lacy cups supporting my breasts fall and bare me completely.
My nipples are painfully tight. When he catches sight of my hardened peaks, his tongue drifts across his lower lip as if he’s salivating at the sight.
“You want to know what I’d do?” he questions. “I would let them watch. I would let them watch me claim you as mine and own every inch of your body. They would watch my cock fill every one of your holes and then watch you cry because of how hard you came. And then I’d fucking kill them. My cock would still be wet from your cum as I’d slice their throats for even daring to look at what’s mine.”
The fear inside me tightens into a sharp point, threatening to pop the balloon of sanity I have left.
“You’re psychotic,” I gasp. This time he laughs, the dark rumble traveling straight to the apex of my thighs.
“You will learn to love it,” he murmurs distractedly. His attention has been pulled away as his hands drift across my flat stomach and cup my breasts. I don’t have small breasts by any means, I was blessed with good genes. But the size of his hands—they’re so big that they make my breasts look small, barely overflowing his hands.
He’s a monster. Inside and out.
Still, I feel my panties becoming more drenched.
It shouldn’t be possible for the body to concurrently feel hate and desire, but I suppose we would all be lifeless without the complexities of human emotion.
He squeezes my breasts, nearly to the point of pain.
“I’m going to fuck these soon,” he promises before releasing them and moving his hands to the button of my jeans.
With a single flick of his hands, my actions creep in no stealthier than a bank robber in a vault full of money.
What the fuck are you doing, Addie?
Fuck, I don’t know. This is wrong. So, very wrong. But I don’t stop him from unzipping my jeans. Nor do I stop him from hooking his thumbs on either side and pulling them down.
He helps me out of my shoes first and then slips the jeans completely free. I’m left in nothing but my black lacy thong.
I swallow, my heart racing as I take in our reflection. He’s still fully clothed, his eyes ping-ponging across the mirrors to look at every angle of my undressed state. He looks as if he can’t decide which mirror to settle on. I fight the urge to cover myself. I find the act of hiding more embarrassing than standing almost fully naked in front of a beautiful man.
“You have to undress, too,” I insist. No way am I going to be the only one left exposed.
Finally, he comes out from behind me and stands before me. It hurts to meet his mismatched eyes. It feels more real when I’m not looking at them through a glass mirror.
For the first time, this moment with Zade feels consensual. And I’m not sure if I want that. But what fucking sense does that make? To not want it to be consensual.
Yet, there’s some sick part of me that wants him to force this. So I can play victim later? Go on pretending that my pussy isn’t weeping for him and that I’m not anticipating the feel of him inside of me?
It’s easier to play the victim when you’re not the mastermind behind all your bad decisions.
“If you really want that, little mouse, then you’re going to have to do it,” he says quietly. He looks at me as if he doesn’t believe I’ll willingly undress him. And I think he knows what that look does to me. The asshole knows exactly how incapable I am of backing down from a challenge.
I pay him the same respect he paid me. I undress him slowly. Gently. Deliberately brushing my fingers against his skin and earning my own shivers and growls of impatience.
I gasp when I remove his shirt. The scars on his face don’t end there. Two severe knife wounds blemish his skin—one cutting across his heart and the other across his defined abs. The skin is raised and jagged, a stark pink against his tanned skin.
And they still hurt him.
When I brush my fingertips over them, he tenses beneath my touch and bares his teeth.
It’s not a physical pain. These scars have long healed. But they’re like icebergs. They’re unmistakable and imposing on the outside, but beneath the surface is something much bigger and threatening. Something capable of sinking someone to the pits of their depravity, just like the Titanic.
They hurt him deeply on the inside, and I really want to know what caused them.
Where there aren't scars, there are intricate tattoos. A dragon coils up his side and across his chest, fire blooming from its mouth and down Zade's shoulder. A mermaid rests on the opposite side, a beautiful woman
peering over her naked shoulder.
The mirrors allow me a full view of all the others covering his body—down both arms and his entire back. All beautiful and expertly done.
"You didn't tattoo over any of your scars," I observe quietly, brushing my finger over the dragon's face. In fact, it looks like the tattoos deliberately evade the raised flesh.
"I don't hide from my failures."
His failures aren't the only thing that make his body beautiful. He's packed to the brim with muscle but not too bulky. His physique makes it very clear he can kill you with his pinky without looking like he takes steroids for breakfast.
And as if that doesn’t turn my knees to jelly, the thick veins roping from his neck, down to his thick corded arms, and to his massive hands are my undoing.
He’s… fucking phenomenal.
Carefully, he watches me, the intensity in his eyes blazing as I study him. He's nearly vibrating beneath my slow perusal, so I move on and resume my torture. It takes a total of zero seconds before he’s bristling with the need to fuck me.
I feel so much power in my fingertips, I can’t imagine how much power I’d have if I loved him.
With every inch of his skin revealed, I grow shakier and wetter. It’s not fair for someone to be so perfect, marred and scarred as he is. If anything, the obvious abuse his body has endured only makes him that much more edible.
I choke on air when I pull down his pants, his hard cock jutting out from the confines of his jeans. It will never get any less intimidating, no matter how many times I see it.
Not unless I suddenly accept death via dick one day.
When he’s entirely naked, I take a big step back from him and look around. I stare at him from every angle the mirrors provide, just like he did with me.
Thick thighs, tight round ass, and a defined back that I want to rub myself all over, and the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen.
I want to run away. Far, far away.
This man is going to ruin me after tonight. I can taste it on my tongue.
“Are you scared?” he asks in another dark whisper. He’s staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face.
“Yes,” I answer truthfully.
He smiles, and the sight nearly brings me to my knees.
It’s not right—how beautiful he is. He’s definitely the fucking Devil. I’m sure of it now more than ever.
“You should be,” he says, his voice lilted with danger.
I take another step back, but he doesn’t move to stop me.
“Get on your knees, little mouse,” he orders darkly. I pause, unsure if I should listen or find the common sense I dropped somewhere on the way into the House of Mirrors and run.
“Don’t make me ask twice,” he growls, his face dropping to a severe expression. He tilts his jaw down, glaring down at me.
The danger in his face scares me, and my juices dampen my thighs in response.
“I don’t want you to ask me,” I say slowly. Confusion flits across his eyes for a brief second, and I show him exactly what I mean at that moment.
I turn and start to run.
But he’s too fast. His hand snaps out and wraps around my hair, yanking me backwards.
A sharp gasp escapes as I go weightless. He manages to twist my body so I land painfully on my knees. Just like we both wanted.
“You like it when I force you?” he snarls, yanking my head back until I’m looking up at him. His cock brushes against my cheek, warning me of what’s coming.
“You like being a bad little girl, don’t you? You like to defy me because you love it when I scare you. You’re a silly little girl playing with fire,” he taunts, a cruel snarl on his face.
Tears prick my eyes from the force of him holding my hair. Burning, just like the inferno of ire and lust in his eyes. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think there’s a blaze of fire behind me, reflecting in his mismatched eyes.
“Tell me, little mouse, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?”
“Better,” I hiss, the dormant hate for him reawakening. Something very dark and dangerous shutters over his eyes. He arches that damn brow, and I immediately shrink in on myself.
It was a lie. We both know it.
That’s the first thing I learned when I was put in Catholic school as a child. Good girls don’t lie.
The second lesson is don’t trust the Devil and his influence. But what they forgot to mention is not to piss him off once you’ve been influenced.
Maybe because that’s common fucking sense.
My lip trembles as I berate myself for being so stupid. The bitterness and distrust are still churning beneath the surface. I don't know why I thought I could let him dominate and fuck me without fighting back.
He’ll kill me before I ever fall in love with him.
“Open your fucking mouth, bad girl. Right now, before I suffocate you on my cock.”
This time, I listen. The second my lips part, he’s forcing the tip past my lips and straight to the back of my throat.
He hisses through his teeth, followed by another feral growl. I whimper and then gag when he forces his dick deeper. He’s hardened steel wrapped in silky satin, but the smoothness does little to ease the pain.
He’s too thick and too long for my small mouth.
Tears instantly flood my eyes and spill over as he keeps forcing himself deeper. Instinctively, my hands grip his thick thighs, pushing against him.
As quick as a snake, he snatches both of my hands up and grips them together in one hand, and resuming the hold on my head with the other. He holds my hands up high and against his stomach. It looks like I’m a woman praying on my knees, my hands bound together as I worship the devil himself.
“This is what you wanted, right?” he growls. “Fucking suck it. Now.”
I do as he says, if it means he’ll ease up. I suck hard, hollowing out my cheeks and smoothing my tongue over the thick vein on the underside of his length.
“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, finally allowing me to ease back. But in seconds, he’s pulling me back in. Guiding my head back and forth as I continue to suck him. Muttered words of encouragement and deep groans of pleasure fall from his lips while he grows more forceful. With every syllable and moan that leaves his lips, I grow more desperate to please him. To correct my mistake.
“Let’s see. Greyson Parker, he was better, huh?” My eyes widen, confused how he knows him and dreading where this is going. “I almost killed him when he ran from your house naked, so somehow I doubt he was better than me. Who else?” he enunciates the last word by shoving himself deeper into my throat. I choke, and he lets me struggle for a few seconds before easing up.
“Brandon Havatti, Carlos Santonio, Tyler Sanders…” he continues to list off every man I’ve been with. Which admittedly isn’t that many, but it’s a lot when you’ve just put their life in danger.
He jerks my head back sharply, allowing me a single breath as he says, “I’ll enjoy killing each and every one of them, little mouse.”
Before I can muster a response, let alone another breath of precious air, he’s back to choking me on his cock again.
My vision darkens around the edges from how deeply he’s plunging into my throat. It doesn’t matter how much I gag and fight against him, he only grows impossibly harder.
“You want me to come in your mouth, don’t you? You’ve been thinking about sucking my cock since you worshipped me on your knees with a belt wrapped around that pretty little neck of yours.”
I glare up at him, hate burning brighter than lust for just a moment. He smiles—or rather bares his teeth—when he sees the anger reflecting from my brown eyes.
“You want it, but you’re not going to fucking get it. You haven’t earned that privilege yet.”
Without warning, he jerks my head back hard, his cock popping free.
He lifts me up by my hair until I’m on the tip of my toes.
“Zade, please,” I whimper, my vi
sion blurred from the tears and chest tight due to lack of oxygen. I’m not even sure what I’m begging for—my life or the innocent men I’ve just put on death row.
“That’s such a good girl,” he praises. “I love it when you’re scared and begging.”
Just when I finally think I can breathe again, he steals it right back. His lips seal over mine in an electrifying kiss. My nails claw against his chest, earning me a low growl as he consumes my mouth with his own.
The energy between us crackles and explodes as we both drink from each other. Sparks of fire and the taste of bitter wine invade my tongue.
Poison has never tasted so good.
As our tongues fight for dominance, he grips my waist and lifts me effortlessly. My legs instinctively curl around his trim waist just as I feel the cool glass press against my back.
The temperature warring in my body feels just like his yin-yang eyes. The chill from the mirror threatens to send shivers curling through my body, yet the press of his body against my own is scorching hot.
A sharp bite of my pain on either side of my hips has me gasping into his mouth. In one swift tug, he rips my thong away from my body, the shredded fabric getting trapped somewhere between our bodies.
He pulls away and positions the head of his cock at the entrance.
“Spread your pussy for me, little mouse,” he orders. I open my mouth to argue, ready to tell him to just fuck me, but the look on his face renders me speechless.
Frustration mounting, I reach both hands between our bodies and do as he says. A red flush stains my chest as I spread myself apart. It’s demeaning when he knows I’m not supposed to want it.
He knows I want him to force himself inside me. And as punishment for insulting him, he’s going to make me show him how much I want him. By spreading my pussy and inviting him in.
God, I hate him.
His hands tighten on my hips painfully. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up with handprint bruises, and a part of me dreads that. It will be impossible to forget what happened when I’m wearing the imprint of his hands on my skin.
“Don’t you dare move your hands,” he threatens, a second before he’s pulling me down on his awaiting dick.
Haunting Adeline (Cat and Mouse Duet Book 1) Page 34