56. A Nazi Spy

56. A Nazi Spy
DAY THREE

I stare at Emara, she is lying on the bed and blinking at me with her innocent blushing red face. 

Emara is trying to poison me? 

Her teeth sink slowly into her bottom lip and with one hand, she starts untying the knot of her DIY dress, before lying back on the bed.

My heart thrashes. My instincts goes at war, as brain screams.. 

She laced herself with toxic and now she is inviting you to taste her poison. 

What? She did? I ask myself, not believing it.

Her lips part and her chest tightens around the bedsheet as she takes deep breaths. Her body is rising and falling under the sheet desperately like it needs to set free. 

Yes. She hates you. She wants you dead. 

“Don’t you want to make love to me?” Emara asks, slowly rubbing her thighs seductively.

Do not fall for her Dakota! 

Listen to me. She is poison.

My hands clench into fists inside my pockets as I watch her delicate fingers undo the second knot of the bedsheet wrapped around her hips. 

Like a seductress, she unties it while keeping her bewitching eyes locked on me. I gulp, feeling my throat dry up.

But, how could she lace herself with cyanide? That’s impossible. I question my sanity.

Emara reclines back onto the bed. Her legs part slightly and a deep moan escapes her throat. A low, sinful moan that would even make Satan sweat. 

She knows about them. She read about the experiment. She is one of them. 

A Nazi. The darkness whispers back.

“Do you think I am prettier than the whore in your painting?” Her voice sounds like velvet temptation as she runs her fingers along the inside of her thighs, slowly parting them.

The fabric slips lower, gliding down the curve of her hips like it was made to fall at her command. My breath catches when I realize she is not wearing anything underneath. 

Not a single layer.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly parched and useless.

“Don’t you want to touch me?” Emara whispers, seductive enough to set hell on fire.

My stomach twists and my heart, whatever is left of it pounds hard, like it is warning me not to fall for her. Not again.

“Feel me..” She calls for me like a corrupted lover. Her body moves like it is begging to be touched, but all I can see is a trap. 

A silent, sexy bomb hidden in ugly sheets.

Emara is trying to kill me. 

No.. Wait! That’s insane.

Her dad is a police officer.. She can’t be a Nazi. My rational side debates with my subconscious.

Then why is she behaving that way? The voice echoes sharply in my head.

She hated you in the morning and now, suddenly she is in love with you?

“Touch me, Dakota!” Emara moans, dithering on the bed like her body is starving for mine.

My eyes burn into her, searching for the truth behind her seduction. For the line between lust and manipulation. Want and war.

What if.. She really wants me? 

Emara fondles herself, slowly and shamelessly as she begs me, “Touch me like I am the only girl in the world.”

A chill runs down my spine and I fist my hands inside my pockets, forcing myself not to give in to her command.

Hazel eyes meet me, burning with a hunger that terrifies me, “And I want to touch you like it’s my last day.”

God! Help me.

It’s absurd how some sick, twisted part of me still wants her. Still wants to believe that maybe she means it.

That she is not lying again, and behind her sweet moans and soft skin, there is something real, not just another cruel hallucination dressed as affection.

What if.. She started feeling something for me too? A tiny hope sparks in me.

Her body shifts again under the sheet, coiling like a snake and I swear I see death sigh beneath it.

Beautiful. Merciless and seductive as the devil in silk.

And maybe, I am stupid enough to die for it.

No! She doesn’t want you. She hates you. The voice inside me hisses darkly.

Emara sent you to jail. She spit in your food. She loathes you. 

I grit my teeth, remembering how she played me, cunning like a fox.

She laced herself with poison, now trying to seduce you. To kill you.

Even after knowing the harsh truth, I couldn’t tear my eyes off her. Not even when I want to. 

And then, she spreads her thighs.

God.

“Make me yours.” Emara moans roughly, clutching the sheets.

My pulse drums violently. Every muscle in body screams at me move, to run over to her, rip that hideous bedsheet off her and kiss the life out of her. Like I always wanted.

Touching her, would be like touching heaven. 

That’s only possible after you die. The voice whispers in my head.

And kissing her, would be an instant death.

I stay cemented on the spot, and just stare at her, confused, betrayed by my own heart.

“Please. Oh, fuck!” She groans again, and I close my eyes, just for a second to quiet the storm in my head.

But her subtle scent, her needy voice, her naked desperation seep in through my cracked soul I have tried so hard to seal.

Emara sits up. Her hair is a wild halo of lust framing her face erotically, while heavy-siren-seductive eyes stare back at me with a glint of innocence in them.

She is venom, beautifully gift wrapped in desire.

And now, she is on all four and crawling towards me sensually.

Like a snake, she slithers to me seductively and like a dog on a leash, I remain chained to my spot. 

I can’t run towards her. 

I can’t run away from her.

My heart races vigorously and I feel scared. Because I don’t know which Dakota will move first.

Just then, Emara raises her hand and touches me. 

A zap of electricity ripples through me, breaking the lock of the cursed gate, that I have kept sealed under the control of pills and restraint.

Chains snap in me and suddenly, I am dragged into pitch black darkness, as something darker and far more dangerous rises to the surface.