CHAPTER 50
I finally look—and I burn at the sight.
Her chin quivers. “There’s blood everywhere,” she whispers, not looking away.
I stand and brush a lock of hair from her face.
“I’ll clean it up,” I whisper, my voice cracking at how close we are.
My knuckles skim her cheek, featherlight. She’s warm.
Her skin fits beneath my hand like it belongs there. My fingers drift down—jaw, throat.
She swallows. I feel it. Fixate on it.
Every movement recorded. Memorized and etched into me.
I lower my touch to her collarbone. Goosebumps rise as I move.
I brush the side of her breast. Grazing my thumb over her nipple.
The sound she makes—soft, guttural, needy—scrapes across me like silk and barbed wire.
She wants it.
I love that she wants it. But I know she’s still living by rules and boundaries.
Limits we’re going to dismantle.
She jolts—like her own moan snapped her awake. She pushes my hand away like it burns, but I’m on her in a breath, spinning her to face the counter.
One hand on her hip, grounding.
The other circles her throat—firm, claiming. She gasps as I pull her back against me. My cock hard, pressed tight.
I lean in, my voice in her ear like worship wearing teeth.
“Don’t run from me. Ever.”
She should fight my touch. Defy me with her glare. But instead… her thighs press together. Her tongue flicks out to wet her bottom lip, and I feel it in my gut like a match against gasoline.
She still tries to pull away, but I press her harder against me.
“Do you fucking understand?” My grip tightens on her throat, her hip, and it about kills me.
She freezes when I rock into her—then nods. Not out of fear. Out of something deeper.
Something darker.
My hands guide her forward. She bends, obedient. Bracing on the counter. Trembling just enough to make my hands twitch with restraint.
“You don’t know how much I’ve waited for you,” I whisper, dragging my hand up her spine, slow as sin.
“You don’t scare me.” She glances back—masking how she presses her ass into me.
She wants me to feel it.
So I help her.
Letting her know just how badly I want her. And she stays there. Locked in place by a touch she didn’t ask for but can’t resist.
“We’re going to have fun.”
I reach between her thighs, parting the lips of her pussy.
And fuck.
She’s soaked.
My finger slides through her like she’s been waiting just as long. A sound escapes me—dark and pleased. She clenches. I could slide into her right now.
Her shame is palpable.
She thinks I don’t notice the flush on her cheeks. That this humiliates her and ignites her at the same time.
“Wet already,” I murmur, grinning. My lips brush her ear.
“I knew you would be.”
I make her straighten and turn to face me. Her nipples graze my chest with every breath.
“You’re a monster,” she whispers. Her pupils blown wide, eyes brimming with tears.
I grin under the mask. She doesn’t back away.
Slowly, I lift my soaked finger. Pull my mask back slightly.
“I’m your monster.”
Then I slip my finger into my mouth.
And her lips pop open.
The taste of her coats my tongue—salt, heat, and everything I imagined, but more. It lingers like a secret I’ll never tell.
She watches. Her embarrassment is a living thing. So is her want.
The war between them flashes across her face, and I memorize it.
I lean in closer than I should. My mask brushes her throat, and I inhale deeply.
Skin. Sweat. Adrenaline.
I breathe her in like I’m making a memory I can carry into every nightmare.
Then I step back. The space I leave feels like a wound.
I watch it land. That cold rush. That ache she wasn’t expecting.
She misses me already.
She hates it. I fucking love it.
Silence stretches.
Tension, tight as a wire.
“Are you…” Her voice trembles. “Are you going to rape me?”
The world narrows to her.
I stare.
Long enough for her to doubt asking.
Long enough for her to feel the weight of it.
A slow shake of my head. No words. Just that. Calm. Final.
No.
That’s not who I am.
I don’t take what’s mine.
I make it give in.
When I finally speak, my voice is low. A promise she won’t forget.
“Not unless you beg me to, Sunshine.”
Because when she begs, when she asks, then she’ll understand:
She was mine long before I touched her.
Her heart pounds. I see it in her pulse. The way her chest rises too fast.
My hand slides down her thigh—not to grope, but to soothe. Pressure. Steady.
The other threads through her fingers. She lets me.
I lift her leg, guide her foot toward the bath.
My palm curves around her calf. For a second, I wonder if she feels it too—that hum between us. Divine. Profane.
The water rushes over her toes, steam curling up.
“Hot enough?” I ask, though I already know it’s not.
“No,” she breathes. Soft and raw.
I adjust the water without a word, without looking away, and help her into the tub.
She folds in on herself, arms wrapping tight over her chest like armor.
I lean down, bracing my palm on the tub’s edge. Close enough she can hear me over the water.
“Don’t come out until the water runs clear.”
There’s blood on her skin. Her hair. Her soul. But it won’t be there for long.
My eyes drink her in—every bruise, every tremble.
“Can you do that?” I murmur, voice low, meant only for her. “Can you be my good girl?”
A veil drops over her face. Lust flickers in her eyes as she stays locked in that trance.
Oh, my little Sunshine liked that.
She nods. Barely. But she does.
“Good,” I whisper.
And it’s not just praise—it’s a benediction.
I let my thumb brush her lip, soft and reverent.
That one touch cracks something open in her. She won’t admit it yet, but I know what it is.
The darkness behind her sunshine.
She’s so fucking beautiful, and I don’t want to leave. But I have to.
I need to erase everything that happened out there. I need to protect her again.
I slip the gloves into my back pocket.
Gather the pile of blood-stained clothes and shoes, pausing at the door for one last look before I leave her to fall apart.
I descend the stairs with her clothes in one hand and a thousand thoughts in the other.
Behind me, I hear the little beast trotting after me like I owe him answers.
His favorite person is behind a closed door, unraveling in hot water—and he’s stuck with me.
Tough luck, buddy.
We’re still on shaky ground, the dog and me.
He doesn’t trust me. I haven’t forgiven him for barging into her life.
But tonight? I resent him a little less.
I glance down at the tiny, judgmental gremlin with fur. His ears perk like he’s ready to help.
“Body first,” I say, pointing toward the side door. "Then you get a bath.”
He huffs like he understands.
Like he doesn’t appreciate being second priority.
Yeah, well, tough shit, you little asshole.
I’ve been in the bath so long I’m pretty sure my skin is about to develop scales.
The water went pink. Then cloudy. Then lukewarm and useless. I drained it, refilled it and soaked again.
Scrubbed every inch of myself even though the blood was gone an hour ago. Maybe longer.
Time doesn’t feel linear anymore—it’s more like soup. Thick. Confused. Full of chunks I don’t want to stir too hard.
I dunk my head again and let the water fill my ears. It dulls the noise in the room but makes the noise in my head louder.
I press my palms to my face, hard, until all I see is red and static.
I didn’t just kill someone.
I executed him.
With control.
With intention.
And—worst of all—with satisfaction.
A soft whimper slips out of me, but I drown it with another pass of water.