Текст книги "Haunting Adeline"

Автор книги: H W Carlton

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

Chapter 14

The Manipulator

D aya put some type of block on my phone to prevent further hacking. While my brain kept circling back to the nudes, Daya’s concern was the guy having access to my phone in general. He’d be able to see all my messages, have access to my bank information, track my phone and find me wherever I go.

It seems every day, my appreciation for Daya grows. She gave me a sense of safety I didn’t realize I was missing.

I’m going to have to propose to her soon or something.

Still, I will never take another nude in my entire life, but that’s a small price to pay in the grand scheme. I’ve decided to remove the camera from my room to allow me at least some semblance of comfort. I’ll just have to hold off on walking around the house naked until something is done about this creep.

Now, if only Arch’s best friends weren’t up my asshole, then maybe I’d get an extra hour or two of sleep at night.

The rest of the day was spent in silence, both of us lost in our work.

While Daya did whatever she does, I pulled out every picture in this house and picked through them. I’ve no idea what I’m actually looking for. Maybe Gigi with another man besides my grandfather.

After an hour of looking, I realized that she tended to write the names of the people captured in the photo and the year on the back of each picture.

I searched for the name Ronaldo, but never found it.

“Halloween is coming up. We’re going to haunted houses this year, right?” Daya asks. She’s standing at my front door, about to head home for the night.

I give her a droll look. “Halloween is my entire life, Daya. Of course, we’re going to fucking haunted houses.”

For as long as I can remember, Halloween fascinated me. The creatures and creepy faces. The jump scares and impending dread that something horrific is going to happen. I’ve had an unhealthy obsession with it all.

Mom sent me to therapy specifically for my fascination with gory horror movies. She thought I was a psychopath. And really, I just get off on being scared.

I think it’s a step up from being a psycho, but the therapist disagreed.

Too often, I’d hear my mother telling my father that I was a freak. That something was wrong with me. No one in their right mind likes being scared.

But I do.

I love it.

Which is why having a stalker is the worst thing for someone like me. I’m susceptible to enjoying the fear a bit too much. My love for horror is going to get me killed one day. It’s like I was meant to be hunted.

Little mouse.

That name is going to haunt me.

I’m not prey. I’m not.

“Satan’s Affair is coming to town again, and they have new haunted houses,” Daya reminds, bringing me back to the present.

Satan’s Affair is a traveling fair that comes to town every year, staying for two nights before moving on to the next town. They set up loads of haunted houses and thrill rides. Daya and I go every year religiously.

After the first few years, the haunted houses became predictable. Since then, they change them every year, and now the traveling fair has some of the best haunted houses in the country.

“You already know I’ll be the first one in line.”

“Yeah, we know, freak,” she teases. Despite the fact that it used to be my mother’s favorite slur, I don’t let it bother me anymore.

Plenty of men have called me the same, followed up by desperate begging to fuck me again. Being a freak took on a whole new meaning a long time ago. I tend to enjoy the name now.

Daya leaves once we confirm plans for the fair night. It’s not for another few weeks, but the event has garnered a loyal fanbase and sells out every year. It got to the point where so many people would come, they had to limit the number allowed in.

They treat it like a concert to avoid lines forming outside the fairgrounds. Once tickets sell out, you won’t be able to enter. Luckily, I have a computer genius on my side, and she gets tickets for us before they even go live.

The moment the door clicks shut behind Daya, my phone buzzes. Thinking it’s Daya texting me that she forgot something, I slide my phone out and open the message without registering who it is.

The second I see the text, my heart drops.

UNKNOWN: Ready for your punishment, little mouse?

I look up and storm over to the window. He’s not standing outside. Daya is just now pulling out of the driveway and speeding off, her taillights disappearing through the trees.

I turn around, nervous he found another way inside my home. Or that he’s already in the house with me and has been the entire time.

ME: Why are you doing this?

His text doesn’t come through right away. I wait with bated breath, and when I realize I’m glaring at my phone, I nearly throw it across the room. He’s probably making me wait on purpose.

Finally, my phone buzzes. I force myself to wait a minute before opening it, just to spite him.

UNKNOWN: You haunt me. It’s only fair I return the sentiment.

I swallow, nervous energy coursing through me as I decide how to respond.

UNKNOWN: You’re so beautiful when you’re scared.

I drop the phone. Embarrassed and praying he didn’t see my blunder, I look out the window again. Still not there.

Where the fuck is he?

As if reading my thoughts, another text comes in.

UNKNOWN: I’m so close, I can smell you.

My hands tremble as I read his text over and over again. The words begin to blur as panic sets in. He’s here in my house somewhere. I run over to the kitchen, grab my handy dandy knife and storm back into the living room.

He hasn’t come out yet, but I imagine he will.

Heart racing and hands shaking, I perch myself on the edge of the rocking chair, sealing my fate.

ME: Quit being a pussy and come out then.

The second the message shoots off, I regret it. I want to snatch it back.

Footsteps sound from above me. I swallow and look up as if I’ll be able to see through the ceiling and spot him. The footsteps travel further away from me, towards my room.

My phone buzzes.

UNKNOWN: Come find me.

At this exact moment, I’m questioning my sanity. Without thought, my ass lifts off the seat and I take a single step towards the staircase. My instincts are to run towards the danger, not away.

God? Me again. We really need to talk about your life decisions when you made me.

I’m not even sure I believe in Her, but if She is real, then someone needs to smack Her hand for making me the way that I am.

Thankfully, common sense kicks in, and I stop myself from going up and finding a crazed man in my house. The smart thing would be to call the police.

There’s no way he’d be able to get out without being seen. The only way out of this house is down the steps. He can’t hide forever. At this point, I don’t even care if the officer can’t catch him. As long as someone else has proof that they saw him, too, that’ll be enough for them to take me seriously.

Another buzz.

UNKNOWN: Too scared, little mouse?

As if challenging me, a door slams shut. I startle from the noise, my heart jumping up into my throat. Even if I wanted to scream, I wouldn’t have been able to make a sound.

My chest pumps erratically as the fear grows more potent.

ME: I’m calling the police.

I can feel the judgment through the walls. Here I am, calling him a pussy and challenging him to come out. Then when the tables turn, I threaten to call the police.

Because that’s the smart thing to do, dumbass.

Then why the fuck do I feel so stupid for saying it? How is that possible?

UNKNOWN: Do you remember what I said last time?

How could I forget? The more I disobey him, the harder the punishment. I bite my lip, seriously contemplating going upstairs and finding him. I release a shaky breath.

I have a choice to make, and I already know I’m going to make the wrong one.

I resign myself and start typing.

ME: Here I come, asshole.

I keep my phone clutched in one hand and the knife in the other. No way am I going to be an idiot again and drop the knife. It’s staying firmly planted in my grip, just like it’ll be firmly planted in this dude’s face once I find him.

I make my way up the steps quietly. Though I’m not sure it really matters if he hears me coming or not. I have a dreadful feeling that even though I’m coming to find him, he’s going to find me first.

That familiar heady feeling settles in my gut. It churns like alcohol in an empty stomach. Sweat breaks across my forehead, and my mouth feels like I swallowed sand.

I’m fucking terrified.

A row of sconces on each side of the hallway provides just enough light to see that no one is there. I click the flashlight on my phone and start in the first room.

 I slowly make my way into each room, checking immediately to my left and right before entering any further. I check behind the doors and in every corner of the room.

The closet is the worst part. Opening the door and knowing that I may come face to face with a man.

A man that wants to punish me.

Tears gather in my eyes when I discover the first closet empty. My poor heart is suffering from extreme palpitations right now. I don’t think this amount of fear in my bloodstream is healthy.

Still, I forge on, finding the following two rooms completely empty as well.

There are only two more rooms and a bathroom left in this hallway. And lastly, a door at the very end of the hall that leads to the attic.

If he’s up there, he can stay there. There’s no way I’m going up in the fucking attic to find him. I will gladly admit defeat.

Sucking in a deep breath, I face my bedroom. Aside from the attic, it’s the only room left in this hallway with a closed door.

What is he feeling right now? Standing on the other side, waiting for me to enter. Our roles are reversed, this time with me lingering outside the door. Still, I’m the one left terrified while he calmly awaits me. Anticipating all the things he’s going to say to me. Do to me.

How he’s going to hurt me. Punish me.

Steeling my spine, I turn the knob and push open the door. When it swings open, a scream climbs up my throat.

He didn’t even try to hide.

My balcony doors are wide open, the moonlight spilling in. And there, a dark figure shrouded in white light, is my shadow. Staring at me with a wicked smile on his face and a blade in his hand.

Chapter 15

The Manipulator

I ’m completely immobilized beneath his stare. I can only imagine the look on my face when I see him standing there, waiting for me.

The sconces behind my bed are lit, offering dim lighting. Enough for me to get a clear view of him. He’s clad in all black. Leather boots, jeans that wrap tightly around broad thighs, and a matching hoodie that looks a size too small with the way he fills it out.

Still, I can’t see much of his face—that damn hood.

My tongue darts out, wetting my dry lips.

“Take off your hood,” I say, a slight tremor in my voice. He doesn’t. Nor does he speak.

Anger begins to build beneath the fear.

“You wanted me to come find you, kitty cat. I did. So take off your fucking hood and show me your face,” I demand, my voice rising alongside my anger.

A sinful smirk tugs at his lips when he hears his new nickname. He thinks this is a game of cat and mouse. If he wants to debase me with a nickname, it’s only fair I return the favor.

Slowly, he reaches up and slides the hood off his head, the knife glinting as if to mock me. I have my own knife, too.

Any triumph I felt over my little jab dissipates like butter in a hot skillet.

And all the fear I’ve been feeling triples. His face is… unlike anything I’ve seen. But that’s the thing—I have seen him before. The mismatched eyes give him away.

In the bookstore, I only saw portions of his face. At the time, he seemed mildly attractive. But now that I see those pieces as a whole, he’s devastating.

His right eye darker than the midnight sky, and the other the exact opposite. His left eye is so bleached of color, it’s nearly white. The scar starting from the middle of his forehead, slashing straight down through his white eye and to the middle of his cheek, is something I haven’t been able to forget since I saw him in the bookstore.

Despite the ugly scar, it only serves to heighten his utter beauty. A jawline so sharp, he could cut diamonds with it. A straight, aristocratic nose. Full lips. And short black hair, just long enough to run your hands through.

This is wrong. So wrong.

I shouldn’t be attracted to a stalker.

His presence is so overwhelming, it feels as if he’s ten feet tall with a shadow crawling up the ceiling, slithering toward me. This room feels tiny with him in it. I feel tiny with him in it.

He takes a step toward me, a hint of that smirk remaining on his face—just the slightest curl in his lips.

I take a step back. Finally, my instincts aren’t completely jacked sideways, and I make my first smart move of the night.

“Cat got your tongue, little mouse?”

Briefly, I close my eyes. His voice washes over me, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The sound is as deep as his black eye.

I swallow again, nearly choking on the very muscle. It feels like my tongue has swollen to double its size.

“What do you want from me?” I choke out.

He prowls towards me. My spine tightens, and despite the gallons of fear pumping through my heart valves, I stay still. When he gets close enough, I’ll stab him.

Aim for the throat, Addie.

My eyes lock with his, and all thought escapes me. He presses the entirety of his body against mine. No shame. No shyness. No, let me buy you a drink first before I press my man pecs into you.

The boldness of it has me nearly biting my tongue in surprise.

It takes several seconds for my body to unlock. Before I can think about what I’m doing, I swing my knife towards him, but meet resistance when I attempt to lift it.

I look down in confusion, just to see his bare hand wrapped around the blade. Blood pools in his hand, a small trail heading straight towards my own.

I gasp, my eyes widening and snapping back to his. Not a single iota of pain shines in his eyes. Not even a glimmer.

He jerks on the blade once, ripping it from my weak hold, blindly tossing it behind him.

The knife clatters loudly against something before toppling to the floor, the sound reverberating in the otherwise quiet room. Nothing but my heavy panting breaks the static of silence surrounding us. His presence is a vortex, steadily depleting the oxygen from the room—and even from my brain.

Because I cannot think straight with his body so close to mine. With the fear coiled tightly around me, the force of it turning my body to stone. I’m useless. Powerless. The inability to fight rages in my head, my survival instincts tell me to just move, yet my body refuses to.

And then his bloody hand is wrapping around the back of my neck and bringing my body flush with his once more. I cringe at the feel of his life’s essence dripping from his hand. The blood feels like menacing fingers crawling down my spine, staining my skin as if to mark me.

To my horror, he lifts his other hand—the one still gripping a much more wicked-looking knife than mine—and brings the tip of the blade to the underside of my chin.

He applies enough pressure to force my chin up further, the metal biting into my skin. The slightest curl to his lips stalls the breath in my lungs. The act speaks of something daunting. Something condemning.

“You’re even more beautiful up close,” he murmurs, his sinful eyes devouring my face.

I scowl and plant my hands on his chest, ignoring the pure steel beneath his flesh, and attempt to push him away. But he resists the force, his lip curling into a snarl.

Tears rim my lids as frustration grows.

“Please, just leave. I-I don’t want you here. I don’t want you. Just leave me alone,” I beg. It feels like reaching a hand inside my chest, yanking out my pride and throwing it onto the floor. But I don’t give a fuck about my pride in this moment.

I just want this man to fucking leave.

He presses in closer. “Are you going to cry, Addie?” he taunts. My hands are still pressed firmly against his chest. His heart is racing beneath my palms, giving me pause. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s not as unaffected as he’s appearing to be.

“No,” I lie.

I will absolutely have no problems crying my eyes out after he leaves. But I refuse to show him any more weakness.

He flashes me a feral, toothy smile, pulling the blade from my chin and dropping his hand from behind my neck.

The second he steps away, I feel a mixture of coldness and relief. But then he’s coming right back.

The intensity in his eyes holds me in place as he walks to stand beside me, his chest brushing against my arm. He smells like leather and smoke. It’s intoxicating. He’s intoxicating.

Fear has a taste. Acidic, burnt metal. It numbs my tongue. Not just my tongue, but my entire being.

I’m so, so scared.

But yet, so… consumed by him.

I keep my head straight but don’t let him out of my line of sight. He leans into me, pressing his weight against me. I combat his strength. Rather than being pushed away from him, I’m being absorbed by him. Hot breath warms my skin as his lips trace the outer edge of my ear. Another shiver wracks my spine.

“I want to devour you,” he whispers.

My lip trembles. I suck the traitorous lip between my teeth, if only it stops showing my weakness. When I risk a glance at him, his eyes have zeroed in on my lips.

“Are you here to kill me?” I ask lowly, trying my best to mask the tremors wracking through my body.

I’m failing.

Slowly, he shakes his head. “Why would I do that?” I’m not sure how to answer that. He continues, “I wouldn’t kill you, little mouse. I want to keep you.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

He smiles. “You will.”

I open my mouth, ready to tell him about himself and his momma, but the words die on my tongue when he reaches up a hand and swipes his thumb roughly across my bottom lip.

“Mm,” he growls in delight. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to allow you the opportunity to run and hide. If I find you, then I will deliver your punishment. If I don’t, you go unpunished and I will leave.”

I pinch my eyes shut, a small single strand of hope threading throughout the hysteria. I know this house like the back of my hand. I know where the good hiding spots are.

There are two bedrooms down there in the hallway on the bottom floor. The first bedroom has a tiny little nook in the back of the closet. Just barely able to fit my body in, but I used to hide there all the time when Nana and I would play hide-and-seek.

“Fine,” I whisper. “How long will you search for me before I win?”

He smiles. “I’ll give you five minutes before your ass is bent over my knee.”

I huff, jerking my face away from his hand. He lets me go, but the smile on his face grows.

“Your time starts now, Adeline. Better run.”

I don’t hesitate any longer. Turning, I bolt out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me. I don’t miss the amusement on his face when he watches me do so, but I don’t give myself time to care.

I head straight for the stairs, keeping my steps light as my little legs carry me down the steps at an alarming speed. Halfway down, I nearly pitch forward and face plant, barely catching myself on the railing and keeping the loud squeak from escaping.

I feel like throwing up, the adrenaline and fear intense and biting at my nerves.

Making a left turn, I aim for the hallway and slip into the first bedroom just as I hear heavy footsteps from above.

My heart races impossibly faster, and my hands tremble fiercely as I slide open the closet door. The metal rattles from my sloppiness. A slight, insignificant sound that feels like thunder rolling throughout the bones of the house.

Heaving in a deep breath, I force my body to slow as I glide the closet door closed and hurry into the nook.

I’m panicking.

My chest is tight, and I have the strangest urge to cough. Could be because my throat is dry and steadily closing. I want to claw at my neck, force the muscle to open back up, and let in the oxygen I so desperately need.

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.

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.