Текст книги "Haunting Adeline"

Автор книги: H W Carlton

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Chapter 29

The Manipulator

“I

think if I don’t go sit the fuck down, I’m going to collapse. You’ll have to peel me out of this mud.”

I point towards a bench. “Go ahead and relax. I’m going to go through the House of Mirrors real quick.”

“Fine by me, it’ll take you forever to get out of that thing, and it’ll be time to go.”

The House of Mirrors has always been one of my favorite places. It’s an elaborate maze of mirrors, and very difficult to find your way out of. It’s one of the biggest buildings at the fair, and they fill every inch of it with mirrors.

The fair will close in about a half-hour. It’s pushing it, but it should be just enough time to get through it if I concentrate.

The house is painted all black—no array of colors, flashing of lights, or smoke. I’ve always thought it was trippier like this. Sometimes it feels like being in a silent room, left with nothing but your thoughts as your own image haunts you.

It takes all of five minutes before I’m thoroughly lost. I keep my hands held out before me, preventing me from running face first into one of the mirrors.

I did that a couple of years ago and my nose was bruised for a week.

A few minutes pass by with nothing but the company of my own reflection. My heart rate is pumping erratically, my breathing uneven with excitement. Despite the pounding in my chest, this is where I feel most… normal.

Off in the distance, I hear a faint shuffling of feet. Not very many people come in here, especially this late, but there’s plenty of people who like to take on the challenge.

Continuing on my wayward path, I concentrate on where I’m going, soon forgetting about anything else going on around me. The trick is to focus on the floor and not your reflection.

Just as I almost face plant a mirror, I hear a dark chuckle. My head snaps up, the tone of the laugh sounding evil. A spark of adrenaline ignites, pumping the chemical into my heart and kicking up the speed further.

Did an employee dressed as a monster sneak in here to mess with me? I wouldn’t hold it past them. They’re known to follow people around and terrorize them.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I turn to find my bearings. If there is a creepy monster in here with me, I’d rather they not get close enough that I have to look at a thousand of their reflections.

Finding my way past the mirror that almost gave me a nose job, I start ahead again.

“Little mouse.” The whisper seems to travel from every direction.

My limbs lock, not sure if my imagination is playing tricks on me or if Zade is actually here.

Unfreezing, I force myself to keep moving, hoping I’m just imagining things.

“Where are you, little mouse?”

I gasp, the deep voice closer. Another sinister chuckle echoes, and Jesus Christ, this man is capable of evil. No one sane sounds like that.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I take three deep, calming breaths, trying to ease my racing heart.

He’s fucking with me. Trying to scare me. And it’s fucking working when I’m trapped in a maze of mirrors, and he’s laughing like a goddamn lunatic.

He can’t just let me have my night, can he? For once, I didn’t think about him and my conflicting feelings. And though Zade doesn’t quite scare me as much—except for maybe right now—the feelings he brings out of me certainly do.

Maybe if I keep quiet, he won’t find me.

Restarting my path, I quicken my pace until I’m speed walking through the labyrinth of mirrors.

I’ve no idea how far I am, but I don’t even think I’ve made it halfway through.

It’s right then that I see the first image of Zade reflected back at me. Dressed in all black, with his scarred face hidden deep in his hood. I gasp, whipping around just to find more of his reflection.

He’s not behind me, but he’s somewhere close.

“Stop it,” I bite out, fear constricting my chest.

He doesn’t answer, and of course, the fucker doesn’t listen. I’m caught in a whirlwind, my body continuously moving in circles, desperate to pin exactly where he is.

“You all alone, baby girl?”

I swallow. “Obviously,” I whisper, still searching for where he is. It feels like I shouldn’t have said that.

“No one here to save you?”

A shot of anxiety hits me in the chest.

“Why the hell would I need to be saved, Zade? You going to hurt me?”

It’s then he lifts his head, just enough for me to provide a view of his mouth. A wicked smirk is stretched across those lips.

I try to remember that he won’t hurt me. He was just in my bed a week ago, sad and vulnerable. By the time I opened my eyes in the morning, he was gone, and I haven’t heard from him since.

But my brain is having trouble connecting who he is now to who he was then.

Because now… he looks savage.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he corrects. I take a step back, a lump forming in my throat. His image moves, his body walking in a different direction. Is he coming closer? I can’t tell. I take another step back, the adrenaline in my system rising to dangerous levels.

He’s scaring me.

“Run,” he growls. My lungs constrict at the guttural command. “If I catch you, I fuck you.”

Eyes widening, I listen, my body catapulting into action.

I run.

In here, I’m completely vulnerable to him. I’m well and truly trapped in the spider’s web, and the son of a bitch is poisonous.

His reflection follows me everywhere I go. There were a few times I was convinced I’d truly lost him, seeing nothing but my own image. And then he’d step out from somewhere, crushing my hopes.

After a few minutes, I’m out of breath. The adrenaline and fear are getting to me. My chest is constricted too tight, my lungs reduced to strings and no longer capable of holding oxygen.

I’m lost and trapped with a very dangerous man who is going to absolutely devastate me. I don’t think I’m running from him anymore, but rather from the person I’m going to be when he’s finished with me.

I was ready to give myself over to him when he emerged from my balcony doors and came to me with a heavy heart. The man put some type of spell on me, because when he was hurting, all I wanted to do was make him feel better. Give myself over to him if that’s what would help.

But I know that I would’ve woken up the next day and hated myself. Because I would’ve slept with a stalker, a murderer and a man who has forced himself on me on several occasions. I would’ve slept with a man who doesn’t respect my boundaries, my personal space, or the word no.

And I know without a shadow of a doubt that’s exactly what’s about to happen. How do I accept that? How do I toss away the moral compass that’s been directing my entire life?

For a man that I should loathe, but… I don’t. I just don’t. He’s all those things, but he’s also one of the most admirable men I’ve ever met. The devotion and passion he has for saving women and children stolen away from their homes and lives, he’s doing something massive in the world and making an impact in a substantial way. I can't even begin to put into words the way he makes me feel.

He’s such a fucking oxymoron. Contradicting in the most agonizing ways.

And despite his cracked moral compass, I feel safe with him. Even now, when fear is rewiring my brain.

I stop running, panting heavily.

Hopeless.

That’s what running from Zade is. Fucking. Hopeless.

Chest pumping, I wait for him to find me. Obviously, I’m not going to be able to outrun him. My only chance of escaping is to somehow incapacitate him, and then try to run.

A laugh bubbles up my throat.

He’s been training me to do just that, right? My shadow has been giving me the means to protect myself.

Against him.

Hot breath tickles my ear, sending chills down my spine. I close my eyes, biting my lip until I taste copper when I feel his body press into my back.

He keeps his hands to himself for now, but I know that won’t last much longer.

It’s no secret how much he loves to touch me without my permission.

“I’ll scream,” I threaten in a breathless whisper.

His breath fans across my neck as I feel him lean down. Soft lips brush the shell of my ear. Shivers cascade down my spine like a raging waterfall.

“That’s such a good little girl,” he replies.

I whip around, ready to tell him off, but not a syllable escapes when my lips are captured between his the second I come face-to-face with him.

Instinctively, I bite down on his bottom lip. A deep groan swirls through my mouth, spurring me to bite harder. Explosions riot from our connected mouths, along with the flavor of mint and a hint of smoke.

He tastes delicious, and I want him out of my mouth.

As if hearing my thoughts, his palm reaches up to wrap around the back of my head, his fingers tangling in the depths of my hair and pulling me impossibly closer.

And then I do something really stupid.

I suck his bottom lip into my mouth, lost in the taste of him. The feel of his lips against mine.

Realizing what I’m doing, I release his lip, attempting to pull away from him. His mouth is a drug, and just like the real thing, it causes me to make incredibly stupid decisions.

He doesn’t let me go and instead returns the sentiment. Sucking my lip into his mouth and delivering his own sharp nip. I gasp from the pain, granting him access and allowing him to invade my mouth.

My pussy responds in kind, throbbing from the feel of his tongue. Memories bombard me, remembering what that tongue felt like sliding against my clit.

An involuntary moan escapes, and the second he tastes my body’s betrayal, his kiss turns fierce.

He completely consumes me, sucking and licking my lips and tongue in a way I’ve never experienced. I’m helpless to stop him, just as I am helpless to fight it.

Another growl pings through my mouth, my only warning to his next move. He grabs my waist and twirls me right up against a mirror, pinning me against the cool glass as his body molds into mine.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he praises against my mouth before wrapping my swollen lips into another bruising kiss.

Breathless, I force my head away, sucking in precious oxygen. He clamps my cheeks between his large hand, growling against me.

“Give me those fucking lips,” he snarls, forcing his tongue back into my mouth.

My hands wedge between our bodies, traveling up his stomach bulging with muscles to his firm chest. Roughly, I push him away, our lips separating with a loud smack.

“Wait, stop,” I pant, my mind foggy and discombobulated.

“What did I say?” he demands sharply. His mismatched eyes capture my gaze in a drug-inducing hold. It’s hard to look away when I feel like I’m looking into the eyes of a predator.

He is a predator.

“What?” I breathe, still dizzy from the kiss.

“If I catch you, I fuck you,” he repeats slowly, gravel lining his throat.

My mouth opens, but the words are slow to release.

“You’re not fucking me,” I refuse, pushing against his chest harder.

His lips whisper across my cheek, trailing along my jawline before dropping down to my neck.

“Because you’re afraid you’ll like it too much,” he concludes before delivering a sharp nip on my neck. My back arches, goosebumps rising on my skin from the chills. “Because you know that you’ll become as addicted as I am.”

“No,” I deny in a whisper. “Because I don’t want you to.”

He lifts his head, a knowing smirk on his lips.

“So, you’re going to be my bad girl tonight? Lie to my face and act like your pussy isn’t aching to be filled up with my cock.”

I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“Not everything has to come down to physical attraction,” I respond finally. “Maybe my body wants you, but up here”—I tap my temple– “doesn’t.”

He nods his head slowly, his eyes flitting across my face in contemplation. He takes a step back, leaving me bereft and cold.

It feels like a black shroud encasing the sun on a hot summer day—just a sudden, bone-chilling cold.

He grabs my hand and pulls me away from the mirror. He spins me until I’m looking at the countless reflections that surround us, echoing our image from every angle.

I watch him through the mirror. He presses his body back into mine, his warmth soaking into my pores once more. My eyes settle on one mirror, our eyes clashing through the glass.

Slowly, he bends down until his mouth is right at my ear, his eyes never straying from mine.

“You want to know why I love the house of mirrors?” he murmurs in my ear, eliciting sparks throughout my nerve endings. His voice is full of dark promises and dangerous beginnings.

I swallow thickly. “Why?” I whisper.

“Look around you,” he commands softly. Hesitantly, I pull my eyes away from his, dragging my gaze across the dozens of mirrors.

“What you’re seeing now is what I see every day. No matter how far I run, how hard I try to escape you—you’re everywhere I go. You’re everything I see. Loving you is like being trapped in a house of mirrors, little mouse. And I’ve never felt so at home while being so lost inside you.”

My breath hitches, my eyes snapping back to his.

My heart tripped and fell down a flight of stairs the second the word 'love' came out of his mouth. A word he tossed out so casually, I'm not sure if it's a confession or not.

"I don't think you know what love is," I whisper.

He grunts with amusement. "I don't think anyone does, baby. Love is an enigma, and it's redefined every time someone says it."

I frown. All I can feel is disappointment. Not because of what he said, but because of how fucking easy it was for him to accomplish what he set out to do.

Just like he wants, a reckless, impulsive feeling consumes me. All I ache to do is let him have me. So many nights, where he’d sneak into my bed and take advantage of my weakness—whether the weakness was in my body or brain—he used that against me time and time again. But he never took it all the way, and every morsel inside my being has been waiting for this moment. Anticipating it.

I’m dying to deny him, yet I have to fight my body from turning and pulling him into me.

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

s 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 vision 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.