My Bloody Valentine

20. Adrian

20

ADRIAN

I sit in the corner booth of Cafe Luna, watching the steam rise from my paper coffee cup while scrolling through emails on my phone. The early morning crowd bustles around me, oblivious to my presence.

A message from Gabe lights up my screen.

I’m at your shop. We need to talk.

I grab Maya’s coffee, then stride through Chicago’s brisk morning air. The sun barely peeks between skyscrapers as I travel back to the boutique.

Gabe leans against the front window, hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes narrow when he spots me approaching.

“How’s your little project going?” He pushes off the wall, stepping beside me as I unlock the door.

“She’s adjusting.” I lead us inside, flipping on the lights. The display cases gleam, rows of artfully crafted truffles catching the glow.

“Is she still...” Gabe trails off, then clears his throat. “You know.”

“Breathing?” I set the coffee cups down. “Of course.”

His gaze fixes on the second cup. “Ah. I see. She must be upstairs then.”

“She enjoys her morning coffee.” I begin arranging trays for the day’s service. “Maya’s proving to be exactly what I hoped.”

“Adrian.” Gabe’s voice carries a warning. “Remember what we discussed. Don’t get attached.”

I pause, letting my fingers trail along the top of the silver tray. “Too late for that. She understands me in ways no one else can.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Gabe shakes his head.

“Think about this logically.” Gabe paces in front of the display cases. “She’s not some random woman you can dispose of. When you let her go, she’ll run straight to the police.”

I cross my arms, leaning against the counter. “You don’t understand what’s happening between us.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly. You’ve lost perspective.” He stops, turning to face me. “An established food critic vanishes, and you don’t think people will ask questions?”

“Maya’s different.” The coffee cups steam beside me, untouched. “She tastes the darkness in my work. Craves it.”

“Stockholm syndrome isn’t acceptance, Adrian.”

My fist slams onto the counter. “This isn’t about that. You should see her when we’re together. The way she responds to pain, to pleasure. She’s embracing who she truly is.”

“And what happens when the fog clears?” Gabe steps closer, lowering his voice. “When she remembers you’ve murdered people and put their blood in your chocolates?”

“She already knows.” I smile, remembering how Maya’s body arched under my touch last night. “And she still begs for more.”

“You’re delusional.”

“No.” I straighten up. “For the first time, I’m seeing clearly. Maya understands the art and the necessity of what I do. She’s not fighting it anymore.”

Gabe runs a hand through his hair. “This isn’t one of your fucked-up games. Her life, her career—everything she’s built could destroy us.”

“She won’t expose me.” I pick up Maya’s coffee. “She’s in too deep now. The Maya you’re worried about doesn’t exist anymore. She’s becoming something new. Something beautiful.”

“Keep me out of this completely.” Gabe’s jaw clenches. “My name, club, any connection to you—she can’t know about any of it.”

I set Maya’s coffee down, the liquid rippling from the force. “You think I’d risk your safety?”

“I think you’re not thinking clearly anymore.” He steps into my space. “Promise me. Maya won’t hear my name until she chooses to stay with you. No manipulation, no restraints, no threats. She has to want this life.”

“Fine.” I meet his gaze. “Until Maya accepts who she is—who we are together—your name won’t cross my lips. She’ll never know about the club or our connection.”

“Swear it.” His fingers dig into my shoulder. “Because if she runs to the police, I’m not going down for your obsession.”

“You have my word.” I brush his hand away. “Maya won’t know you exist until she’s ready. Until she’s mine completely, freely choosing this path.”

Gabe searches my face, then nods once. “Don’t make me regret trusting you, Adrian.”

I tilt my head, a smirk playing on my lips. “Or what, you’ll kill me?”

Gabe’s eyes narrow, but I catch the slight twitch of his lips.

“That’s rich coming from you.” I tap my fingers against the counter. “Let’s not pretend you’d get the chance. You’d be dead before you even tried.”

“Careful, Adrian.” Gabe shifts his weight, but there’s a familiar glint in his eye. “I’ve picked up a few tricks over the years.”

“Please. I’ve seen your work. You’re messy, impulsive.” I circle around him, enjoying our dance. “I’m precise. Calculated.”

“You kidnapped a high-profile food critic.” He scoffs, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Real precise.”

“At least I don’t leave evidence scattered inside a jazz club.” I raise an eyebrow. “How many bodies are buried under that stage now?”

“Four.” He grins. “The acoustics have never been better.”

I shake my head, chuckling. “Amateur. Though I’ll admit, that basement of yours is convenient.”

“Not all of us can afford fancy chocolate boutiques to hide our extracurriculars.” Gabe runs his finger along one of my display cases. “Some of us have to be creative.”

“That’s one word for it.” I watch him carefully. “But we both know which of us would win in a real fight.”

The tension crackles between us, decades of friendship wrapped in layers of blood and secrets. We’re both killers, but our methods couldn’t be more different. His quick and passionate, mine slow and deliberate.

“Don’t make me sort out your mess, Adrian.” Gabe adjusts his jacket collar. “Your critic better be worth burning everything we’ve built.”

“She is.” I trace the rim of Maya’s coffee cup. “Trust me.”

“That’s what worries me.” He heads for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “Remember what happened to Sarah when someone got too close. Some people aren’t meant to know our secrets.”

The bell chimes as he exits, leaving me with the gleaming display cases and cooling coffee. I lock the door, the “Closed” sign hanging ominously. There are no customers today—I have more important matters to attend to.

Taking both cups, I climb the narrow stairs to the second floor. The wood creaks beneath my feet, marking each step toward my private sanctuary. Maya’s probably awake by now.

My grip tightens on the cups as I remember how she looked last night—bound, begging, beautiful in her surrender. The marks I left will remain fresh on her skin, a reminder of who she belongs to now.

As I reach the top of the stairs, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the heady scent of jasmine perfume. Anticipation courses through me as I near the bedroom. Carefully, I push open the door, taking in the sight before me.

Maya lies curled on her side, her body relaxed in sleep. The silk night dress reveals the smooth curve of her shoulder, and my eyes trace the delicate slope of her spine, leading down to the swell of her hips. Her hair spills across the pillow, framing her delicate features.

A familiar stir of desire coils within me as I set the coffee cups on the nightstand. She looks so peaceful, innocent in her slumber. But I know the passionate creature that lies beneath that serene exterior. She transforms under my touch, shedding inhibitions like petals falling from a flower.

Time slows as I track the rise and fall of her chest, memorizing this moment. Gently, I stroke her hair, savoring its silkiness between my fingers. She murmurs softly but doesn’t wake.

My mind wanders back to last night, reliving the moment I entered her while she was still asleep. The delectable shock on her face when she realized what was happening, the sensation of her body tightening around me as she awakened to pleasure. I clamp my hand into a fist to stifle a groan at the recollection.

I lean forward, inhaling the scent of her hair, letting my lips brush her ear. “Wake up.” I nip gently at her lobe. “Time for another tasting.”

Maya shifts, a soft sound escaping her throat. I kiss her shoulder, letting my lips linger on her skin.

Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first. Then, her gaze lands on me, and a tantalizing mix of emotions glimmer in her eyes—arousal, uncertainty, and something more—a spark of fear, perhaps.

“Morning,” she murmurs, her voice husky with sleep. “Coffee?” she asks, eyebrow-raising suspiciously.

I smile, trailing my fingers along her jaw. “Room service.”

“Room service, huh?” A small smile lifts her lips. “And here I thought I was your captive.”

I lean closer, letting my breath tickle her ear. “You are. But that doesn’t mean I can’t spoil you.”

I notice a faint bruise on her neck from last night’s passion. My mark. A surge of satisfaction washes over me and settles in my soul.

She sits up, sheets pooling at her waist, and takes one of the coffee cups. “Mmm, just what I needed.” Sipping, she closes her eyes in bliss.

“That’s not the only thing you need this morning.” I let my gaze roam over her, desire turning to heat in my veins.I clasp the back of her head, tilting her head to me, kissing her.

I pull back from Maya’s lips, studying her flushed face. Her breath comes in short gasps, pupils dilated with desire. But Gabe’s words echo in my mind like an unwelcome ghost.

“Beg me to end this.” I trail my fingers down her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my touch. “Fight back. Push me away.”

“I...” Maya’s hands press against my chest, a weak attempt at resistance. “We shouldn’t...”

I capture her mouth again, and just like before, she melts into me. Her fingers curl into my shirt instead of pushing, pulling me closer. The little sounds she makes drive me wild—half protest, half pleasure.

But is it real?

I break the kiss, gripping her chin. “Look at me.”

Her eyes meet mine, clouded with lust but also uncertainty. That flicker of fear I usually love to see now makes my stomach twist.

“Would you kiss me like this if you weren’t trapped here?” The question slips out. “If you had a choice?”

Maya’s breath hitches. She tries to turn away, but I hold her still.

“Adrian, please...” Her voice wavers.

“Please, what?” I press my forehead to hers. “Please stop? Please let you go? Or please don’t stop?”

She trembles against me, and I can’t tell if it’s from desire or terror anymore. The line between willing participant and captive victim blurs, making me question everything.

“I don’t know.” Her whispered admission cuts deeper than any knife. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

I release her chin, fighting the urge to claim her mouth again. For the first time since bringing her here, doubt creeps in. Is Gabe right? Am I seeing what I want to see, mistaking Stockholm syndrome for genuine connection?

Maya leans forward, pressing her lips to mine with surprising gentleness. The kiss tastes of coffee and confusion, sweet yet bitter. When she pulls back, tears shine in her eyes.

“That’s the problem,” she murmurs. “I want you, and I hate myself for it.”

Maya’s words hang between us, heavy with meaning. She knows what she wants and what her body craves, but her mind is another story. A battle of conflicting desires is waging there. I understand that inner war all too well.

Seeing her struggle, something shifts within me. My chest tightens, and I pull her close, needing to feel the warmth of her skin against mine. I press my lips to the top of her head, inhaling the jasmine scent of her hair.

“You don’t have to hate yourself.” My voice rumbles against her ear. “There’s no shame in what we’re doing. In what you’re feeling.”

She sniffles, her hands fisting the fabric of my shirt. “I should. I know I should.”

Gently, I lift her chin, urging her to meet my gaze. “Why?”

Her eyes, wide and vulnerable, search mine as if seeking permission to speak. “Because it’s wrong. I’m a respected food critic, and you’re...” She swallows, and I see when she registers the weight of her words. “You’re a killer, and I still want you.”

That flicker of fear ignites a flame in her eyes, and I know what she’s asking without saying it.

Do you want me, too?

“Maya.” My voice drops to a whisper, and I bring our mouths together, demanding, insistent.

She moans into the kiss, and I can taste the moment she surrenders, letting go of her inhibitions and insecurities. Her hands move from my shirt to my hair, then trail down my neck, fingertips brushing my skin.

That simple touch sparks a fire in my veins, burning away my doubts. I want all of her, with an intensity that scares me.

Pulling away, I whisper against her lips, “Strip.” I back away, giving her space to move. “Get on the bed, on your hands and knees. Be a good girl for me.”

Her cheeks flush, but she does as I command, slowly removing her clothing and settling onto the bed.

“You like this, don’t you?” I ask, my voice low and gravelly. “Being on display for me. Wanting what I do to you.”

“Yes.” Her voice is throaty. “It’s embarrassing, but...”

“But you can’t help yourself.” I reach into the nightstand, withdrawing my mask. “You’re mine, and you love it.”

She watches me over her shoulder as I slip on the mask, hiding my face in shadow.

“Adrian, do you have to?—”

“Do I have to what, my little slut?” I trail the tip of my knife along her spine, down to the swell of her hips. “Wear my mask? Be in control?”

“No.” Her breath catches. “I mean, yes, I like it, but—are you going to...?”

“Tell me, Maya.” I lean close, my breath hot against her ear. “Do you want me to wear it while I fuck you?”

She bites her lip, nodding. “It’s so fucked up, but it turns me on. The mystery, the darkness...”

“The danger.” I run the knife lazily across her skin, savoring her reactions. “Knowing that at any moment, I could thrust this knife into your back instead.”

She gasps at my words, but not out of fear.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” My voice drops to a growl. “Being taken by force, at the mercy of a masked man with a knife to your throat.”

Her breath catches, and I see the exact moment it clicks in her head. The idea takes hold, sending a shiver through her body. “Yes.” Her voice is barely audible.

She wants it. The danger, the unknown, the loss of control. My heart pounds as I shed the last remnants of restraint.

“Then I’ll give you what you want.” I begin to strip off my clothes. “I’ll fulfill that dirty little fantasy of yours.”

Maya’s eyes widen as I reveal myself, desire and hesitation warring in her gaze. She knows there’s no going back now. No more pretending this is just a game.

In a swift motion, I grab her, forcing her down onto her back. With one hand, I hold the knife to her throat, the cold steel pressing against her delicate skin. With my other hand, I grasp her throat, pinning her in place.

“You want to feel this knife?” I ask, my voice harsh in her ear. “You want to feel what it’s like to be truly at my mercy?”

“Yes.” She’s breathless, torn between fear and arousal.

I press the knife gently, just enough to nick the skin. A thin line of red blooms, and Maya moans. Without warning, I thrust into her pussy, claiming her with rough urgency.

Maya lets out a startled cry, her body tensing. I hold her down, feeling her struggle beneath me. Her hands push at my shoulders, but her efforts are weak, nearly nonexistent.

“Go on, fight me.” My lips curl into a smile as I hold the knife steady. “Try and escape. No one will hear your screams but me.”

Maya’s eyes flash with a mixture of defiance and desire. She bucks her hips with a sudden burst of strength, trying to dislodge me. But it’s no use. I hold her down, my body pressed firmly against hers.

“That’s it.” I nip at her ear, grinding into her. “Fight me. Scream.”

“Let me the fuck go!” Maya screams as she bucks beneath me, her hands pushing uselessly against my chest.

Her words are like a match to the gasoline of my desire. I slam into her with every inch I have, tasting her sweet surrender as she says she doesn’t want it, but her body betrays her.

Maya’s nails dig into my shoulders as I thrust, her cries echoing off the bedroom walls. I wonder if anyone can hear her or if the thick walls of my chocolate boutique muffle her desperate pleas.

I bite my lip to stifle a groan. Her warmth envelopes me, and I grind against her, needing more. Needing to claim every inch of her. I wonder if she can feel my heart pounding wildly against her chest.

“Say it,” I growl, dragging the knife lightly across her throat. “Say you’re mine.”

She shakes her head, defiant even now. The thrill of breaking her, of making her submit, courses through me.

I drag the knife down her chest, following the path of her collarbone. Maya whimpers, her body tensing. I can feel her heart racing, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Adrian, please... stop.” Her voice breaks, and she squeezes her eyes shut.

But I can’t stop. Not now. I pull her hands above her head, pinning them with one hand while the other slides the knife down her arm, leaving a thin red line in its wake.

“Say it,” I snarl, pressing the knife to the sensitive skin of her inner elbow.

“No.” It’s barely a whisper, but the defiance in her eyes fuels my fire.

With a growl, I drag the knife back up her arm, across her chest, and down the other arm, mirroring the first cut. Maya’s breath catches, and her body trembles, but her lips remain closed.

“Stubborn,” I mutter, bringing the blade back to her throat. “It’s written all over that beautiful face of yours. You’re mine, and you love it.”

She opens her mouth, and I think she will deny it, but a different plea escapes her. “Please...”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, a mixture of fear and desire. That’s what I live for. Creating this cocktail of emotions in my private suite, creeping inside her mind and owning it. I’ve tapped into her deepest, most shameful desires, a most decadent delight in seeing the polished critic with a pristine reputation—reduced to a tangle of sexual heat.

Her resistance only fuels my fervor, and my thrusts become wilder, more urgent. I clamp my hand over her mouth to muffle her cries, needing to silence them even as I savor them. Her eyes widen, their fear only spurring me on.

I drag my hand away from her mouth, and she sucks in a sharp breath, then lets out a keening moan. Her body moves beneath mine, a perfect melody.

“Look at me.” My voice is a husky command, and I tilt her chin with the tip of the knife. “You want me to stop?”

“No!” The word bursts from her, a mixture of fear and arousal. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Hearing those words frays my control. I need to possess her fully and brand her as mine in every way imaginable. I lean forward, my lips claiming hers in a kiss that tastes of desperation and longing.

My hands move from her wrists, trailing down her arms to her breasts. Her sharp intake of breath tells me she feels the cuts I made, the sting of the knife wounds amidst the pleasure. It only excites her further.

I twist her nipple between my fingers, earning a gasp, then a moan. I picture the mark my fingers leave, the evidence of my ownership. The thought sends a surge of power through me, fueling the darkness that thrives in the depths of my soul.

With my free hand, I explore the curves of her body and the softness of her skin while my mouth works against hers. Our tongues dance in a sensual tango, mirroring the rhythm of our bodies.

My pace quickens, driven by the knowledge that I’m taking her to the brink. I whisper against her lips, “Come for me, Maya.”

Her hips buck against mine, and I tighten my grip on her throat just enough to heighten the pleasure. She arches her back, a hoarse cry torn from her throat as her release consumes her. Her inner walls clench around me, and I lose myself in the sensations, thrusting wildly as I chase my own climax.

“That’s it, little critic,” I growl the words against her ear. “Let me feel it.”

Maya’s body trembles beneath me, and her nails dig into my back as my rhythm becomes erratic. With a final thrust, I bury myself deep within her, spilling myself into her as my name falls from her lips like a prayer.

I collapse onto her, breathing hard, my mind a blur. The wild beat of her heart drums against my chest, and I know she shares my passions. As I catch my breath, my lips find her neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along her throat, marking her again.

I want to keep her like this forever, bound to me, her body molded to mine. The possessiveness I feel toward her surprises me.

“You haven’t seen all I have in store, little critic.” I brush my face against her throat, skimming my teeth along her flesh as I contemplate what comes next, knowing I’ve fallen completely under her spell.