20. Chapter Twenty #2
I glance around his workspace, unsurprised to find it’s organized in one of those annoying ways.
There’s a wall of tools on one end, each screwdriver and wrench hanging from their own individual hook and ordered by size.
Several saws are lined up on a workbench.
Around the perimeter and high above us are shelves that would require a ladder to reach.
Several totes are stashed up there. And despite it being a workshop, there’s not a speck of dust in sight.
Jesus. He’s anal.
Then again, I suppose most psychopaths are.
“Lynx,” I say more cautiously. “Where are you taking me?”
He ignores me and continues on, weaving through the shop until we pass through another set of doors.
He sets me down on my feet, holding me upright when I wobble slightly. Once I have my bearings, he spins me around and forces me to bend at the waist.
My palms flatten beside my head, my cheek pressed to a smooth wooden surface. It’s a table, I think. And directly in front of me, against the wall, is a large white deep freezer.
Oh god.
I bet he keeps bodies in there.
Four. Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
“Lynx,” I plead again.
A large rough hand rests on the space between my shoulder blades, pinning me down as his other drifts lazily over my curves. I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe through the awful memories trickling in.
Memories of being forced into this very position while cold, clammy hands roamed freely over my trembling body.
“I’m not them, Harlow,” he says lowly, stealing the thought from my mind as he sweeps my hair to the side so I can peer up at him with one eye. “I’ll never be them. I need you to get that through your head.”
My lips part, my breaths coming hard and fast as panic continues to unravel inside me.
“I-I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Maybe not right now. But eventually, you’ll learn to trust me. I have no desire to hurt you, pretty girl. I do, however, believe there’s a fine line between pleasure and pain. And I have every intention of toeing it.”
The hand that’s exploring my curves migrates to my hip. A finger slips under the waistband of my leggings but stops there.
Lynx leans forward and growls in my ear, “If my words aren’t enough to convince you to trust me, that’s okay. I’ll show you with actions.”
Exhaling a shaky breath through my mouth, I focus on a spot on the wall.
He stands to his full height behind me, looming over me like an apparition.
“The night at the cemetery when I spanked you … you dissociated. Were you punished like that before?”
Heat pricks at the edges of my eyes. “Yes,” I rasp.
“And it brings back those memories, so you let your mind wander free until it’s over.”
Since lying doesn’t seem to work with him, I answer honestly, “Yes.”
He releases a slow, controlled breath. As if my admission makes him want to hurl the nearest object across the room.
“You weren’t in control then. But you’re in control now. I’m going to spank you, Harlow. And you’re going to stay right here in this moment with me. Use my voice as a tether to reality.”
A small whimper escapes me.
“Use your words.”
“O-okay.”
“Tap out if it’s too much.”
The buttery fabric of my leggings slowly glides over the curve of my ass, stopping halfway down my thighs. Next to go is my thong.
I’m used to men seeing me naked, ogling me at the club. What I’m not used to is it being broad daylight where all my scars are on display.
Remembering what Lynx told me, I close my eyes and listen to his deep voice, allowing it to tether me to the moment.
He skims his knuckles over a deep scar on the back of my thigh, right beneath the crease of my bottom.
Four. Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
“I’m going to enjoy killing them,” he murmurs. “Are you still here with me, Harlow?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
His fingers glide between my thighs. He circles my clit. My back arches, my knees trembling as a moan breaks free from my throat.
“Are you ready?”
I nod.
“Words, pretty girl.”
“Yes, I’m ready.”
With that, he withdraws his hand and tells me, “Deep breath in.”
I oblige, sucking in a lungful of oxygen. When his palm comes down on my ass with a swift crack, I exhale roughly and shudder at the stinging sensation blooming over my flesh.
“Talk to me.”
When I respond with, “I-I’m still here,” his fingers find my clit again and he teases me until I’m whimpering.
“We’re going to do this three more times. I’m going to check in on you after each one.”
“Okay.”
Another harsh crack, followed by more teasing and Lynx’s soothing voice asking if I’m still here and how I’m feeling.
“I-I’m here. But I don’t know how I’m feeling.”
We do this two more times, the sting of the blows blossoming into something a little more pleasant before he slides his fingers through my slick lips and gathers the evidence of my arousal.
“You’re still here, pretty girl. And you’re soaking wet. Do you need to come, Harlow?”
“Yes.”
“I can do that for you. But first, I want to hear you say you’ll remember this moment anytime you feel yourself beginning to dissociate.
I want you to remember how wet you are right now.
How my hands feel on your body. How you’re in control and nobody can take that from you ever again. You’re safe with me, little killer.”
He pulls me upright, wraps one hand gently around my throat, his thumb pressing beneath my jaw to track my pulse as his big, hard body seals to mine, the back of my head resting against his chest.
A hot tear carves a path down my cheek. Lynx’s tongue darts out to lick it, and I shiver in response.
“Say it, Harlow.”
I swallow. Hard. And whisper, “I’ll remember.”
A satisfied hum vibrates against my back. And then he’s touching me again, strumming my clit and using my juices to glide easily over my heated flesh.
I dig my fingers into the tattooed forearm across my chest, moaning helplessly as the world around me starts spinning.
He pinches my clit and I gasp.
“Stay with me,” he growls. “That’s my pretty girl. So strong and brave. So fucking beautiful.”
And then he spins me around, shoves me so I’m leaning against the table with my hands propping me up, drops to his knees in front of me, and latches onto my clit with his mouth.
And holy fucking hell I’ve never felt anything so glorious in all my life.
My eyes flutter shut, my breathing ragged as all the blood in my body rushes south. Heat pulses through me, the tension between my legs reaching an unfathomable level as Lynx’s hot, wet mouth sucks and licks and devours me like I’m a meal.
And when he inserts two fingers inside me and whispers, “I’ve got you, little killer.
Now come for me,” that coil that’s been tightening inside me snaps and I cry out.
Bursts of color explode behind my eyelids, Lynx’s name slipping from my lips as my legs buckle and my pussy convulses uncontrollably, and every cell in my body explodes like overfilled water balloons.
“Fuck, Harlow,” he murmurs against my flesh as I ride out every wave of my orgasm, my hips rocking and head falling back as I cry out in ecstasy.
Time slows to a crawl, my fingers and toes tingling and head floating off into space. It feels like eternity before I come back down to earth. But when I do, the man on his knees in front of me—the killer sent to end my life—is as stiff as a board.
He stands to his full height, his chest rising and falling before my eyes. I can tell by the way he’s gazing down at me in anguish that he’s holding back from doing something.
Whether it be from killing me or fucking me, I’m not sure.
Either way, I’d welcome it with open arms.
Four. Three. Two. One.
Breathe.