Chapter 12
Greer
He’s fucking insane!
Watching him fuck me while I had no clue what was happening should’ve been sick. It’s a fucked up game he’s been playing, with me as the main character, all while I was unaware.
What I thought I could hide was the fact of how turned on I was watching it, like I was detached and ignoring the fact that I was the one starring in the sick little porno he made.
My body is aching from all the adrenaline coursing through it, and the way I fell when I tried to get away from him earlier.
He helped me off the floor and deposited me into what I assume is his bedroom. It smells like him, but it’s so bare. I looked around for anything I could find about him and came up empty. I tried all the windows, but they were all nailed shut.
He and Bear took off outside, him in a huff, and I was too scared to leave the room, so after looking at myself in the mirror, still buzzing from everywhere he touched me, I showered and got into bedclothes.
When he walks back into the room, I’m braiding my long, dark hair for bed so it doesn’t get tangled while I sleep.
He growls at me, striding over and yanking the braid away. “No.”
I hiss as my scalp tugs from the force. “What do you mean, no? It’s my hair.”
“No. It’s not.”
“Excuse me?” It’s bad enough this man has stalked me for two years, kidnapped me, cut me off from everything, fucked me while I was drugged, but now he thinks he owns every part of me?
Fuck him.
Once the braid is entirely undone, he carefully fingers through my hair. I ignore the way it feels to have him touching me again when I’m still in a state of fight or flight.
Leaning into my space, he forces me to slant back on the bed to avoid his intoxicating proximity. I can’t remain level-headed while he forces me to feel… things.
Of course, my body already knows him, so it responds as it does. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself to make sense of the throbbing between my thighs currently.
“You’re mine. That means every part of you is mine, down to each and every hair.”
That shouldn’t sound hot, right?
I killed him—well, nearly killed him.
He’s drugged and molested me.
He’s stalked me.
He’s the reason for every fear etched into my psyche that I’ll never be able to escape.
He’s also the reason I’m growing wet all over again, and I can’t ignore that fact because he won’t let me.
“The sooner you figure that out, the easier this will be.”
“And what exactly is this?” I ask.
There’s a lethal edge to him that’s palpable, and I don’t want to push the envelope, but I also don’t want to lie back and take his bullshit.
Liar.
My brain’s reminder that I’ve been ready for his torment to be over with and resolved to whatever end I’d come to by his hand goes ignored by me as my stalker smiles.
It’s unnerving. It’s vicious.
“This is the rest of your life, Greer.”
His use of my name stiffens me.
He’s been in my house. Of course, he knows my name. He also resigned from my job in my stead, and I have to face that fact sooner rather than later.
Of course, if I get out of here, I’m confident I can get the position back, but getting out of here will be a feat.
We drove through the forest for nearly thirty minutes. There’s no fucking way I can find my way back to civilization. I’ll be lucky if I can find a road.
The private drive leading to the cabin was at least five miles long.
“And how long will the rest of my life be?”
“If I tell you it’ll be short, will you start behaving better and enjoy the time you have left?”
“Doubtful.”
He rolls his eyes, sighing. “Get in bed. You’ve had a long day.”
“You caused it.”
“Your sass, while understandable, will not be allowed much longer. Do with the warning what you will.”
I grumble under my breath as he turns the light off.
Getting under the covers, I realize his scent permeates every bit of the fabric surrounding me, and I’m two seconds away from ripping off the blanket when I feel a pressure change on the opposite side of the bed.
“What are you doing?” I ask, sitting up.
He grabs my hair, yanking me back down, which lands me on his arm.
Curling his arm behind my shoulders, he tucks me into him. “I’m getting into bed.”
Bear leaps onto the end of the mattress, and I eye the traitor as he does his typical spin in a circle before lying in the perfect position, dance.
I try to push away from his massive body, but his hand flattens against my back as he turns on his side, his other hand gripping my hip, causing a nip of pain to sear through it. “You might want to hold still.”
“Why?”
“Because if Bear gets the wrong idea and attacks, we’re close enough that it might be me he gets, or it might be you.”
“What are you—” His hand shoves down the front of my sleep shorts, invading my apex again.
“Stop,” I plead, pressing him back.
The stupid, incessant throb in my sex only grows more assertive, and I hate myself for it.
“Do you want me to stop? Or do you want what I offer?”
“I want you to stop.”
“Let me tell you something, and listen to me well.” He wiggles his fingers beneath my panties, the tips of them prying my pussy lips apart before he circles my clit with one. “I don’t like lies. Lies get people killed.”
Jesus, who is this man?
I’m listening to him, while trying to wiggle away and give a good fight, all while my body provides another rush of fluids at his touch in appreciation of his apt fingers.
Trying to ignore the way it feels to be touched by such a dominating man is becoming futile, the more he teases me.
“So, that being said,” he says low, his lips hovering over mine, “do you want me to stop?”
I think about all the reasons I should make him stop, and each is valid. Then, I think of all the fear I’ve lived with for the last ten years. All the guilt that’s eaten at me and forced me to live a life of seclusion and unhappiness.
Part of me wants just to let go and say fuck it all, even if it’s only for tonight.
It would be the first time I’ve done something I want.
How steep will the consequences be, though?
Do I care?
“No. I don’t want you to stop,” I admit without thinking. My heart beats wildly at my admission. “Don’t stop.”
“Part your thighs wider for me,” he says, and the dark promise in his tone has me obeying instantly.
It’s just for tonight, I tell myself.
I’ll hatch my escape plan tomorrow.
His fingers slide inside me, and my body welcomes him back, like they’re old friends already and I’m the one who’s on the outs.
“Oh, God.” My words fly out before I can help them.
He’s killed people.
He’s killed for me.
Even that doesn’t stop me from lying back on his arm and opening my thighs more. It’s like I’m begging the Devil to take me home.
He adds another finger, and I feel a pinch as he stretches my body. I can’t help the whimpered moan that spills out.
Bear hasn’t moved an inch, like this is a typical Saturday.
“Get out of your head.” My stalker’s growled words have me jolting.
He removes his fingers, peels the blankets down that had been veiling my whorish decision.
“Take your bottoms off.”
My hands shaking, I do as I’m told, toeing them under the blankets that are now at my ankles.
“Look at you,” he says, his hand splaying over my pussy before he tips a finger inside again.
I’m far too eager, opening my thighs and lifting my hips off the bed to try and coax him back inside.
“Want me to stretch this pussy wide?” he asks, nipping my jawline.
I nod.
What am I doing? Fuck, I don’t know.
At least, it’s what I want for once, without fear that my stalker will come and dash my hopes and dreams because he’s beside me.
A portion of me wonders if this is some kind of Stockholm Syndrome. Even though he hasn’t had me captive for long, I’ve been his puppet for far longer than I’d like to admit.
Giving in to him was easy. Too easy.
He works two fingers inside me, pumping them before adding a third.
I’m breathless and loving it.
His tongue edges my ear. “Look down. Watch me stretch you.”
My eyes flicker open, and I lift my head off his arm to listen.
It’s more invasive than just feeling. Watching adds another delectable layer to the cake he’s creating.
I test a roll of my hips on the next thrust of his fingers, loving the hiss that comes from his lips as I do so.
It only eggs me on.
“I knew you’d be this good. From the first time you moaned to how you came for me over and over. I knew you were the perfect fit.” His words only have me in a delirious haze, my arousal growing wilder as I grind on his fingers, hearing how wet I am as he picks up his pace.
“You could’ve killed me in my sleep,” I manage breathlessly. The act of getting any words out nearly makes me lose my rhythm.
“I could have. Does that turn you on or scare you?”
“Both,” I admit, my inhibitions and common sense dulled under his expert fingers.
“I still might kill you.”
“Why?” I moan, my head falling back as I remove my gaze from his machinations.
“Because you’re poisonous. I’ve already told you. You’ve done something to me.”
I can’t begin to dissect his words at the moment, I’m too fucked up over his touch.
Too close to shattering and stepping into another world where I’m the hostage of a serial killer in the middle of the fucking woods, where no one will ever find me.
“Oh God!” I lift my head off his arm to watch our efforts, and my body burns, readying to fall apart. “Ohhhh, God!” I whisper.
“It’s too bad you lied to me earlier. If you’d have been truthful, you could’ve come,” he says into my ear, a dark edge to his tone.
“W-what?”
His fingers pull out right as my orgasm crawls towards the surface, and it’s ruined.
The throb between my thighs is immense, nearly painful when he rolls away from me and tugs the blankets back over both of us.
“Goodnight, pretty poison,” he tosses over his shoulder.
I’m at a loss, reeling and pissed.
I have half a mind to finish myself off while he lies there and listens.
“Don’t get any fucking ideas while I’m asleep. I’ll know if you came, and I’ll punish you even worse tomorrow.”
What’s worse than this?
Deciding I don’t want to find out, I find my panties with my foot and pull them on while staying beneath the covers.
With all the anger boiling through my stomach and the throbbing ache between my legs even stronger, it takes forever to fall asleep.
I try to ignore the fact that I’ve forgotten I’m lying next to a killer.
Some-fucking-how, that’s not the focus.