Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Dahlia
It’s been over two weeks since Echo showed up at my bookstore, and in that time, he’s texted me every day.
Not just once, either. Multiple times. Morning check-ins, random observations, questions that feel designed to map the inside of my head.
What are you afraid of?
What do you regret?
What do you want that you won’t let yourself have?
I answer some. Deflect others. But I always respond. Because the alternative is him showing up in person again, and after what went down last time, I’m not sure I can handle that.
The memory of that day is singed in my brain. The feel of his fingers on my neck, of his thumb pressed against my pulse, and of the way he looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole. All of it haunts me.
I’ve probably replayed that moment in my head at least a hundred times. Which is pathetic. And dangerous. And exactly the kind of thinking that’s going to get me killed.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand with an incoming text from Echo.
What are you doing?
I glance at the clock. 9:43 PM.
About to go to bed. Why?
Liar. You haven’t even changed into your pajamas yet.
My stomach drops and I scan my room, expecting to find him standing in a corner somewhere with that infuriating smirk.
He does this all the time. Casually mentions things he shouldn’t know about. Like what I’m wearing. Or that I took a different route to work. Or that I skipped lunch.
I still don’t know how he does it. I’ve checked the apartment for cameras and my car for trackers dozens of times, and still nothing.
Lately I’ve been telling myself that he has some kind of stalker sixth sense, just so I can sleep better at night.
It’s absolutely fucked up. But here we are.
Stalker
Admirer.
I hate that it makes me smile.
I’m lying in my bed, freshly showered, scrolling on my phone when an article comes across my newsfeed.
Top Ten Teenage Killers.
Against my better judgement, I click on it.
It doesn’t take me long to find the profile on Christian. He’s ranked number 8 on the list. The fact that they’re even ranking monsters like him is disgusting.
I try to skim through it, but my eyes keep catching on all the horrific details, and I can’t stop picturing my parents in my head.
How scary it must’ve been for them. How painful. How awful it must’ve been for my dad to have to watch my mom die, and to know he wouldn’t be able to protect me.
I keep reading through blurry eyes, and God, I hate how they’re sensationalizing that night. How they’re focusing their lens on Christian’s violence and his twisted psyche, as if he’s something to be in awe of.
It was a fucking tragedy. The most tragic night of my life, but aside from their names, they’re barely acknowledging my parents at all.
There’s no mention of how loved they were or how impactful their loss was.
No mention of who they were as individuals or the loving friends and family they left behind.
They’re only focusing on their death and how violent it was.
As if their death serves as nothing more than a form of entertainment.
The sound of metal sliding against metal sounds from somewhere behind me. My head snaps up and I freeze.
The sliding glass door. Someone’s opening the sliding glass door. How is that even possible? We’re on the fourth floor.
I scramble to my feet just in time to see Echo stepping into my room.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“Checking on you.” He says, stepping closer. His eyes sweep over me, cataloguing everything. His jaw tightens. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I say, shaking my head dismissively.
“You’re crying.”
“No, I’m not—” I snap, pressing my fingers to my face automatically. They come back wet.
Fuck.
I am, and I didn’t even realize it.
I narrow my eyes at him. “That doesn’t matter. You can’t be here.”
“But I am.” He says, taking a step closer. “Now, tell me what happened.”
“I already told you it’s nothing.” I say, gritting my teeth. “Now go.” I move towards him and press my hands against his chest to try to push him back toward the patio door.
He doesn’t move an inch.
It’s like pushing against a wall of solid muscle. Heat radiates through his shirt, and I can feel his heart beating steady and strong beneath my palms.
I shove harder, and he just stands there, watching me with those intense amber eyes.
“Give me a name.” He says quietly, his voice dropping to something more cold and dangerous. “That’s all I need.”
“There is no name.” I say, pushing again as frustrated tears burn my eyes. “Just get out!”
“No.”
“Echo stop—”
“Someone hurt you. Tell me who.”
I look up at him, ready to scream, ready to shove him again, and the words die in my throat.
He’s looking at me with the same intensity he did in the bookstore. Like he’s been starving for weeks and I’m the only thing that will satisfy his hunger.
I should be thinking about my past. I should be dwelling on my guilt and all my mistakes. But with Echo here, standing this close, and looking at me like that, he’s all I can focus on. And a twisted part of me is feening for a distraction.
I take in everything. From the way his lips are slightly parted, to the way his throat keeps bobbing up and down.
I need to step back. To put distance between us before things go any further. But my legs still aren’t moving.
I swallow hard and look up at him as my hands press against the hard planes of his chest and I feel the steady rhythm of his heart beating.
“Stop looking at me like that, Bambi.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Because you won’t like what happens next.”
I lick my lips and stare at him even harder, extending a clear challenge with my eyes.
His pupils dilate, and my pulse is racing so fast I can hear it in my ears.
This is so fucked up. This is reckless. This is—
I don’t get to finish the thought before he’s on me.
His mouth crashes into mine and every other thought in my head flies out the window. All I can think about is him. His scent. His warmth. His tongue.
His lips are soft yet demanding as they move against mine with a feral intensity that is as sexy as it is terrifying. His velvety tongue slides against mine, and I moan into his mouth at the sensation.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, his tongue has no business feeling this good.
Echo hoists me up by my thighs, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he walks us backwards towards the bed. He sits on the edge, and I settle on top of his lap, straddling him as our mouths move in tangent with each other.
Echo bucks his hips and suddenly, I’m hyperaware of the feel of him underneath me. He’s hard, thick, and pressed firmly against the seam of my pussy. The sensation is so delicious, so goddamn overwhelming, that I can’t help but grind against him as I whimper into his mouth.
“Jesus Christ, Bambi.” He rasps, breaking our kiss. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Good.” I breathe, grinding against him even harder. “Consider it payback for the night we met.”
I go in for another kiss and when our tongues touch, Echo groans into my mouth.
The sound reverberates straight to my pussy.
Fuck.
How is he so hot?
Echo smiles against my mouth. “Genetics, mostly.”
I blink a few times before it clicks.
I said that out loud.
Oh my god.
I said that out loud.
I feel the heat of embarrassment rising up my neck, but before it can fully hit, Echo distracts me by sliding his hands down to my ass and gripping it tightly, helping me chase the delicious friction.
“You have no idea what the fuck you do to me, Bambi.” He breathes.
He squeezes harder, the sensation hitting the point where pleasure and pain beautifully collide, and my eyes roll back.
Fuck.
Heat pools between my legs. I swirl my hips on top of him and I can feel myself soaking through my thin sleep shorts.
I know Echo feels it too because as I keep grinding his breathing gets more and more ragged.
“Dahlia—” He sighs, my name sounding like a prayer, a plea, and a warning all wrapped in one.
I don’t stop. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. All I can think about is the way his cock feels beneath me. The way his hands feel so perfect on my skin. The way his mouth tastes like mint and a hint of smoke.
Keeping one palm firmly on my ass, he slides his other hand higher and palms my breast over my thin robe. His thumb brushes against my nipple and my whole body trembles.
“Fuck,” he says, pulling back to look me in my eyes. “You like that don’t you, Bambi?”
I sink my teeth into my lower lip and nod, not even caring how crazy this is.
I’m lost in it. Lost in him and in the way his touch makes everything else in the world disappear. My past doesn’t exist. My guilt doesn’t exist. There’s only this. Him. Me. Us.
He pinches my nipple hard as he pulls me in for another deep kiss, and I groan into his mouth.
How is he so good at this?
His mouth moves to my neck, sucking and biting in a way that’s definitely going to leave marks, and I don’t even care. I just tilt my head back to give him better access and grind myself against cock even harder.
Echo bucks his hips, slamming his thick, rigid cock right against my clit until my whole body starts to tremble.
I’m so close to coming.
So close to completely shattering all over him.
Then the sound of the front door slamming snaps both of us out of our trance.
Fallon’s home.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I shove myself away from Echo’s chest and he lets go of me immediately.
“You need to leave.” I hiss, trying to catch my breath. “Now.”
He touches his swollen lips, and something dark and possessive flashes across his face.
“Make it worth my while.”
I glare at him incredulously. “What?”
His eyes drop to my chest. To my hardened nipples visible through my thin robe. He licks his lips.
Oh.
“You’re insane.” I whisper.
“And you’re wasting time.” He says, leaning back on my bed. “Unless you want me to call her in here?”
“You wouldn’t.” I challenge.
“I might.”
I glare at him as I debate reaching for the tie on my robe.
Whatever, it’s not like he wasn’t just touching them a second ago. Besides, I’d be lying if I said a part of me isn’t a little curious about what his reaction will be.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab the edges of my robe and flash him before closing it again.
Echo’s smile is absolutely sinful and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling back at him.
“There.” I hiss, narrowing my eyes at him. “Happy?”
“Very.” He says smoothly as he stands and backs himself towards the patio door.
“You have gorgeous tits, Bambi.” He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “I can’t wait to get my teeth on them.”
My face flames, and I nearly choke on my own saliva. “That is not happening.”
“We’ll see about that.” He says, stepping out onto the patio, looking way too satisfied with himself.
“Oh, and Bambi…” He says, pausing just before he slides the door shut. “Make sure to lock this after I leave.”
Then he’s gone, disappearing into the night like he was never there.
I lock the sliding door with shaking hands and press my back against the cool glass.
I read an article about my psycho ex and the first thing I do is dry-hump a killer. The same killer who’s been openly stalking me for the last month.
What the hell is wrong with me?