Chapter Eleven
Reaper
C harlotte walks out of the room, small bare feet padding across the wood floor with that large knife hanging in her hand by her side.
When she barged into my gym wielding a knife, my first thought was she was there to try to take me out. Maybe so I could take her secret with me to the grave and she could be free of me.
I was more surprised than I let on that she came with the plan to help me, to save me. She was ready and willing to fight someone.
For me.
The thought makes me smile again, but I quickly stop. This damn woman keeps doing ridiculous things that make me smile and… feel other things I don't want to be feeling.
I can't have a distraction in my life. Although I’ve kept as much distance as I can, Charlotte still seems to be consuming me whole.
That has been proven rather bloodily when I brought a victim home with me last night, and for the first time in years, I was left bleeding. I had turned my back on the child murdering bastard as I picked out my next torture method, but even through some of the soundproof padding, I heard a faint noise from upstairs that stole my mind from my task and brought me into a whirlwind of thoughts about Charlotte.
What was she doing? What was she wearing? Was her hair up in that wild bird's nest looking thing she does?
I got lost for a moment too long in thoughts of her and didn't hear my victim breaking his right arm loose and swiping up a scalpel I left on the table. Pain sliced across my back as he slashed at me, drawing blood. I whirled on him, catching his arm mid-swing just as he prepared for another blow, and with a sharp twist, sent his ulna and radius snapping. White bone poked out of his arm mixed with fresh blood.
Not nearly enough blood to satisfy me though.
I was furious. At him and myself.
I returned upstairs to grab my whips. That motherfucker needed to bleed more, painfully, and I needed to unleash some anger.
Running into Charlotte up there, seeing her concerned look while looking so fucking effortlessly beautiful in my shirt and boxers, only made me more furious. I’m not sure why she continues to wear my clothing when I delivered all her clothes from Jason’s house. Not that I care, but it just adds to the frustrating attraction I’m feeling toward her.
Shaking the memories of last night away, I make my way upstairs to the bathroom and turn on the shower. Normally, I would use my shower in my room, but Charlotte’s taken over my bedroom and personal bathroom.
I grab a bar of soap and begin to wash myself as my mind still focuses on that woman lying in my bed right now.
Her scent is everywhere in this house. An intoxicating blend of honey and fresh mangoes and her. It has found its way into rooms she’s never even been in. It’s like her scent has attached itself to me like some sort of parasite and follows me wherever I go. Even if I purposely avoid seeing her, I can never avoid smelling her.
Even now, over the cool ocean scent of my soap, I can smell her.
It’s fucking infuriating.
My dick pulses when I pass the soap over it, and I throw the bar to the floor.
Fuck.
I rest my hands against the glass shower wall and hang my head. My cock grows bigger and harder.
Fucking hell. Not again.
I fist my hard length and stroke myself. Visions of Charlotte removing my oversized shirt from her body and revealing her perky tits flash before me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and release my painfully throbbing cock.
No. I’m not doing this. I’m not going there. I can't.
I reach behind me, pulling off the bandage she had placed last night and scratch at the wound on my shoulder blade until I feel the sharp sting of it reopening and blood dribbling down my back. I turn my back toward the hot stream of water, grunting and letting it send burning pain through me, washing away thoughts of Charlotte.