Chapter 12 Bates
When she steps toward the front door and stairs, I take a deep breath, forcing the air through my mask.
Fuck, I can barely contain myself.
Warmer
Without a response, she lifts her bare leg and sets her foot down on the first step.
Warmer
Step by step, the distance between us begins to shrink as she reaches the top of the stairs. She glances at her phone, and I send her another text, encouraging her path.
Warmer
Through the wall at my back, I can hear the hardwood floor creak under her steps. She’s getting closer.
She drags her finger along the wall at her side, her legs crossing with each step as she sways down the hallway.
As she approaches the doorframe of her bedroom, she peeks inside but continues on toward the other room—a makeshift office that she hasn’t touched in months, aside from tossing miscellaneous storage into the chaos before shutting the door.
I’ll save her from having to dig through the wreckage.
Colder
Her patience is growing as thin as mine. She spins around abruptly and strides back toward her bedroom, stopping a foot inside.
Warmer
Just like she did in the room downstairs, she crouches beside the bed, setting her phone on the comforter, and bends to look under. Her back is to me, her ass on full display.
I suck in a ragged breath, freezing in place at the sound it makes through my mask.
Shit.
She heard it. I have no doubt by the way she becomes a statue, her breath halting in her throat. Her shoulders tense as she leans back on her feet. I lock my phone and tuck it in my sweatshirt pocket before grabbing the knife from my joggers pocket.
I open it gently, silently, gripping it tightly in my right hand. She wanted an intruder, taking control, dominating, and that’s exactly what she’s going to get.
Through the slits in her slatted closet doors, I watch her become aware of my presence, but I’m distracted.
God, that image … her juicy ass sitting on her heels, her hair flowing down her back. She looks so fucking sexy. The rigidness of her muscles and shiver that runs down her back draw a deep growl from my chest.
Slowly, she rises to her feet, turning and facing the closet without moving an inch closer to me, her every breath shallow and shaky.
As if approaching a wild animal, she tiptoes forward, hesitant, with fear in her eyes. She is waiting for the beast to pounce, to turn on her and attack.
She takes as much time as she can manage without completely freezing in place, and then her quivering hand reaches out. Three feet from the door. Two feet. One foot.
Her hand is nearly spasming, her breath shallow but loud as her delicate fingers wrap around the doorknob. She doesn’t move, doesn’t pull it open.
Her eyes flit up to the crack in the slats, where I’m staring at her through my mask. I wonder if she can see me, watching her, waiting.
Gradually, she twists the knob, the mechanism clicking as it unlatches. An inch gap forms in the doorway, the soft twinkling lights that wrap around her ceiling casting a glow through the slit.
Heavy and ragged, she breathes erratically, doing little to conceal herself as she pulls the door open another inch. I contemplate how far I want to let her go before I strike, lashing out and taking over.
Wetting her lips, she tugs the door open another half inch. “Hello—”
I cut her off, throwing the door open. I tower in the frame, my broad shoulders filling the narrow doorway.
Everything in the next five seconds moves in slow motion.
She gasps, her eyes drifting up my body, widening until they can’t get any bigger, nearly bulging out of her head. Those plump red lips part, and she sucks in a breath. I know what’s coming next, and I act before it can happen.
Striding out of the closet, I lift my left hand and flatten it against her mouth, stifling the scream that tears through her lungs at the same time.
Something takes over me, the character she wants me to play. But I’m not acting right now. I’m not pretending. This is just as much for her as it is for me. She’s mine, whether she truly wants to be or not. Her whimpers, her moans, her tears from coming so hard—they’re all mine.
I’ve always had this darkness inside of me, these cravings that I’ve never let myself explore. But she craves those parts of me too. We’re a match made in sin, and I’ll pray at her altar every day for the rest of my damn life.
Gripping the knife tightly, I press it against her throat, my other hand still covering her mouth. I don’t push it into her skin, certainly not hard enough to hurt, just close enough to give her the edge of danger she desires.
I’m a threat, invading her home, and the only thing I’m here for is her.
“Shh, shh, shh.” I close all distance between us.
Her hips are flush against my thighs. Her back arches, but my hands stay firmly in place. My knife on her bare neck. My palm on her painted lips.
Using my legs, I guide her backward to the bed. The back of her knees hit the mattress, and she tumbles, falling onto the comforter. I let her go, positioning her legs between my thighs, tight enough so she can’t move.
“So fucking sexy.” I scoff in disbelief that she’s all mine.
Leaning down, I rest the tip of the blade on her thigh and gradually trail it up her body, over the lace, until it’s secured back at her throat.
She doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t have to.
Her chest is rising and falling rapidly. Her lips are parted, pupils dilated. Her pasty skin is decorated with various shades of pinks and reds, traveling from her cheeks to her chest, splotched across her entire body.
Even though I’m pushing her thighs together, I have no doubt that if I freed them, they’d fall open, welcoming me. I have even less doubt that if I swiped my fingers up her center, I’d find her absolutely soaked.
She’s my feral Little Cupid, hungry for love and starving for affection. I’m going to fill her up with both. Eagerly. Vigorously.
Pulling the black satin eye mask from my hoodie pocket that I bought just for this, I hand it to her. “Put it on.”
She swallows hard, reaching out and gently taking it from me. “For my eyes, I assume.”
“It’ll be for your mouth if you keep talking.” My voice is deep and low, unwavering.
Her pupils dilate, locked on to mine as the tiniest smirk twitches on the corner of her lips.
Lifting her thumb and pointer finger to her mouth, she presses them together before swiping them across her bottom lip, like she’s locking them shut before tossing away the key.
Instead, she offers it to me. I take it and toss it over my shoulder with a smirk she can’t see.
The thin mesh darkens my vision, but it certainly doesn’t hide how incredibly stunning she looks right now. Red lace decorates her soft skin. The curves of her thighs flatten against the bed, emphasizing her hourglass shape.
Her breasts, held in place by the lace cups and heart nipple coverings, do little to quench my appetite to devour them completely. I’ve been dreaming of them for months.
But her perfect tits aren’t the only things begging for my touch, my brand. I’m going to explore every inch of her body. Take my time. Savor it.
With a daring gleam in her eye, she hesitates before she slips the mask over her head and covers her eyes. Testing her, I wave my fingers in front of her face, and she doesn’t react in the slightest.
I test it again, this time waving the knife in front of her.
No change.
Digging into my sweatshirt pocket, I pull out the last item—the handcuffs to keep her in place.
The metal jingles slightly as I free them. Her body tenses ever so slightly.
“Give me your wrists.”
She does, lifting her hands, palms up. So obedient. Such a good fucking girl.
But I don’t take her hands. Instead, I set the knife on her nightstand, slip my arms beneath her, lift, and reposition her higher up in the bed, her head on the pillows.
No muttered words or protests. I guess she can behave when she wants, keeping her brat side at bay. Shocking.
Lifting one of her hands, I click the cuff around her small wrist. Guiding her arm up and back, I wrap the cuffs around the top bar of her headboard.
A perfect piece of furniture—cream-colored suede with a gold bar, which runs from one corner to the other, on top of the board. Maybe my dirty girl knew that she wanted something she could be bound to.
When I grab her other wrist, she fights me a little, pulling a primal grunt from within me.
“Give me your hand, Serena. Don’t make this any harder.”
Her hand goes limp as she hands me control. I secure it in the cuff. My dick straightens at the filthy image before me.
I’m never going to get enough of her. Ever.
Picking the knife back up, I set the tip of the blade on the notch in her collarbone. Inch by inch, I drag it down her body. She responds eagerly, her body arching with the contact.
“I’m here just for you. Are you going to give me what I want, Little Cupid, or do you want me to take it?”
I’m walking a fine line between keeping the illusion in play while maintaining her enthusiastic consent. At the end of the day, I never want to push her faster or harder than she’s ready for. I want us to last forever.
If she wants me to be rougher, meaner, I will without hesitation, but only after we’ve done this a time or two, not during the first enactment of her dark desires.
She murmurs something under her breath.
Leaning forward, I lower my face over hers until two inches remain between her lips and the mouth of my mask. “Say it again.”
Her body tightens, her shoulders jerking with her gasp. The rapid rise and fall of her chest are intoxicating to watch as adrenaline floods her veins. The visual sends jolts of arousal straight to my dick.
Dropping my hand to the comforter beside her, I fist the material, anchoring myself in place so I don’t make an unwanted move until I know what she said. But, fuck, my restraint is fading at a record-fast rate.