Chapter Seventeen
His silence and immobility have me on edge. I don’t know if he’s going to snap and kill me, or if my boldness caught him off guard. However, I do know that my body is aching for him to move, and it might be fucked up for me to want him so badly after he attempted to kill me…
But I can’t help it.
“I’ll show you.” His voice comes out in nearly a growl as he straightens above me. “But I can’t promise I won’t kill you.”
My heart thunders in my chest at his words, and I swallow the bile rising up the back of my throat as his hands fall to his jeans—and begin to undo his belt. “I thought you said you didn’t screw the women you murder.” My voice shakes as I watch him methodically pull the leather belt through the loops.
“I don’t,” he says slowly, his voice losing its husky tone as it shifts to cold, maybe even calculating. “I just prefer a murder weapon that’s easily hidden. I typically carry backup, but I didn’t with you. I thought you’d be easy. Don’t get me wrong,” he pauses, raking his eyes over me, “I was intrigued. But I thought my intrigue was surface level.”
I tense as his touch returns, his fingers gliding along my thighs. He breathes in deep and even, and I focus my gaze on the rise and fall of his chest rather than the belt in his hand. My mind flashes back to the woods—to the strap across my neck that was cutting off my air supply.
He was trying to kill me.
And I knew that. I know that. I know he’s tried twice. Will the third time be the charm? I tense as his fingers brush against my pussy.
“All this fuckery, and you’re still wet for me,” he rumbles, though he still sounds unemotional. “I don’t understand you, Little Red. You shouldn’t want me.”
I don’t want you.
I don’t want you.
I. Don’t. Want. You.
But I do.
A whimper slips from my mouth as he strokes me, his touch setting my body on fire with arousal. I catch myself arching against him, writhing and squirming for more of him as he plays with me. He climbs onto the bed, using his knees to shove me backward so one hand can touch me while the other grips the belt. However, as he widens my legs, he drops the strap.
So he can flip me over onto my stomach.
I now feel more vulnerable than ever. I have no idea what he’s going to do to me like this. Panic surges through my body, and I try to press myself upward, but his weight is suddenly there, forcing me back down. I choke out a startled cry as his bare cock brushes my entrance, and then plunges deep inside of me.
“Oh fuck,” he groans out as his hips land on mine. “Your pussy is so tight, Little Red.” He pumps into me, and I moan, his fullness doing something in me, shattering walls and guards as he lies on top of me. “You can tell me to stop.” His hot breath hits my neck, sending shivers of excitement down my spine.
I turn my head, my nose brushing his as our eyes meet. His body slows in the moment, and I see him waiting, wanting me to tell him to stop. We should stop. I should want him to get off me—get out of me. But that would be the sensible thing to do, and being sensible isn’t what’s kept me alive this far.
“Fuck me harder,” I breathe out.
My nameless captor is silent, but his cock throbs inside of me. His lips part, as if he might say something, but instead, he pushes himself up. I think he’s about to pull out of me entirely, but I’m suddenly ripped up from the bed. I suck in a surprised breath, and I’m met with leather around my neck.
He tugs the end of the belt, and I realize he’s put it on me like a collar. There is no escaping it.
And I panic.
My hands fly up to it, my nails digging into the leather in pure desperation. He groans as he thrusts into me, holding me by the belt. I let out a cry, and he chuckles.
“This is what you asked for, Little Red.” His lips graze my neck as his other hand slides beneath my T-shirt. He brushes my stomach, and then dips lower, finding my clit. I whimper as he begins to stroke me. “You wanted to know how I killed other women, right? Well, this is how.” He jerks the belt, and I cry out, losing the ability to breathe. “But you’re the only one I’ve ever been balls deep in. You’re the only woman who’s ever kept me hard at such a moment.”
His hips begin to move in rhythm with his hand gyrating against my clit, and I gasp for air, but can’t get any. I claw at the leather, and just as my vision grows hazy, he gives it slack. I gulp in air, the moment sending a burst of arousal through my body.
I cry out as I feel myself growing close to an orgasm. His body slams into mine over and over, and I ride the high, losing myself as the belt tightens and then loosens, but never lets me lose consciousness. I drop my hands from the collar and find his forearm draped across my body.
I hang onto him as he fucks me, and my nails break his skin as I come hard, the walls of my pussy pulsing around his cock.
“Holy…” His voice trails off as he explodes inside of me, his body trembling as he crashes into me. We both fall forward on the bed, though he catches himself before crushing me entirely. His breaths pull deep and long, and I find myself lost in emotions. I squeeze my eyes shut, begging the tears not to come.
But they do anyway.
He pushes himself up, and I tense as the belt tightens.
“Easy, Emma,” he says, his voice heartbreakingly soft. My tears soak the bed as the belt slides free of my throat, death not coming close to taking me this time. A sob threatens to rattle my chest, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m relieved he didn’t try to kill me, or if it’s the fact that I feel things when he touches me.
And I don’t even know his name.
I haven’t even kissed him.
My face stays buried in the quilt as his weight disappears. I know he’s going to leave—that’s what he did last time. It’s almost a relief, as then I’ll be able to sort through all these strange, borderline forbidden, emotions privately.
As I lay there, I listen for the door to open and close, but it doesn’t happen. I tune my ear to any sound at all, but there’s none.
Where did he go?
I finally suck in a ragged breath and roll to my side, startling as I see him standing at the edge of the bed, watching me. He’s fully dressed, and his arms are folded across his chest. I know I look like a wreck, and now, I know he sees that I’ve been silently crying.
“Are you hurt?” His voice is flat, uncaring, and cold.
“No,” I snap, wiping my wet cheeks and scooting toward the edge of the bed. I’m suddenly desperate to wash my body of him. I pull the T-shirt down and stand to my feet, albeit shakily.
He reaches for my elbow, mistaking my unsteadiness for lightheadedness. I rip my arm from him, and his brows furrow—like somehow, it’s shocking I don’t want him to touch me.
“What’s wrong with you?” He has the audacity to ask.
I glare at him. “What’s wrong with me? More like, what’s wrong with you? I don’t even know your name, and you act like you’re going to kill me, but then you just… You just—I don’t even know what you’re doing!” I’m exasperated, and I throw my hands up in defeat, before spinning around and stalking off to the bathroom. Am I acting like a teenager? Maybe.
But how the fuck else am I supposed to act? This is the weirdest situationship I’ve ever been in, and I’m tired of it. I wish he’d either man up and kill me or decide that he’s not going to and let me go.
He mutters inaudibly behind me, and I stop, spinning around. “What did you say?”
“Luca.” He enunciates the name. He hasn’t moved, and his gaze locks onto mine. “You know my name now.”
“I guess that guarantees my death then,” I choke out, swallowing the lump in my throat. I want to know him, to kiss him, especially now that I’ve seen his face. But at the same time, I’m not an idiot. I know what it means.
“Everyone is guaranteed death.” His voice once again is unwavering, while my emotions are still all over the place. I hate it. I hate him. I hate that I feel something for him. I want to claim that I’m using him—that I’m an asset by seducing him, but it’s not the entire truth. I know it.
I swallow hard, nodding my head and then spinning back around. I just want to shower, and not think about the fact that he might attack and kill me at any time. I know I said I’d get myself out of this, and that I’d make it up to the world for being so absent, but in this moment…
I don’t care. I don’t care what I left on the outside world, because I know whatever is out there doesn’t give one shit about me. My heart aches for people who aren’t out there anymore anyway. If my mother knew what I’d let him do to me…
My legs tremble as I make my way to the bathroom door, pulling it open and stepping inside. I shut it behind me, letting the darkness encapsulate me. My mind flashes to when he pinned me against the wall, but I push away the brimming excitement it brings.
He tried to kill you.
I rip his shirt over my head, the evidence of what just happened running down the inside of my leg. It serves only to anger me, and I unleash a scream laced with frustration as I hurl the T-shirt at the door. I don’t care if he hears me. I don’t care if he thinks he’s winning. Maybe he is.
Leaning over, I start the water and climb into the shower. As it rains down on my head, I turn the knob as far as it’ll go on the hot side. I want it to burn away every trace of me. As soon as I’m soaked with the scalding water, the sob I’ve been holding bursts forth from my chest. It racks my entire body, and I slide down the tiled wall to the floor.
Right where he left me.
The sound of the door creaking open above the streaming water only serves to make me cry harder. I wrap my arms around my knees. At this point, if he killed me, it would be out of mercy. Maybe that would ease his clearly troubled mind. I bury my face in the space between my chest and legs, pressing my forehead to my knees as the water batters me.
Until it suddenly doesn’t.
A gush of cold air kisses my skin, and I shiver in response. Strong hands wrap around my biceps and pull me upward. I don’t fight him, and as he lifts me up and wraps me in what feels like a towel, I let it happen.
I stand unevenly on the rug outside of the shower as he dries my body. I don’t look at him. I stare blankly into the darkness, unmoved by his caring gesture. That’s how Luca is. He’s hot and then he’s cold.
He tosses the towel to the floor somewhere, and then removes his shirt. I don’t want to smell like him again, but I don’t have the will to fight as he dresses me in it. The scent of his cologne is enough to rock my senses. I hate that it’s comforting. The smell of ecstasy… and my death.
However, there’s something about his softness that reaches inside of me and quiets the chaos. I let myself get lost in his irony… Even if I tell myself it’s only to hold onto my sanity.