CHAPTER SIX #2
I can’t stop the shudder that rips through me, body reacting against my will. My mind screams to run, to hide, but my legs feel like lead. I’m caught between the sick, addictive thrill and the terror that he’s right—that some part of me doesn’t want him to stop.
One more chance. Open the door, or I’ll make it happen on my terms. And trust me, you’d rather choose.
My hand trembles as I reach for the lock, fingers brushing over the metal. I pull away, shake my head, fight the urge.
“Tick tock, Little Spider. Make your choice.”
A loud bang on the door, and I jump, heart slamming into my ribs. My phone vibrates—another picture. I open it with a trembling hand.
It’s the door. My door. A black leather glove pressed flat against the wood, as if feeling for the pulse underneath.
I don’t realise I’m moving until I’m at the door, fingers fumbling with the lock. My breaths come out in shallow gasps, and I force myself to pause, to think.
But then another bang—harder, like a fist. My stomach twists, and I yank the lock back, pulling the door open.
No one.
Just the empty hallway, stretching into silence. I take a hesitant step forward, glance both ways, my heart thundering.
A whisper brushes past my ear, so close I can feel the heat of it.
“Good girl.”
I spin around, but the hallway is empty. My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down. A new message.
I knew you’d let me in. You just don’t know how much yet.
My knees give out, and I sink to the floor, staring at the door, realising too late that I just let him win.
And now I know—he doesn’t have to break in.
He’s already here.
The door swings shut behind me, the latch clicking into place, but I can’t move. I press my back against the wall and pull my legs up to my chest, and I can’t shake the feeling that he’s here—inside, somewhere, watching me unravel.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I force myself to look at the screen. Another message.
You’re learning, Little Spider. You let me in. Now, are you going to keep pretending you don’t want this?
I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood, my chest heaving. I know he’s close—so close I can almost feel his breath on my neck. I reach out to the lamp, fingers trembling, and switch it off. Darkness swallows the room, and I sink deeper into the shadows.
Another message. A voice note. I press play, almost dropping the phone when his voice spills out, low and intimate.
“You feel that, don’t you? The way the dark wraps around you like I would. You can’t see me, but you can feel me. Touch yourself, Raven. Let me hear how scared you are—how much you hate you want this.”
My heart slams against my ribs, and my thighs clench, heat pooling low in my stomach despite the fear. I can’t. I can’t let him push me like this.
You’re not moving. Are you too scared, Little Spider? Or are you waiting for me to make the first move?
A sob claws its way up my throat, but I swallow it down. I can’t give him that satisfaction. I type back, fingers shaking.
You’re sick. You need help.
The reply is instant.
Sick for wanting to make you feel alive? For wanting to hear you gasp when I touch you? You’re the one who keeps opening the door, Raven. You’re the one who can’t help but answer.
Another voice message. I hit play, breath hitching.
“Picture it—my hands on your hips, pushing you back against the wall. My mouth tracing your throat, hearing you whimper. You wouldn’t fight me, would you? You’d shiver, tilt your head back, let me mark you. You’d try to say no, but it would come out like a moan.”
My hands shake so hard I drop the phone, and it clatters to the floor. I cover my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to block out the way his words sink into me, crawling under my skin. I hate him. I hate how he makes me feel—how he knows exactly how to twist me into something I don’t recognise.
I force myself to grab the phone, typing back.
You don’t know anything about me.
His reply is immediate.
I know everything. I know how your breath catches when you think I’m close. I know you keep checking the mirror, hoping I’ll be there. I know you left the door unlocked just now. Did you mean to, or were you hoping I’d come in and make you forget why you’re scared?
I whip around, eyes darting to the door. I don’t remember locking it. My legs are too shaky to stand, and I slide to the floor, fingers clutching the phone like it’s the only solid thing left.
I’ll make you a deal. Be honest, and I’ll give you what you want. Lie, and I’ll make you pay for it. Ready?
I hesitate, teeth worrying my lower lip.
What do you want me to say?
The truth. I’m asking again: Do you think about me when you’re alone?
My fingers hover over the keys. I hate that I’m hesitating. I hate the answer isn’t as clear as it should be. I finally force myself to type.
Yes.
Good girl.
A wave of heat rushes through me, and I can’t stand how his praise makes my pulse race. I press my back harder against the wall, trying to stay anchored.
Next question: Do you want me to touch you?
My breath catches. My mind screams no, but my body betrays me, warmth spreading despite the fear. I can’t answer that. I can’t.
You’re not answering, Raven. You’re making me impatient.
I type, barely able to see through the blur of tears.
I don’t know.
His reply comes fast.
Honest again. You’re learning. It’s good to admit it. That confusion. That ache. I could take it away, you know. Make it so you don’t have to think—just feel. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
I want to scream, but the sound is stuck in my throat.
Last question. Answer carefully: When I touch you, will you fight me? Or will you let me make you mine?
My stomach flips, and I can’t breathe. I know what he wants me to say. I know what I should say. But I’m paralysed, trapped between fear and something darker—something that makes me hate myself.
I don’t answer.
My phone vibrates again, and I force myself to look.
Open the door, Little Spider. One last time. Let me in, and I’ll make you understand why you can’t get me out of your head.
My hand hovers over the lock. I can’t do it. I can’t let him win. But the thought of him out there, waiting, makes my pulse quicken, makes something hot coil low in my belly.
A loud, deliberate knock. My breath catches, and I freeze, staring at the door.
You’re so close to giving in. Just let me in. I’ll make it feel so good, Raven. I’ll take that fear and twist it until it’s pleasure. You’ll cry, but you won’t want me to stop. I promise.
I grip the phone tighter, tears slipping down my cheeks. I don’t know what’s worse—my fear or the way his words make me ache.
Another knock.
Don’t make me break in, Little Spider. Be a good girl and open the door.
My hand moves without thinking, fingers brushing the lock. I yank back before I can turn it, choking on a sob.
My phone buzzes again, and I can’t help but look.
If you don’t open it, I’ll make sure you pay for making me wait. You don’t want me angry, do you?
I swallow hard, head spinning, every part of me torn between terror and the sick, twisted desire to know what he’ll do if I give in.
Another knock, softer this time, almost like a caress.
Let me in, Little Spider. Let me show you what it’s like to be mine.
I choke on a breath, fingers trembling over the lock. I don’t know whether I’m going to turn it.
And that terrifies me most of all.
I can’t move. My fingers shake so violently near the lock I’m terrified of dropping my phone. His words keep circling in my head, dark and sharp, cutting through the fear and sinking into something deeper—something I don’t want to admit.
Another knock, slower now, almost rhythmic. My pulse matches it, thudding against my ribs. I bite my lip hard, taste copper, and don’t care. I don’t know what scares me more: him walking in, or me unlocking the door.
My phone vibrates so violently it nearly slips from my hand.
If you don’t open it, I’m coming in anyway. But if you open it yourself, I’ll be gentle. I’ll take my time. Make you feel every inch of what you’ve been begging for.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing back a sob. I can’t give in. I can’t let him see how broken I am, how the fear has twisted into something that burns.
But he’s right. I didn’t block him. I didn’t call the police. I’m still here, waiting, like I want him to catch me.
The phone buzzes again.
Are you touching yourself, Little Spider? Thinking about what it would feel like if I was inside? I bet you are. I bet you’re soaking through your pretty little panties, and you hate yourself for it.
A shiver crawls up my spine, and I hate how my body responds, heat pooling low and tight despite the terror. I type back, desperation bleeding into every word.
Stop it. Please.
Stop lying to me. You want it. You want to be caught. You’re just too scared to admit it.
My chest aches, and I press a hand against my sternum, trying to keep myself from unravelling.
Another voice message. I hesitate, but I can’t help it—I hit play.
His voice, darker, rougher, like he’s holding back a growl:
“Open the door, Raven. I’ll put my hands on your hips, pin you against the wall, and make you beg for it.
I’ll drag my teeth down your throat, leave marks so everyone knows you’re mine.
You will try to fight, but I will just pin your wrists, listen to you gasp, and when you finally give up, I will fuck you so hard you forget why you were ever scared. ”
A sound escapes me—half moan, half sob. My legs feel weak, and I slide down the wall, knees pulled to my chest, rocking back and forth.
You’re shaking, aren’t you? I can picture it. Your skin flushed, thighs clenched, trying to convince yourself you hate me. I know the truth. You hate how much you want it. You hate that you’re wet just thinking about me forcing you to take it.
My hand moves without permission, sliding between my thighs, and I clamp my legs shut, horrified at myself. I shouldn’t be reacting like this. I should be fighting, screaming, running.