Chapter 18
Mind
Clouds have often been regarded as depressive depictions of human emotion. Gloomy. Sad. Lethargic. But as Theo and I pull up to his apartment building, and the gray, thundering sky overhead cries bullets down upon us, I feel energized, electrified.
We exit the SUV and approach the front entrance. Anticipation sears my skin, the downpour of rain soaking our clothes, our hair, everything.
There’s a strange beauty in the raging storm, two potential outcomes on the horizon.
Will I survive? Or will Theo lead me down a path to complete obliteration?
Either outcome is plausible, acceptable.
Even broken things can be beautiful. I’m reminded of that every day when I look in the mirror.
I’m reminded of that when I look at him.
When I see the bruises and cuts that have plagued his existence, I feel less lonely in my wreckage.
Theo glances down at me, beads of rain dripping down his cheeks. He holds out his hand, daring me to hold it, to accept his coveted invitation to the underworld.
“This is your last chance to run, Safia,” he rasps. “After this…” He sucks in a sharp breath, his lecherous gaze flitting across my resolute features. “I won’t ever stop chasing you.”
He wants me, almost as desperately as I want him. It’s a sick sort of lust, laced in the carnal thirst for unholy water, for unspeakable release. I don’t know who I am anymore. This isn’t like me. But perhaps, despite masks and makeup, I’ve never known who I really was…until now.
“You don’t need to chase me.” I swallow, cementing my choice as I lock my fingers with Theo’s. “You’ve caught me.” I glance up at him through damp, dark lashes. “I’m yours.”
“Not yet, but you will be,” he rasps, tightening his hold on me. This is it. The gates have closed, locked. And he’s the only one with a key. “I’ll make sure of that.”
My heart hammers as he leads us through the lobby toward his apartment. Silence envelops us, broken only by the occasional flicker of the sconces on the walls that light our path to corruptive catharsis. The flickering intensifies, turning violent as a clap of thunder echoes through the halls.
In unison, like a coordinated assault, all the lights abruptly cut out, and I gasp as we're plunged into pitch darkness.
Theo chuckles, the sound tainted with wicked intentions. “I thought you said you’re not afraid of the dark.”
“I’m not,” I breathe out as he unlocks the door to his apartment.
I’ve lived with Theo for over a week now. That’s all it took. Seven days. Seven days to get caught and trapped in his web. It’s an intricate web—detailed, complex, intriguing. Once caught, a spider seldom lets its prey escape. I’ve been warned. And yet, here I am, tangled and willing.
The blinds in the living room are closed, and my vision struggles to adapt to the darkness.
Theo flicks the light switch back and forth.
“Power’s out,” he whispers as I hover beside him, my clothes heavy and wet.
He turns to face me, caressing the side of my cold cheek with the back of his warm hand.
“Don’t worry, Safia. You don’t need to see me.
You’ll feel me.” He arches over, whispering in my ear.
“You’ll feel me everywhere, little lamb.
” My breath catches as he snakes a hand around the base of my throat.
He drags his thumb across my bottom lip. “Close your eyes.”
I nod, his voice like a royal decree for obedience. My body buzzes with greed, my skin pebbling as he removes my clothes, one garment at a time.
He undresses me like he’s plucking wilted petals off a dying rose. His movements are slow, intentional. My jacket falls to the floor, my shoes removed one by one.
His touch lingers as he circles around me, his fingers gliding up and down my exposed arms, my legs. My chest rises as he unzips my dress. With two hands, he peels it off me, strips me bare, until I stand before him in only a bra and panties.
He lingers behind me, his hands roaming my curves. The rough texture of clothes feel jarring against my soft skin, but I lean back against his chest. His sweet breath fans against the slope of my neck as he graces me with wet, open-mouthed kisses.
I expel a small moan, my insides clenching at the tender touch. It’s unlike him. To be gentle.
“I’m going to mark you, little lamb,” he whispers, unclasping my bra.
I hold my breath as my breasts spill out, my nipples stiffening in the cold air.
“Every inch.” His lips drift across my skin, from my neck to my clavicle to my breasts.
He leaves trails of evidence in his wake, a warning to all of those who dare stand in his way.
“This body is mine.” And God, it is. I whimper as he latches onto my nipple, his teeth scraping against the sensitive flesh as he nibbles and bites.
“Do you like that, Safia? Do you like it when I play with you?”
“Yes,” I moan, arching my back.
More. I need more.
He chuckles against my skin as he pulls away, looming over me like a haunting apparition.
My chest heaves as Theo’s hand presses against my sternum, pushing me back until I collide with the hard edge of the dining room table.
In one swift motion, he sweeps everything off the surface, sending it all crashing to the floor.
“Get on the table.”
I perch on the edge and stare at his faded silhouette, my lips parted as he undresses.
I wish the lights were on. I wish the moon wasn’t hidden behind clouds.
I wish I could see his face. See the desire I invoke, the hunger I provoke.
I take in the rounded ridges of his muscles, the way his shoulders command the entire fucking room.
And when he steps out of his pants, boxers following, I release an audible gasp.
I can’t see it, but I know he’s smiling. I know he’s pleased. He strides toward me, palming his cock, and the closer he gets, I find myself losing all sense of right and all meaning of wrong.
He halts before me, and I can see him now. My vision adjusts like any creature that needs to evolve, that needs to adapt.
My mouth dries as I watch him stroke himself.
“Take your panties off and spread your legs for me,” he commands. I hesitate, unsure and afraid of the bare vulnerability. It’s been years. It’s been too long. He tilts his head, his voice a gravelly, rough timbre. “Don’t make me repeat myself, little lamb. I said spread.”
I sit farther back on the table and fumble to remove my thong. I toss it haphazardly on the floor, and then I obey his order. I do as I’m told. I’ve always been good at following orders.
With my heels dug into the oak wood table, I slowly part my knees, my pulse quickening as I expose myself to him.
All of me. Every piece. Every broken fucking piece.
“Now touch yourself, little lamb,” he rasps, taking a purposeful step forward, fisting the entire length of his generous cock. “Touch yourself like you did that night. The night I called you. The night I knew you’d be mine.”
My eyes widen. “I—”
“You’ll do it, Safia.” He groans, the tendons in his neck tightening.
“You’ll do it because you’re a good girl, aren’t you?
You’ll do it because you want to please me.
” A sly, knowing smirk clips his lips as he glances down at his cock.
“You’ll do it because you want me. You want me so fucking deep inside you. ”
Bastard. He’s the goddamn devil. But I’m a demon. Equally guilty. Equally evil. I’m under his spell, his command, his rule, and so I glide my hand across my aching body toward my pussy.
With two fingers, I rub my clit, increasing the pressure with each torturous ministration.
“Like this?” I ask, eyelids fluttering as my thighs tremble. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes, baby,” he growls, his voice so low that the earth might shift under its all-consuming power. “Just like that. Keep going, Safia. Harder. Play with your little clit. Just like that.”
I toss my head back, my abdomen spasming from impending release. And then he closes the distance, his fingers sliding inside of me with shocking speed and tantalizing precision.
My eyes spring open as he towers over me, one hand planted by my side as he fucking annihilates me, unrelenting and unapologetic.
“Come for me, little lamb. Show me how much you want me. Come, Safia. Fucking—” My pussy clenches around him, and I writhe, squirting all over his stomach. “Oh, fuck me.”
I gasp as he loops his arms around my thighs and lifts my pussy to his lips. My head bashes against the table, my shoulders holding me up as his tongue darts inside my pussy, licking and sucking and relishing.
God, I can’t stop. Wave after wave of pleasure and pain zap through me. He drains me. Over and over and over again. Until I’m panting, withered, and spent.
But he’s not done. He hasn’t even started. Theo lowers my hips back down on the table, his lips glistening. I’m all over him. Every inch. He’s not the only one that leaves a mark. He’s equally stained, tainted, ruined.
“Get on all fours, little lamb,” he groans, flipping me over.
He pushes down on my spine, and my back arches in response, my ass spread for his taking. He glides the tip of his cock along my pussy, teasing me, making me beg.
“Please…”
He chuckles. “I told you that I’d have you begging.
” And then he surges forward, spreading my walls.
I cry out at the pressure, the force, the goddamn euphoria of his sweet, sinister invasion.
“Jesus Christ.” He coils a hand around my neck, yanking me backward.
He licks the side of my neck, thrusting deeper inside me.
“You’re so fucking tight, Safia. Your pussy feels so fucking good.
” His grip around my throat tightens, and I relish the restraint, the control.
His pace quickens as his teeth graze my ear lobe.
“You’re taking me so well, little lamb. Your pussy was made for me. ”
“Theo…” I manage to breathe out, scratching at his forearm. He loosens his grip on my throat. “Harder.”
“Oh.” He grins against my skin. “As you wish, little lamb.”
I understand why he calls me a lamb. It’s because he’s a lion.
The stories have been told for ages. The weak little lamb meets the dangerous lion.
But in Theo’s story, the lamb isn’t weak.
And the lion’s not dangerous. We’re both untamed, wild in our own way.
I may look soft, but beneath the surface, he knows I’m resilient.
And with all his strength and ferocity, I know he can be tender.
We fit in the strangest, most unlikely way. A lion and a lamb, bound not by contrast, but by something deeper. Something people kill for.
Theo holds me tight against his chest, his body flexed, arms rigid. “Fuck, Safia…”
I throw my head back against his shoulder, my ass bouncing against his pelvis as he fills me, stuffs me, completes me.
He’s deep—so deep inside me that I fear we may forever be latched together, chained to each other for all of eternity.
Theo twists my nipple in his right hand, his left turning me his favorite shade of blue. And just when I can’t breathe, just when the lights are about to go out in my mind, he comes inside of me—shaking, trembling, and I join him in an earth-shattering eruption.
He slumps over, his body heavy and warm as he cages me beneath him.
His breath is ragged, chest heaving in rhythm with mine.
The room smells like us—like the heat of our skin, the rawness of our breaths.
It clings to the air, to every breath we take, and it feels like something I want to bottle, to remember, to keep forever.
I close my eyes, reveling in the sensation of him still pressed against me, our bodies slowly calming down from the high.
Theo presses a soft kiss to my shoulder. “I’m never letting you go,” he whispers, his voice husky. “I’m keeping you, Safia. Do you understand?”
His words settle over me like a weighted blanket, grounding despite the potential suffocating implications. But I don’t care. For the first time in my life, I want to be kept.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I understand.”
Theo pulls away, his touch lingering on my skin before he stands.
“Give me a minute,” he murmurs, slipping out of the room.
I hear his footsteps retreating, and then the sound of drawers opening and closing in the distance.
A few moments later, he returns, wearing a T-shirt and boxers, carrying one of his shirts in his hand.
“Here.” He tosses it to me with a smirk. “I like how you look in my clothes.”
I catch the shirt and slip it on, the fabric soft against my skin. It smells like him, and for a moment, I’m wrapped up in him all over again.
His gaze flits down as I pull on the hem of the shirt, his smirk widening. “A perfect fit.”
I roll my eyes, unable to stifle a grin.
Theo glances around and then looks back at me.
“We should light some candles,” he says. “I’ll check the boxes in my bedroom. You can look in the front hall closet—there might be some there.”
I nod, and as he heads to the bedroom, I take the opportunity to slip into the bathroom for a moment.
I freshen up and splash water on my face.
When I leave the bathroom, I head to the front hall closet.
Opening the door, I immediately find the candles, but as I shift things around, I notice a box at the top with research written across it.
Curiosity tugs at me, and without thinking, I reach up to pull it down.
The box falls, hitting the ground with a thud. Half a dozen books spill out, scattering across the floor. My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the covers.
They’re mine. All of them.
The books I’ve written.
The Mind of a Killer by Dr. Safia Hadid. The Monster Mentality by Dr. Safia Hadid.
Six books—every one of them authored by me.
My heart races as unease settles deep in my chest. Why does he have these? I swallow hard, trying to shake the feeling crawling up my spine.
It’s probably nothing. Professional development. Must be. He’s an FBI agent. These books are relevant to his field. I quickly gather the books, shoving them back into the box and pushing it into the closet.
I grab the five candle sticks I found earlier, and as I close the door, Theo appears, smiling down at me.
“Found them?”
I swallow, nodding. “Mhmm. I found them.”