Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GRACE
“What?”
He tsks, as if I’m the one who’s being ridiculous. “Your IUD. It’s a problem, and I need to fix it.”
“By ‘fix it,’ you mean…?”
“Take it out.”
I gasp, my eyes going so wide I’m surprised they don’t pop out of my skull. The remaining fog of my orgasm clears, and I’m hit with a wave of terror. “Fuck no. You will not be doing that.”
“Why not?”
He genuinely sounds confused. “Why not? Because I don’t want you to get me pregnant! You’re a serial killer!” I try to shimmy up on the mattress, but he holds tight, not letting me move. “I… I want to be with someone I love before I have kids. That is most certainly not you.”
“I see…” His fingers curl against my walls, relentless and punishing. “That means you have until the day I rip that nasty IUD out of your body to fall in love with me.”
“Wha—No!” My head spins, unable to concentrate with his fingers moving like that. “I don’t want that!”
“A shame I don’t care.” His voice is sweet, placating.
“You’re mine, Grace. Mine to do with as I please.
Mine to worship and to ruin. To consume.
” He leans in, brushing his masked face against mine in a gentle caress.
“And I will do it all with glee, knowing it means one day I’ll die with the taste of you on my tongue, in my veins. ”
“You’re crazy,” I whisper, my mind breaking.
“If only you knew how much.” He backs slowly off the bed. “You will, though.”
And then, like every time before, he disappears.
I lie there panting, staring blindly at the ceiling, my body humming in the aftermath of his heated touch. The scent of gunpowder and tobacco lingers in the space he used to occupy, filling me with a deep sense of loneliness and loss every time I take a breath.
I’m utterly terrified but also a little excited and turned on.
If I’m really, truly honest with myself, I probably would have taken things further with him if he stayed—fallen headfirst into his endless well of depravity.
I want to run, but something about him pulls me to him—something dangerous and intoxicating.
I’m worried now that he’s in my system, there’s no way I’ll ever be rid of him.
It’s something I’d rather not think about.
My eyes spring open after what feels like only minutes, but when I check my alarm, it’s time to get ready for work.
With a groan, I pull my weary bones from bed, doing my best to shove thoughts from last night to the very back of my mind.
Hoping a shower will help my state of mind—it rarely does—I head into the bathroom and turn the water on to cold.
Stripping off my sweat-soaked pj’s, I step into the tub, sucking in a sharp breath through my teeth as the freezing water pelts my skin. Just when my body is getting used to the temperature, a loud rap at the front door pulls me right out of my dissociative state.
“It’s probably nothing,” I whisper. Right after the words come out, there’s another, softer knock, and I can’t ignore my curiosity any longer.
“Coming!” I turn the water off and step out onto the bathmat. I wrap my body in a robe as I hurry to the door, leaving watery footprints in my wake.
I look through the peephole, frowning at the sight of the empty hallway. Cautiously, I crack open my door, gazing left and right in hopes to find whoever was knocking on my door—but there’s no one. It’s as if they vanished into thin air.
I’m about to close the door when I spy something on my doorstep.
A package. It’s wrapped in a small, plain brown box.
It’s addressed to me, but I haven’t ordered anything in weeks, and there’s no indication of where it came from.
I double-check the address on the box one more time, and sure enough, it’s for me.
Curious, I pick up the package and close the door, locking it tight as a strange chill runs down my spine.
Shaking away my paranoia, I head into my kitchen to grab a knife so I can get inside the thing, my curiosity overpowering the alarm bells blaring in the back of my mind.
“What the…?” I stare down at the bubble-wrapped gift, unable to believe my eyes.
A butt plug. A bright yellow, bejeweled butt plug.
Breath shallow, I pull the sex toy out of the box, surprised at the heft of it.
I’ve seen a lot of adult toys in my line of work—a good 18 percent of them being butt plugs—and this is a nice one.
Custom, I’m sure. Someone paid a lot of money for this.
For me.
I put the plug back into the box with trembling fingers, and a crinkling sound draws my attention to a note wedged between the cardboard and the wrapping. Against my better judgment, I pull it out, knowing who it’s from before I read a single word.
Wear this today. If you don’t, I’ll know…and you won’t like the punishment I choose.
Yours,
Seven
He wants me to wear this? As in, inside me? As in, all day at work?
No. Absolutely not. I cannot think of anything more mortifying. Or kinky…
My mind wanders back to last night, replaying everything.
Seven touching me. Pleasing me. And I let it all happen—hell, I welcomed it.
It was the best orgasm I’ve ever had, and we didn’t even have sex.
If he was that good with his hands and his mouth, I can’t wait to see what he can do with other parts of his body…
I shake my head, casting those terrible thoughts aside as I throw the box onto my kitchen counter and return to my shower.
There will be zero falling for the masked stalker.
I’m not that stupid. This isn’t some story where we ride off happily into the sunset.
Seven is a deranged serial killer, and the more I allow myself to get tangled in his toxic web, the less likely I’ll want to leave.
I need to stop this growing attraction. Now.
I’m strangely shy as I walk into the office.
I can’t shake the sense that something in me has changed—like Seven’s touch has physically altered me in some way, branded me for all to see.
Involuntarily, my fingertips brush the tattoo on my hip, and for a moment, I’m overcome with the irrational fear that somehow, everyone can see it.
I shake off my paranoia and hurry to my cubicle, praying no one bothers me this morning. I manage to make it to my desk without any unwanted interactions, but just as I’m sitting down, a hand claps my shoulder.
I jump up with a scream, wheeling around so fast I nearly smack face-first into Mr. Graves’s chest. I tip my chin up to meet his eyes, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of his crooked smile.
He’s dressed in a crisp white button-up and dark-gray suit tailored perfectly to his body, and I can’t help but marvel at how it brings out the red in his eyes.
“Sorry for startling you.” If possible, his smile grows wider. “Here. For you.”
I tear my eyes from his face to look at the paper take-out cup in his hand. “Green tea with a splash of cream.”
As I look at the gift, my chest squeezes with an emotion I haven't felt in years. “You remembered what I like,” I whisper, gratefully taking it from his hands. “Thank you.”
“I’ve been paying attention.” His voice is low, sending heated shivers down my spine. “Enjoy the tea, Miss Kent.”
With one last smile, Mr. Graves turns and heads back into his office, leaving me standing frozen to the spot, all alone with my sinful thoughts. I’ve been trying to hide from it, but my reaction to Mr. Graves just now confirmed my worst fears—I have a crush on him.
A serial killer and my boss. Something is terribly wrong with my picker.
I fight the urge to throw my head into my hands as I sit at my desk, trying to focus on the blank computer screen in front of me.
I attempt to push all my worries aside for a bit and focus on work, but the mind-numbing spreadsheets do nothing to help my mind from wandering. By the time lunch rolls around, I’ve barely scratched the surface of my to-do list, and the rest of the day doesn’t look much better.
Just then, my stomach rumbles, giving me a great excuse to step away from the screen for a bit and reset. With the hope that some lunch will help me focus, I head into the break room to grab it. It’s later than normal, so the room is blissfully empty, no sign of Tricia or her cohort.
And my lunch is missing from the fridge.
“What the hell?” I pull out a few of the cooler bags, hoping I’ll find mine shoved in the back—but it’s not there.
Frowning, I step away from the fridge and begin scouring the trash for signs of the paper bag, or possibly some leftover sandwich crust. Unfortunately, it seems the thief was smart—there’s zero evidence of their crime.
“Find anything interesting in there?”
I leap away from the trash, my face heating at the familiar voice. Sweet Lord. I can’t believe he caught me rifling through the trash like a raccoon.
“I was, uh… looking for my lunch…” And now I’m wishing the ground would swallow me whole. “It seems to have… disappeared.”
He steps closer, entering my personal space, and a shiver runs through me as I catch a whiff of his expensive cologne. “Someone stole your lunch?”
“I don’t know that for sure!” I say, not wanting to get anyone in trouble. “But it’s not the first time it’s happened, so I was kind of looking for evidence… and now I’m realizing how ridiculous that is…”
Mr. Graves reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes darken with hunger, and my breath halts as heated sparks skitter across my skin. “If you want, I can look into it for you. I certainly don’t want any bad seeds working at LoveBytten, making trouble for my employees.”
Shit. If Mr. Graves makes a big deal about it, I’ll be labeled as a snitch by the other employees. They’ll lose all trust and respect in me, and I don’t want to deal with that situation. “It doesn’t matter. It was probably a mistake.”
Mr. Graves grins, but it’s not a happy one. “It matters to me.”
“Like I said, I’m sure it was a mistake.” I wish I had never brought it up. “If it happens again, then we can worry about it.”
He nods, satisfied with the compromise. “In that case, lunch is on me.” He holds out his arm with an expectant look.
“What?”
“I’m taking you to lunch, Grace. It’s only right after what happened.”
“Oh. Okay…” I try not to look into things too much as I take his hand, letting him lead me out of the building.
This is the second time Mr. Graves has taken me out for lunch, but I’m sure he’s just trying to be nice.
After all, he wants to look as chivalrous and decent as possible because he’s new at the company. It means nothing. Truly.
Though it’s getting hard to ignore the butterflies in my stomach when he smiles at me like that.