That Sik Luv
: Chapter 9

Aero

Her skin tastes like salted caramel. Sweet, but with a tart little bite to it. A candy I can no longer avoid. A taste that I now know is something I won’t deny myself, even if she fights me.

Lucky for me, the proper fight won’t be long. Not with the way her body responds to mine. She’s slowly breaking those chains that hold her back; her body outweighing her mind, her morals.

Gritting my teeth as I press my body against the round curve of her ass beneath that skirt, thoughts of ripping her panties to the side and nailing her to this door with my cock flash before my eyes.

Mine. Not his.

I could’ve killed them both in that Jeep. There was a second that I wanted to. Saw how it would play out. His lips on her hand disturbed every part of me, angering me to the point of ruining this entire plan. But I have to be smart and use the tools given to me to make this work. The message on the brick was enough to keep Saint busy with his father for the afternoon.

I growl to myself, my lip curling, refraining from my overwhelming need to sink my teeth into the flesh of her shoulder, making her cry out in pleasurable pain. Pushing off of her, I walk back through the house I know so well from countless nights of spying on her alone and make my way up the stairs to her bathroom.

She’ll follow me. My obedient, scared, little, all-too-curious doll.

I love when she listens. I want to reward her for her quick wit and the ability to read through the scenarios playing out before her, but I’d rather punish her for how stupid and naïve she’s been before me.

Just as I expected, she follows me up to the second floor, standing back a few yards as she studies me, holding onto the railing of the stairs with her delicate little hands. Hands that are soft from being pampered her entire life like the little fucking princess her parents made her out to be. Very much unlike mine. My hands are layered with scars, calluses, and stories. Countless lives claimed by their hold.

I gaze at my hands, palms coated in freshly dug dirt, the remnants stuck beneath each and every nail.

“W-what do you want with me?” she asks from the hallway, sounding like a timid little doe. “Please. Why are you doing this?”

She wants answers but doesn’t yet deserve them. I don’t know how far gone she is. How tainted her warped little mind is. I need to know if there’s truly hope for her, or if all of this ends with her being silenced once and for all.

“I’m taking a shower,” I reply, annoyed by the timid tone of her voice. “Need to clean up.”

I feel her silently behind me as I unzip my sweatshirt and pull it down my arms. She watches as I remove it, dropping it to the floor, leaving only my white tank beneath it. I don’t risk my mask coming off before her, the resemblance unfortunately uncanny, so I fist the tank in two hands and rip it off my chest. Her throat bobs at the sight of my shirtless body, and it occurs to me she’s probably never seen a man naked before her. Not one like me, anyway. All tatted up and scarred; wounds of wars she’ll never understand, covered in ink of my own choosing.

So I decide to make a show of it.

With my shirt in a shredded mess on the floor, I open my belt buckle. Her innocent lashes flutter, and the heat rises in her cheeks as her grip tightens on the banister. Opening the belt, I grip the end, quickly pulling it through the belt loops. She jumps slightly as if I hit her with the end of it, her eyes wide and appalled.

I slowly roll the leather belt around my hand, my eyes zeroing in on her neck as I circle it tightly around my palm. I imagine her neck bound by it, fighting that urge I always seem to battle to fill her life with pure and utter terror.

“I—I could call the police, you know…” she says with a shaky voice.

I cock my head, my hands dropping the belt to the tile floor with a loud ringing clunk.

“They would replace out what you did…where you put him,” she continues as my fingers pop the button of my jeans, pulling them open and allowing them to hang on my hips. “You won’t get away with this.”

My brows raise with amusement before I drop my hands, my pants drooping to expose more of me as I stalk towards her.

“Yeah, so I don’t do well with threats,” I say casually, backing her into the wall of the hallway. Her eyes trail my abdomen until they meet the V where my open jeans end until the back of her head hits the wall, jolting her. “So don’t ever fucking threaten me again.”

Her eyes widen when I quickly grip a hand around the front of her neck, pinning her back against the wall. I feel her throat bob beneath my hand, and the growing erection against her thigh is unavoidable.

“And if they replace out where I buried him,” I grumble, leaning forward until my lips beneath the mask run along her jaw, whispering, “You’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”

Her chest heaves beneath my forearm as I lean back until we’re face to face again, our noses practically touching.

Fuck, I fall for the fire in those terror-filled eyes every time. I just want them puffy and wet from struggling to deep throat the length of me. I want her sobbing in her attempts to please me the way she replaces herself needing. Flexing my jaw at the soft feeling of her throat beneath my grasp, I push my thigh between her legs, further pinning her against this wall. My cock is harder than a rock against her thigh as she calculates my words.

“W-why would I get in trouble?” She practically moans, her throat vibrating against my palm.

A devilish smile grows beneath the mask before I press my mouth against hers, whispering the words into her lips. “Because he’s buried in your backyard.”

Her forehead creases and she looks like she might faint.

Good. Let her faint. Fall. Get back up. Fucking handle it.

She’ll do as I ask, probably because she’s smart enough to know that any evidence I leave behind will only fall back onto her. Reluctantly, I’ve roped her into cleaning up this crime scene, forcing her to be an accessory to murder. A little insurance policy, if you will.

“Why would you—” She sucks in air like it doesn’t come easy. “Why would you do that?!”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I glare at her like she’s an idiot, then release my hold on her neck.

I walk back into the now steaming bathroom, out of her sight, and remove the rest of my clothing, piling it in a bundle on the floor before the door. I pull the ski mask from my head and lay it on the sink, stepping into the hot water of the shower, the steam creating a cloud around me.

Dipping my head in the water, my dark hair falls to my forehead, the warmth dripping down my face. Basking in the relief of the hot water running down the tired and aching muscles of my back, I place my hands on the wall beneath the shower head, allowing for a second of relaxation. I groan at the sensation, enjoying the feel of her curious eyes scanning my body in the mist through the cracked door; temptations seeping beneath her skin.

“Be a doll and burn those in the utility sink in your basement,” I say, nodding to the pile while still facing forward.

“How do you—”

“Briony, please,” I interrupt, running my hands down the ridges of my abdomen and along my body. “I’ve been watching for a while, but I’ve always seen you. Seen you long before you could see yourself.”

She’s more like me than she realizes. The demon she thinks I am is simply an illusion they’ve projected. Rights and wrongs aren’t as straightforward when you’re on my side of the track. Morality is viable, something you must bend to your needs to survive. I’ll fight until I’m a rotted corpse to show her that.

I continue to feel her eyes on me as I toss my hair around me, shaking my head beneath the water like the wild man she’s intrigued by. She’s taking the words I’ve said and making them mean something.

Just as she should.