His (A Dark Erotic Romance Novel) Page 9

  He kissed me hard, and as he kissed me he pressed into me. I could feel his erection growing through the fabric of his pants, pressing against my thigh. His obvious attraction sent a shudder of uncalled desire through my body. His bare chest was hard, his muscles rippling under the pressure between our bodies.

  Hot, it was so hot. I struggled to breathe and he tilted his head, letting my lips go and pinning me back so that his forehead was against mine and our faces were only inches apart.

  “You’re attracted to me,” he said.

  “I still hate you.”

  “Why do you hate me?” he asked. His skin was smooth against mine, and his breath was fresh, like spearmint. I hated to even think about how bad my breath smelled, but he nuzzled against me as though it was no problem at all. I struggled to get away from him but he held me fast.

  “You’re a monster,” I said.

  He paused before speaking.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? You kill people!”

  “Kitten, these men are not good men that I kill. They are wifebeaters. They are child abusers. They pay off judges and slip through the cracks. They’re the real monsters. Sometimes I go to their funerals and watch their family weep… with relief.”

  “How can you tell?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I believed him. Isn’t that what any serial killer would say? Don’t they always blame their victims? But maybe if he thought what he was saying was true... maybe he wouldn’t kill me.

  “I can tell any emotion,” he said. He brought his free hand up to my cheek and caressed my jawline with his thumb. “That’s how I know what you truly feel about me.”

  “You disgust me,” I whispered.

  “In part, yes. But I also attract you, even now. My touch thrills you. You want me to take you, to fuck you.”

  “No.”

  He stepped back. Amusement danced in his eyes again.

  “No, not yet. Not right now. But you will. And when you want it, I’ll be here waiting. Until then, take my present.” He held out the necklace again, and again I heard a softening in his voice.

  “Will you take off this handcuff?” I asked.

  His eyes flickered over, and I believe it was the first time he realized then that I was still locked to the pipe. He stepped forward and took off the cuff without another word.

  Free. I had both hands. I rubbed my sore wrist, my upper arm feeling for the spot where the razor was. Now, maybe. If I had the chance—

  “Take it,” he said, holding out the chain.

  I reached out and took the necklace, my fingertips brushing against his. Despite myself, I felt a thrill when he touched me. Damn him! Damn myself! I coughed and turned my attention to the charm, hoping that he wouldn’t see the evidence of my attraction in my face.

  “Where did you get this?” I asked.

  “It was my mother’s.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Nowhere. She’s dead. I was looking through her things.”

  I didn’t dare ask the question that was floating through my mind: Did you kill her? Then I remembered the noise I’d heard from upstairs.

  “Was that why I heard you screaming before?”

  His eyes flashed down to mine, and there was danger in them. A frightened anger. I had stepped into something I didn’t understand, and there was more here than I wanted to know.

  “I wasn’t screaming.” His voice was hoarse, too quiet. It sounded like the rasp of a rattler’s tail before it lashed out to strike.

  “Fine,” I said quickly.

  “Do you want to wear it?” he asked.

  I nodded. I didn’t want to make him angrier than he already was. I could sense that he was on the edge of lashing out, and I sure as hell didn’t want him to lash out at me.

  He took the necklace back, and again I felt the brief thrill of his touch on my hand. He unclasped the chain and motioned for me to turn around.

  Facing the back wall, my hand moved up under the shirt I was wearing. My fingers touched the outline of the razor. I could pull it out now. I could whip around, slice through the air, slice through his throat. If I aimed right, I could cut his jugular and escape, run, run—

  His fingers slid under my hair, brushing it to one side. At his touch, I shivered. The sight of his teary eyes, the tremble of his voice—I couldn’t do it. Not now. Something held me back.

  Maybe it was that I wasn’t a killer myself. Maybe I was scared that it was dark, and if I messed up I would ruin my one chance at escape. Maybe I felt sorry for him. Whatever the reason, my fingers retreated, leaving the razor tucked safely in the bottom of my bra.

  He brought the chain over my head, encircling my neck. On the nape of my neck I felt his knuckles graze my skin as he closed the clasp shut. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine that we were a married couple, and he was helping me get ready for a dinner party. A sense of security swept through me, a warm feeling. The strangest feeling.

  Gavriel bent his head and kissed my naked shoulder, his lips trembling almost imperceptibly against my skin. Kissed me like a husband, like a gentle lover. His words were a whisper that floated faintly to my ear in the darkness.

  “Happy birthday, kitten.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Gav

  Why was I so interested in her? It made no sense. There was a spark of something inside of her that drew me from behind the dark shadow to peer out. No other woman had ever been able to draw me out.

  It wasn’t only that I didn’t love the women I brought home. It was more than that. I hated them. Every one of them. Gold-diggers. Idiots. They looked at me and saw that they wanted to see, and didn’t look any further. With a suit on, I was their fantasy - a smoky billionaire tempting them into bed, a lawyer whispering dreams of Paris into their ears, a young CEO who would sweep them away from their boring, useless lives.

  That, perhaps, was why she drew me out. She had looked at her boring, useless life and tried to escape it without anyone to help her. She’d taken a look at the world and said… no.

  I admired that.

  Some might say that suicide is for cowards. I dare them to hold a razor to their wrists and say it as they slice into their own flesh.

  There aren’t a lot of things out there that scare me. I’ve put a knife through a man’s heart. I’ve seen blood spurt and froth forward from the lips of the dying on my table. And yet the thought of killing myself terrifies me, sends a shudder out from my hands and through my arms.

  The shadow smiles inside me. It knows that there is only one other thing that terrifies me, and that’s running out of people to kill.

  I clasped the necklace around her, caressing her collarbone, and thought that she was doing very well. The handcuff was gone from her wrist, but this silver chain was one that would bind her even more tightly to me. There were still some secrets she had yet to reveal to me, but I knew I would be able to take her soon. Then she would be mine, mine for good.

  Mine forever.

  “Come upstairs, kitten,” I said to her, turning her gently around. “I have another present for you.”

  Kat

  Following Gavriel up the stairs, I wondered if he knew about the razor. It wouldn’t have surprised me to know that he was simply teasing me. How could I use it, anyway? If I held it wrong, or not tightly enough, all I would do is injure him. And anger him.

  I didn’t want him to be angry at me. I saw what he did to people who angered him. Whether it was true or not that he only killed bad people, I thought he could probably find an excuse to kill the girl who’d witnessed him murdering someone.

  He led me up through the house. Every step I took was slow, savored. The light was bright here, and though it burned my eyes I couldn’t get enough. I’d been stuck down in the darkness for too long. Maybe if I let him do what he wanted to me, he would let me out from there. Maybe—

  No. I wouldn’t sell myself for a better cage. I steeled myself and continued up the stairs behind him. He let me into the bathroom, a
nd I took my time. I put toothpaste on my finger and used that to brush my teeth. I wasn’t about to use a serial killer’s toothbrush, no matter how bad my breath smelled.

  When I went to leave, though, he stopped me and walked past me into the room.

  He sat at the edge of the bathtub and turned on the faucets. Steaming water poured into the cream colored granite tub. I stood in the doorway and watched.

  “What are you doing?” I asked finally. Gav looked up as though surprised I was still there.

  “You’re going to take a bath,” he said. “That’s your second present, kitten.”

  I almost melted inside. It had been nearly a week since I’d bathed.

  “Thank you,” I said. He stayed, though, and when the bath was full he made no movement to leave.

  “Are you going to stay and watch?” I asked, frowning.

  “I’m going to help,” he said.

  All the breath ran out of my body, and I crossed my arms.

  “I can take a bath myself.”

  “Are you going to clean yourself with those bandages on both hands?”

  I looked down to where the bandages were dirty and beginning to pull off.

  “Maybe.”

  “You can’t get water on those stitches. They’ll get infected.” He spoke matter-of-factly, as though it was a simple problem with only one solution.

  “I don’t—”

  “What, kitten?”

  “I don’t want you to see me naked,” I said, hating the timidity in my voice.

  “That’s too bad, isn’t it?”

  “But—”

  “No, kitten.” He stood up from next to the bathtub. “Do you need me to help you undress?”

  “No!” I nearly screamed the word. I couldn’t risk him finding the razor in my bra. “No, I’ll—I’ll get undressed.”

  Turning away from him, I stripped quickly, balling up my bra so that the razor was well-hidden. My mouth was dry as I turned around, completely naked. I could feel the heat coming from my cheeks where I blushed hard. I hated being naked in full-light.

  Stupid, maybe, to be self-conscious standing in front of a serial killer. But I couldn’t help it. His eyes swept over my body, over every roll of fat, every lumpy part that wasn’t supposed to be lumpy, over my unshaved legs and my unshaved…well, you know. I waited for him to tell me how disgusting I was, to order me into the bathtub.

  Instead, he licked his lips.

  “You are… incredible,” he said.

  My jaw dropped. I tried to hide my surprise as he reached out and helped me step into the bath. As soon as my feet touched the water, all of my other thoughts disappeared. I slid down, letting my body sink down into the deliciously hot water. Steam rose in white billowing clouds around us, fogging the bathroom mirror.

  I closed my eyes. My feet rubbed against each other underwater. It felt so good. I could almost forget where I was, who was with me. When I opened my eyes, though, he was watching me intently. He coughed slightly.

  “Thank you for being obedient,” he said. “Now another trade.”

  Another trade. My heart beat faster. What was he doing to me? I had never responded like this to a guy before, any guy. But the low rumble of his voice sent my heart into palpitations like I was some horny teenager. The confidence in his voice, the way he moved, the way he spoke with such sureness. There was nothing I could do but clamp down on it as hard as I could, to try and push the feeling back.

  “You let me wash you, and in return I’ll put on new bandages for all your cuts. Yes?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  He took a washcloth and dipped it in the hot water. The bar of soap he picked up was one of those luxurious handmade soaps, cut like vanilla fudge. It smelled just as good, too. When he touched the washcloth to my back, my lips dropped apart. I couldn’t hold back a long sigh as the cloth moved over my shoulders, rubbing my skin in long slow circles.

  “Good, kitten?” he whispered. I shook my head yes. Obedient, that’s what he wanted. That’s what I would be, until I had my chance.

  He washed my back, then my neck, being careful around the silver chain. For some reason, he hadn’t asked me to take it off before bathing. I supposed that it was real silver.

  The bandages peeled away without hurting, and his hands moved carefully around the cuts on my arms. The hot water only made me wince a few times, when the washcloth came too close to the fresh cuts made by the glass window. I wondered if the cuts made him think about how I had tried to escape.

  He unwrapped the bandage off of one of my hands and washed around it. His fingers massaged my fingers one by one, the cloth cleaning between the cracks. The feeling was so sensual that my pulse began to quicken. He massaged the thick heel of my palm just under the deep cut, the cloth clouding the water with soap. Then he stopped, his hand still holding my wrist.

  “Your wrists are the only places on your arms that you didn’t cut,” he said. He held them up higher in the light, and I knew then what he was seeing. Fear turned my blood cold. I tried to pull away, but not in time.

  “They were cut before, though,” he said. “There are scars here. Along both wrists.”

  He took my hand and ran his thumb over the white seam. I watched him carefully, looking for signs of anger. Instead, when he turned his face up, there were tears in his eyes. He blinked them back, but not before I could see them.

  “What is this, kitten?” he asked. His voice broke my heart, it was so tender. I had to remind myself that this was the same man who had used a saw to cut a body into pieces on his kitchen table.

  But this man was different from the one I had seen through the window. He seemed... gentle. Despite myself, I felt my heart opening up.

  “I— I tried to commit suicide once,” I said.

  “When?”

  “When I was fifteen.”

  He paused, and I tried to read the emotion on his face. His eyes shone a deep blue-gray in the fog of the hot water. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Was he pitying me? Was he annoyed with me? I wanted desperately to know, but as soon as I saw a bit of him open up, he pulled back and wore a mask of indifference.

  “Was that why you ran away? Because you tried to commit suicide and failed?”

  I turned my head up sharply.

  “How do you know about me running away?”

  “How do you know about that?” he repeated, mocking me lightly. “Come on, you work in a library. I looked it up.”

  I pulled my wrist away from him and he let my hand go. The scars throbbed as I remembered the day I had tried to commit suicide. The note. The knife.

  “Thanks for reminding me I failed,” I said.

  “Failed miserably. You’re much more alive than most people.”

  Raising my eyes to his, I was met with a blank stare. I didn’t know what he meant by that. I didn’t feel alive. I was a prisoner. It didn’t sound like an insult, though, and I flexed my hand, trying to get rid of the phantom ache.

  “Did you know about my suicide?” I asked. “Before, I mean?”

  “They don’t keep juvenile records on public file. I only noticed the scars.”

  He shuddered, and I felt emboldened.

  “I cut myself,” I said. I don’t know why, but I wanted him to know all of the details. He didn’t seem to want to know, but I didn’t care. “In a bathtub, so it would be easy to clean up.”

  “You see, this is why I couldn’t leave you alone in the bathroom,” he said, the joke falling flat. Then he turned serious again, his eyelashes fluttering down on his cheeks. He moved to my side, the bar of soap gliding over my shoulder. My breath went shallow as he touched my neck.

  “Did it hurt, kitten?”

  The scar throbbed again, and I clamped back on the feeling. Was he being nice to me in order to manipulate me? I wanted to reach out to him, but I didn’t want him to have control over me. Not like that. I pressed my lips together before speaking.

  “It hurt less than I thought, and I fel
t myself just—slipping away”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s why I’m not so scared. To die, that is. It was… peaceful.”

  A smile tugged on the corners of his mouth.

  “What?”

  He looked up at me, his hand falling back from my skin.

  “The way I kill people, it’s not peaceful for them.”

  I jerked away from him, the water splashing at the edge of the tub.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Say what?”

  “Why would you say that to me? That you wouldn’t kill me peacefully? Or—”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t kill you at all,” he said, raising his eyebrows as though he was surprised my conclusion.

  “But you kill others. Torture them.”

  He smiled sadly and wrung hot water over my shoulder. The washcloth felt rough against my skin, and I wanted his hand back on me, as much as I hated to want it.

  “I told you, kitten, these are not good men that I find. I need to kill, and if anyone has to die, it is a good thing that it is them.”

  I looked back down at my wrists. The white scar almost glowed against the redness of my skin in the heat of the steam.

  “Have you ever thought about it?” I asked quietly. “Suicide?”

  “Killing myself?” He laughed out loud, and the sound echoed against the bathroom tiles. It was such a strange reaction, but his laugh made me want to laugh along, that’s how infectious it was. “God, no. That’s abnormal.”

  “Abnormal?”

  “I’m not judging,” he said, spreading his hands. “It’s simply abnormal.”

  I blinked hard. His reaction took me completely aback.

  “I can’t believe a serial killer thinks I’m abnormal.”

  “Take it as a compliment. Most people are like me: we enjoy life. Or at the very least, we don’t want it taken away from us. I think that’s what joy is.”

  “I can’t… I don’t…”

  “Don’t worry, kitten,” he said, smiling. “But answer another question for me, please. A trade, if you like.”

  “Sure,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. It felt crazy to have a serial killer laughing at me for trying to kill myself. Then again, there wasn’t anything that wasn’t crazy about this whole situation.