Page 70 of Burn for Me

“Good morning,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead, which makes me frown at the unexpected sweetness.

“Good morning?” I reply, a bit taken aback.

His lips linger for a moment longer before slowly drawing back with a huff that sounds like a laugh. Fiddling with the fabric in my hands, I raise it to his line of sight, and his brows furrow in confusion.

"I finished your mask. I’m sorry it took so long," I say, shrugging in an attempt to play it off. However, his emotionless expression makes my heart sink. I know it’s not perfect, but I had hoped he would still like it.

He finally lets go of my shirt, and I step back, glancing down the stairs.

"Do you have an extra? If you don’t like it, I won’t be upset if you wear a spare."

It will hurt my feelings, but I won’t voice that. I turn to him, searching for his rough features or brown eyes, but instead, I see the skull imprint on his mask as he tilts his head.

I change my mind; my feelings won’t be hurt if he doesn’t wear it because it’shorrifying. I step back, gripping the rail as my foot finds the step below.

"Do you remember your safe word, Little Devil?" His mask shifts with his jaw.

"Yeah, it’s hard to forget," I tease, trying to hide the fear in my gut, but my nerves slip through in my voice.

"And you feel comfortable using it, right?"

I smile, but it fades as he steps closer, forcing me back. I've never had someone so determined to ensure my comfort.

"I trust you?"

"Are you asking me or yourself?" His low voice catches me off guard, but he grips my shirt to keep me from falling. "Easy."

"I trust you," I say firmly as I reach out to touch the fabric. He leans into my touch, and the mask brushes against my palm where his lips should be. I can't help but grin at the motion. As quickly as the tender moment arrives, it fades with a single word that breaks the thick, musky air.

"Run."

Oh, God.

He releases me as soon as the word gets out, and I sprint down the stairs faster than I ever thought I could. Each breath burns, and though I don’t look back, it feels like he’s right on my heels. I brace myself against a railing, almost losing my balance, then turn to keep running.

A loud slam echoes, forcing me to slow down and glance back, but he’s gone—no sign of him anywhere. My stomach twists as I carefully approach the next flight of stairs, searching for any sign of his presence.

“Sam?”

There’s no reply, and the heat in my veins intensifies.

“Sam?!” I raise my voice, checking the numbers on the wall. There are still a few flights to go down, but I’ll take my time since he isn’t here.

“You’re not running.” The voice echoes off the walls, startling me enough to sprint down the stairs again, only to collide with a barrier at the next turn.

I step back to face the monster when it hits me that he’s still dressed as he was on the couch: no shirt, just sweatpants. Glancing up the stairs, I’m tempted to ask how he managed to get to this spot before me, but I’m interrupted as he steps forward, the exit light highlighting the deep red lining of his mask.

“If I catch you, I should get a reward.”

“You won’t catch me,” I say confidently, tilting my head to study how the paint splatter almost looks like blood.

“Don’t sound too confident,” he laughs, pulling me from my thoughts. I push past him and keep moving, knowing I can’t outrun him. But the thrill of the chase ignites a rush, drowning out my morning doubts.

“I haven’t been able to taste that pretty little cunt yet. I think that should be my motivation.” Hearing his voice, I quickly duck under the stairs to avoid being seen. “What do you say, Darlin’?”

Once the door slams shut, I quickly look for a hiding spot. Sam’s sharp; he can count my steps and guess which stairwell I will pop out from, so I dive into a supply closet and lean against the door, covering my mouth to keep my breathing steady. A soft click forces me to shut my eyes, straining to listen. Footsteps go by, then start pacing around before stopping completely. I brace myself, waiting for him to burst in and catch me.

Alright, think. If he’s in and out like that, he’s taking another route to cut me off faster than I can run.

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