Page 21 of The Hellkeeper

My monster.

I’m starting to get used to him.

Chapter Nine

Damien

She owns me. Body, mind, and soul. Just like I’m going to own her.

Soon.

Very soon.

I sit in the restaurant before dawn, the only person in the empty space, my fingers drumming against the table as I wait for her to climb the stairs. My blood hums with anticipation. My heart beats for nothing but her. I can already picture the look on her face when she steps inside and sees my gift. She’ll see proof that I know her; that I listen to everything she says, even when she doesn’t think I’m there. She doesn’t see me watching. Doesn’t know that every sigh she makes, every little thought she mutters to herself…I know it all.

She’ll learn, though, to recognize my presence, to feel when I’m near.

Amelia rushes upstairs with the phone I left on her bedside table clutched to her chest, like it’s a sin she still wants it even though she knows it’s from me. She takes in the restaurant with a gasp. Her lips part as she drinks in the sight of hundreds of peonies. They’re everywhere. In vases, on the counters, tucked into little corners like I wanted her to find them again and again.

“I hope you like my gifts, little flower.”

She flinches, spinning toward me, her breath hitching. I drink in her reaction; how her pupils widen when she sees me, how her hands tighten around the gift I left her. She looks so small standing there, like something meant to be kept, held, and cherished.

“Why?” she whispers.

I rise from my seat, savoring the way she tenses as I move toward her. Her body knows before her mind does. Knows that I belong this close. That she was always meant to belong to me. I stop just inches away from her, and reach out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. She shivers.

“You deserve to be spoiled, Amelia,” I murmur, caressing the curve of her neck. “You deserve to be worshipped.”

She blinks up at me, confused. Naïve. Innocent little thing.

“W-Worshipped?” she stammers.

I hum, my fingers tracing just outside the swell of her breasts. She jerks slightly, but I don’t move away. I keep my touch feather-light, teasing. She’s too frozen to stop me, too curious about what I might do next.

My breath ghosts against her ear. “Tell me, little flower,” I say, trailing my fingers lower, just over her ribs, the dip of her waist. “Do you want to be touched?”

Her nipples pebble beneath her dress.

Fuck.

She gasps, ripping herself away, but I follow, my touch skimming lower.

“Does it confuse you?” I rasp. “The heat between your thighs? The ache?”

My fingers stop just above her hip bone. “I know you’re wondering why it’s all wet down there.”

A strangled sound leaves her throat before she shoves me away.

“You’re absolutely filthy,” she hisses.

I grin. Her innocence is so fucking sweet. I want to drag her down into my filth, cover her in it, and make sure she never finds her way back to the light.

Before I can respond, the door creaks open, and Margaret walks in. I like Margaret. I really do. She took Amelia in, gave her shelter. And for that, she deserves to be spoiled, too.

Her wrinkled hands fly to her chest as she takes in the decorated restaurant. “Oh my goodness!” she gushes. “Amelia! Did you do all this?”

What can she say?No, my stalker did?

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