Page 34 of The Hellkeeper

Damien

My little flower. My Amelia. My little innocent girl I’m going to corrupt.

It’s a crime that she thinks she doesn’t taste good. It makes my blood boil that they conditioned her to think she’s dirty, unwanted. The very idea is repulsive. She tastes like honey, like flowers, and my mouth waters right now just thinking about it. I should be between her thighs again. Face down, preferably.

I sit on her bed, waiting. The restaurant closed late tonight. I don’t like it. She works too much when I could lay the world at her feet and watch her exist in luxury. The thought of her straining herself, being exhausted when she should be resting—when she should be lettingmetake care of her—puts a tight, iron grip on my chest.

Soon.

I hear her soft footsteps in the hall before she finally steps inside. She stops short when she sees me. She no longer startles.Good girl.She’s getting used to me. Making friends with the monster under her bed.

She rolls her eyes, tossing her apron onto the chair. “Don’t you get sick of me?”

Never. Not even a little. Not even for a second. “No.”

She clicks her tongue, walking past me to grab a water bottle. She doesn’t ask me to leave anymore. She doesn’t pretend to be surprised when I show up, doesn’t threaten to call the cops, and doesn’t act like she doesn’t like it.

That’s what progress looks like.

Her eyes flicker past me. A box sits on her bed, a bright red dress draped across the top. Beside it, a pair of sleek heels. Excitement flashes across her face for just a second before she forces it down.

My girl loves gifts. And I love gifting her.

She points her water bottle at me. “What’s that?”

“If you think I forgot about you refusing to wear the dress I got you, you’re mistaken.”

“You hold grudges.”

I lean back on my hands. “Maybe you didn’t like the first one. So I got you another.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

She flops onto the bed beside the box. I reach for the dress first, dragging my fingers along the material.

“Wear it for me.”

She scoffs. “For you?”

“For me.” I smile. “And for yourself.”

“What’s the occasion?”

I watch her, knowing exactly how this next part will go.

“I’m taking you on a date.”

“A what?”

“A date, Amelia.”

She laughs like this is just a joke. “What, like a normal date?”

“What’s funny?”

She sits up fully, crossing her legs. “You. You, Damien.”

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