Page 4 of Reaper's Hunt

He tilts his head, a predator sizing up prey, a deviant smile curling his lips. “It could’ve been anyone sliding in here, catching you in those panties.” He stalks forward, closing the gap, and before I can dodge, his hand snakes out, yanking me against him. Everything about his touch is possessive, a reverent claim reminding me who I belong to.

I might be my own woman but in moments like this, there’s no denying he’s in charge.

“We’re not dating,” I snap, shoving my hand into his chest. “You can’t tell me to do anything.” That only serves to piss him off, his breed of irritation on an entirely different level than any other man I’ve been with. I’m torn between terror and turned on, my panties soaked but not with blood. My heart beats a little faster, my fight or flight response kicking in.

But running from a man like Dante would only be a challenge to him; one that he’d win.

A dark chuckle falls from his lips as he steps closer, wrapping a firm hand around the front of my neck, his thumb digging into my chin to angle it upward. His eyes are almost black, a void of lust and dominance that has me giving up my fight. And when he leans down, his breath fanning my ear, a hint of a growl in his words, I’m little more than a puddle. “You’re still mine, sweetheart. I also think we need to have another lesson.” His other hand moves to my waist, fingers roughly digging into the bare skin. “You don’t hide from me, kitten. Now, panties off.”

My stomach lurches from the guest room door mocking me ten feet away. Dante’s too fucking close for my liking and knowing him, he’ll catch a whiff of copper, a smear I missed. “Strip for me,” he demands, voice dropping a few more octaves. “The rules haven’t changed.”

I know they haven’t. He’s drilled them into my head a billion fucking times after he became my lifeline, a way to get an itch scratched, a booty call that was always just a text away. Dante’s so much more than that but that’s all he can be to me. After all, he works a rather respectable job while I leave little presents around the county for him to find.

Not that he knows. Even if some twisted part of me wonders if he finds some kind of fascination in my art. Would he lock me up if he found out? Or would he fuck me over one of their corpses as praise for my work?

“Kitten,” Dante purrs, tearing me from my thoughts. “Don’t make me ask again.”

Selene

Iholdupahand, Dante halting his approach. “Wait,” I rasp, my other arm still clamped tight over my chest. I’m still searching the open area for anything that will tip him off. Specks of blood dot the hardwood, a breadcrumb trail snaking down the hall to my bedroom. Fuck, that’s bad. Worse, the guest room’s a slaughterhouse and my real bedroom’s got bloody fingerprints smudged across the wall, a map to my hidden stash of glass hearts. One wrong glance and he’ll see the Reaper unmasked and my sick little world laid bare.

I still don’t know if he’ll turn me in, praise me, or punish me–that sadistic part of me mirrored in his eyes at times. Secretly, I’m hoping for one of the last two, maybe a combination. Hell, an entire night session would befantastic.

Remembering that Dante gave me a command, I face him again, the man an inch away from me, towering over me. I shouldn’t have told him to wait.TellingDante anything never ends well for me. Before I can blink, his hand shoots out, rough fingers wrapping around my throat. His nose drags along my cheek, no doubt catching the mixture of blood, sweat, and the faint tang of coconut body wash still clinging to my skin. His growl rumbles low in my ear, a shiver running down my spine. “You don’t tell me to wait, kitten. That’s not how this works.”

Another shiver snakes down my spine, my sick twisted mind reveling in the blood, the violence, the sadistic thrill of peeling my victims apart before they break. It’s my fucking gospel. But this? Dante’s rough hand on my throat, this man demanding my submission? It’s a different drug, one I crave just as bad.

I never give in easy, but goddamn, I love every bruising, breathless minute of it. The only thing that’d make this better is if the lights were off. But not now. Darkness would draw him to the bedrooms, to the gore, the jars, the truth.

He growls again, right in my face, and yanks me forward, his lips crashing into mine. It’s rough, bruising, all teeth and hunger, his tongue claiming me like I’m his to devour. He wants me to bend but I’m going to make him work for that right, my teeth sinking into his bottom lip, the taste of copper coating the tip of my tongue.

He snarls into the kiss, his free hand moving south, two fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties. The fabric stretches taut before he rips them off as he pulls back just enough for me to see the dark expression on his face.

“You ruined a good fucking pair of panties,” I groan at him, the man’s fingers digging into my neck a little more. “I really liked those ones.” Not quite the most important thing at this moment but still a sore point.

A wild smile slides across this man’s face, the embodiment of my own nightmare and desires wrapped up in one. He leans down again, lips brushing against my ear, voice a husky whisper that has me pressing my thighs together. “You see, I was going to reward you. Take you out to that hamburger joint you like so much after having to deal with your ex, maybe romance you up a little, make love to you.”

My ex, Harley, is a whole bag and chips to deal with, a drag on my otherwise ‘exciting’ life. But that’s not what catches me off guard. “You’ve never made love to me, Dante.” That’s not entirely true. When we were young, irresponsible teenagers, we thought we knew what love was. We thought the world was ours to take, to mold. But then he went off to college and my stepfather died. I definitely killed that bastard for hurting my mother. And then, I found the both of us on different paths.

This is all I deserve now and I will drink up every last drop of what he’s offering like the depraved bitch that I am.

A feral grin splits his face as he brushes his lips against mine again, teasing me. “No, you’re right,” he murmurs, “and I’m not about to start now.”

I yelp as Dante’s hands clamp around my waist and lift me against the wall. “What the fuck are you doing?” My voice cracks, caught between the slick heat flooding my cunt and the confusion spiking my pulse. My thighs clench, already wet, betraying how much I want this even as my mind scrambles.

“Putting you in a position where you can’t move while I take what’s mine,” he growls. His strength’s obscene as he hoists me higher, my legs splaying wide as he hooks them over his shoulders, my pussy level with his face. Before I can catch my breath, he buries his head between my thighs, tongue plunging into me, starting a ruthless pace I’ll never survive.

He sucks my clit hard, teeth grazing just enough to sting, drawing a garbled scream from me as one of my hands flies up, slamming against the ceiling for purchase. The other twists into his hair, yanking viciously, nails raking his scalp as he devours me like the beast he is. Dante always likes me in vulnerable positions, positions I can’t demand my own way, positions where I’m helpless but to take what he’s offering.

His hands slide to my ass, fingers sinking deep into the meat of my cheeks. He squeezes, bruising, spreading me wider as his tongue fucks into me, lapping up the slick mess I’m making. My hips buck forward, grinding against his face, chasing the filthy rush as he groans into my cunt, the vibration shuddering through me.

Just as the crest of my orgasm starts moving toward me, the fucking bastard drops me. My pleasure is dangling so fucking close I can taste it as my feet hit the floor. My knees buckle and I stumble against him, an animalistic snarl tearing from my throat. I glare at him, pissed off at being denied my release. Dante just chuckles, spinning me and slamming my tits against the wall, my nipples scraping rough paint. I barely have time to brace myself before he rams his cock into me, splitting me open in one savage thrust.

A ragged, desperate cry fills the air, my body pinned between him and the wall, my traitorous cunt trying to suck him in further. When did he undo his pants? I don’t know, don’t fucking care, focusing on the pleasure instead. His dick’s buried to the hilt, balls slapping my pussy, and my nails claw the wall that will definitely have to be painted over.

Not sure how I’ll be able to explain to the landlord about fucking claw marks in the wall if I don’t.

His breath scorches my ear, a hissed whisper dripping every last bit of his dominance over me. “You make me so fucking angry sometimes.” Each word’s a thrust, his cock dragging against my inner walls, hitting spots that make me sob with need. My pussy’s drenched, sucking him in, the wet smack of skin on skin filling the room.

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