Page 179 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Both pulling at the same twisted butterflies in my stomach.

Both unsettling me in ways I kind of like.

I drain my wine, turn off the TV, and scoop Dexter under one arm.

“Time for bed, partner,” I whisper, flicking off the lights.

The house settles around us as I climb the stairs. Each creak sounds impossibly loud.

At the top landing, Dexter’s tail goes still. A low growl rumbles—quiet but fierce—against my ribs.

And stepping into my room, I see why.

Dressed in black from head to toe, gloves still on, the Punisher-style balaclava gleams just enough to make my heart slam.

He’s in my chair by the window. Legs spread. One hand on his thigh, the other draped like he owns the place.

Like he owns me.

My pulse spikes hard.

That forbidden heat stirs low in my stomach, crawling up my spine—the kind of fear that isn’t really fear.

The burner chimes again downstairs, the ping slicing through the quiet.

He tsks under his breath, soft and full of mock disappointment, then rises—slow and deliberate.

A predator in no hurry.

He already knows I’m not going anywhere.

He peels his gloves off one finger at a time, sliding them into his back pocket. He stops just in front of me, close enough that his body heat wraps around mine.

I can’t breathe.

He lifts his hand, sliding a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

His touch trails down my neck, leaving my skin tingling, and continues lower—skimming my breast, my ribs, my waist.

When he cups my bottom, my body jolts forward, colliding with the hard planes of his chest.

His heartbeat is steady. Mine races.

His hand drags higher, finding the edge of my lace panties—panties he didn’t leave for me—and his thumb glides along the hem.

“Who gave you permission to wear panties?” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “So eager for punishment, Sunshine?”

Before I can answer, his other hand slides into my hair, wrapping it around his fist and giving a sharp, commanding tug.

I gasp, head tipping back without thought.

His breath fans across my skin.

“You already disobeyed,” he whispers. “Let’s not make it worse.”

He holds me there just long enough to make me tremble, then steps back.

One step. Then another.

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