Page 42 of Haunted

“You look fucking incredible in that red silk,” he continues, his words rough with hunger. “I’ve been watching you run through my maze, watching that sweet ass bounce with every step. Do you have any idea how hard you’ve made me?”

I back away until my shoulders hit the cold stone wall, trapped between the unforgiving surface and Xavier’s advance. The golden candlelight flickers across his features, making the sharp angles of his face appear demonic.

“All that defiance, all that fire—it’s going to feel so good when I break you open.” His eyes rake over my body shamelessly. “When I bury myself so deep inside you that you forget your own fucking name.”

My breath comes in sharp gasps as he moves closer, each step deliberate and calculated. The leather of his riding pants creaks with his movement, and I can see the obvious bulge straining against the material.

“Xavier, you can’t?—”

“Can’t what?” He laughs. “Can’t fuck you until you scream my name? Can’t make you come so hard you forget why you ever thought you could challenge me?” His hand braces against the wall beside my head, caging me in. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m going to do all of that and so much more.”

The heat radiating from him makes the air between us feel electric. I can smell his cologne mixed with leather.

“You signed that NDA and contract knowing exactly what it meant,” he growls, his free hand trailing down to grip my hip possessively. “You wanted this. You wanted to be caught. And now you’re mine to do with as I please.”

His thumb traces the edge of the red silk barely covering my thigh, and I hate my physiological response.

“I’m going to take my time with you,” Xavier promises. “Going to explore every inch of this perfect body until you’re begging me for more.”

Heat pools low in my belly as Xavier’s thumb traces that silk edge, and I can feel my nipples hardening against the flimsy fabric. The way he’s looking at me—like I’m precious and he wants to devour me—sends liquid fire straight through my veins.

This is just adrenaline. Fear response. Fight-or-flight chemicals flooding my system and confusing my psyche, my most basic survival instincts.

That’s what I tell myself as my breath hitches when his fingers dig possessively into my hip.

But my body knows better, and Xavier can read it like an open book. His nostrils flare slightly, and that smile spreads across his face.

“You smell fucking incredible when you’re aroused,” he murmurs, leaning closer until his lips brush my ear. “Like honey and rebellion and everything I want.”

The low rumble of his voice vibrates through his chest and into mine, and I snap.

My knee jerks up hard, aiming for his groin with every ounce of strength I possess. He catches my thigheffortlessly, his fingers wrapping around the soft flesh with bruising intensity as he pins my leg against his hip.

“Fuck.” The word tears from his throat in a rough groan that sounds more like pleasure than pain. His grip tightens, and I feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against my trapped leg. “Yes, baby. Fight me.”

I twist violently in his hold, using my free leg to kick at his shin while my hands claw at his chest. My nails rake across the fabric of his t-shirt, searching for any vulnerable spot.

Xavier’s breathing becomes ragged as he wrestles with my struggles, his eyes blazing. When I manage to catch his forearm with my teeth, he makes a sound that’s half curse, half prayer.

"There it is, angel." His voice is wrecked now, raw with desire. "Show me all that fire. Show me how badly you want to be dominated."

I buck against his hold, arching as I try to break free. The movement presses me tighter against him, forcing me to feel every hard inch of his cock through the thin silk and leather separating us.

“Let me go!” I snarl.

“Never.” His free hand tangles in my hair, angling my face up to meet his burning gaze.

The red mask covering the lower half of Xavier’s face transforms him into a nightmare—elegant and terrifying in equal measure. The crimson leather follows the sharp line of his jaw, leaving his eyes completely exposed. Those eyes burn with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.

But it’s when he speaks that true horror settles into my bones.

“You know what the beautiful thing about fear is, angel?” His voice carries a sing-song quality now, almost musical in its cadence, like he’s reciting poetry about the weather instead of my impending doom. “It makes the blood pump faster, makes every nerve ending sing with electricity, makes every touch feel like lightning striking bare skin.”

The casual, almost cheerful tone coming from behind that blood-red mask makes my stomach turn. He sounds genuinely delighted.

“I can feel your pulse hammering against my fingers,” he continues in that same lilting voice. “Seventy-eight beats per minute and climbing. Your pupils are dilated, and your breathing is labored. Classic sympathetic nervous system activation.”

His clinical observation delivered in such a sickeningly sweet tone makes me want to vomit.

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