Page 99 of The Boy I Loved
It wasn’t until he held it out in the open that I could feel the blood drain from my body. He flicked the blade of his pocketknife open, a swish sounding from the sudden movement.
“I could fuck you with the blade.” He hummed, pressing his crotch against mine. The denim of his jeans was rough against my bare skin, and I had to fight against my basic instincts of squirming away. It wouldn’t do any good. I was trapped between his hard body and the equally hard wall behind me. “That’s what I did to Nia.”
My stomach curdled at his admission. Unwanted images surfaced in my mind, spiraling until it was all I could think about.
Finally, just when my body began to slump against the wall, he released my throat. I sucked in a greedy breath of air, my neck burning from the pressure moments before. My body vibrated, a gargled sound expelling from my lips. It sounded hideous to my own ears, but being choked wasn’t pretty.
Tristan smirked in response, getting off on the pain he was inflicting. He hadn’t even done anything as bad as what he’d doneto Emerson, Stacy, or Nia, but he enjoyed it, nonetheless. He pushed his hips against mine, grinding his erection against my sore pussy.
“Have I not been good to you?” he murmured, his warm breath feathering over the shell of my ear. He braced his hands on the wall behind me, the knife clanking against it.
Good to me?
I couldn’t even fight the scoff this time. Terror threaded through me when I realized what I’d done, and I tugged my lower lip between my teeth to prevent myself from making any more sounds.
Tristan paused, clearly having heard my momentary lapse in judgement.
“You’re upset with me,” he accused lightly.
I swallowed thickly, craning my neck to peer into his deep blue eyes. “Am I allowed to speak freely, or will you kill me for my honesty?”
He stepped back, adding more distance between us. The relief I felt then was unmatched, blowing through my system like a fresh gust of air. He dropped his hands to his sides before taking his free one and thumbing my lower lip.
“I don’t want you dead yet,” he admitted.
Wow. So reassuring.
I blew out a breath, warring with myself over whether to be blunt. It wouldn’t matter. He knew he was evil. He enjoyed it. Pointing that out would only dig me a deeper hole.
Still, I was tired of biting my tongue all of the time. “I find you repulsive,” I confessed. “You treat women as if they mean nothing. The only difference between us is what lies between our legs, and the fact that I have more estrogen, where you have more testosterone. Your obsession with me is just that—an obsession. It is temporary, and I’m doing what I can to survive.”
Silence stretched between us like a thick blanket of doom. Anticipation crawled down my spine as I awaited his response, or even a reaction. But he just stood there, stock-still, assessing mequietly. Finally, he hissed through his teeth, his jaw thrumming with irritation. Maybe I’d misspoke, but if there was any humanity in him at all, it was possible he’d reveal it.
“You’re not the meek little thing you pretend to be, are you Hazel?” There was an edge to his tone I didn’t like, but the words were out in the open now.
“You should know that by now,” I countered, feeling a little more bold.
He blew out a breath, the tension leaving his muscles. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or a very bad thing.
He reached forward, running his fingertips down my collarbone, drifting them toward my breast. When he reached my nipple, it pebbled beneath his touch. My thighs squeezed together from the unwanted sensation as he toyed with it, his lids hooded.
“That’s why I like you,” he murmured. “You saw a loophole in the rules about defiance and took it. You made me crave it.” He exhaled a shaky breath. “Part of me wanted to punish you for it.”
What was it about this man that excited me? It had to be something akin to Stockholm Syndrome. Or maybe … there was a part of me that was just as twisted as he was—not that I planned on running around murdering people for sport or anything like that.
What I did next—I wanted to so badly to blame it on my need for survival. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t the whole truth.
Reaching up, I cradled his face between my hands. The stubble of his jaw pressed against my fingers, and I hated how much I enjoyed it. Rising on my tiptoes, I brushed my lips over his, relishing his sharp intake of breath.
I’d surprised him.
He dropped his hand from my breast, circling it around my waist instead. In one fluid move, he was pulling me flush against him. He kissed me softly, his eyes fluttering closed.
The knife was in his other hand, and if I wanted to, I could probably snatch it from him and end him right there. But that would be adeath sentence. His body would be found in my bathroom and everyone would know who had done it.
“Why can’t I get enough of you?” he murmured against my lips, the sound sending vibrations through my body.
He kissed the corner of my mouth, following the descent to my breasts before he reached the mound of flesh there. His eyes locked onto mine before he wrapped his lips around my areola and sucked, flicking his tongue over my hardened nipple. My knees trembled and I latched onto his shoulders for purchase. There was something much different about how he treated my body right now. His tongue was light, almost playful even.
