Page 36 of Scaredy Cat
I’m so fucking dead.
Hands trail down my sides, and I can feel him over me, radiating approval and a kind of threat I’ve never felt before. I hear the sound of something hitting the table, and then his mouth is on mine, face unobscured by his mask. Even with my eyes open, I can’t see him in the dark. I can’t make out any of his features, and the only thing I can focus on is the feel of his lips against mine.
His kiss is just as demanding, just as overwhelming as before. He murmurs softly against my lips, almost sweetly encouraging me to let him in. But the moment I do, he turns dominating. Demanding. His tongue sweeps around every inch of space between my teeth, and it feels like he’s mapping out the inside of my mouth while his hands stroke up and down my sides.
“You taste so good when you’re afraid,” he murmurs finally, kissing my jaw. “I could do anything to you right now.” His fingers find the bottom of my hoodie, and he pushes it up, until my body is bare in the chilly night air of the barn.
I don’t expect his mouth on my stomach. I definitely don’t expect the feel of teeth and tongue as he works upward to taste along my skin. A soft whimper leaves my throat, and I stare up into nothingness, trying to jerk at the cuffs while my knees come up harmlessly on either side of him.
He really could do anything to me. Anything at all. The thought isterrifying,and I shudder under him from both the realization and the hot, wet feel of his mouth.
I’ve never been so thoroughly at someone else’s mercy.
I’ve never been so scared.
“Don’t…” I trail off, choking out the word as he mouths at my nipple through the thin, lacy material of my bralette. But he only chuckles, his teeth grazing my skin until I shiver. My hands jerk at the cuffs over my head, fingers clenching as if I’ll magically be able to break free. Distantly, some stupidly sarcastic part of my brain wonders if the ghosts of Jeremy Lane’s victims might show up and be so kind as to free me, or if they’ll just watch my stalker do whatever he wants to me.
That, unfortunately, seems like the more likely option, if ghosts do exist.
“Poor little thing,” my stalker murmurs, nipping at the skin above my bralette. His fingers tuck up under the fabric, slidingit up my body until my upper body is bare to him. Shivering in the cold air of the barn, I kick desperately at him, only for him to catch my knee and hook it over his shoulder deftly for a few seconds before letting it drop.
His nose trails up my stomach as he leans over me again, and hot tingles follow his touch as he reaches the valley between my breasts. “You’re gorgeous, even though I can’t see you,” he murmurs. “But that’s why I have to make up for the darkness by tasting every inch of you I can, Persy.”
“You don’t even know me.” The words are out before I can think of how stupid they sound. “We’ve never met for real. You don’t—” My words end in a yip of surprise when he bites down lightly on my nipple, his tongue toying with the sensitive bud.
“I do know you,” he purrs. “But if that’s your concern, I’m not against getting to know you better…” I don’t quite understand the meaning of his words until his hands trail down my hips, hooking in my leggings and pulling them down my thighs.
The noises that leave me aren’t scared enough. Aren’tagainst thisenough as he moves to drag my leggings off one leg, leaving them and my underwear hooked on the opposite ankle. The table is cold beneath me, and rough against my skin enough that I arch off of it, shuddering at the assault of vulnerability and cold air.
“This isn’t what I meant,” I can’t help pointing out. He touches my hip and I flinch away from the contact, which just prompts him to soothe over my hip bone with his gloved fingertips. “I meant?—”
“Slow down, pretty girl,” he chuckles. “One demand at a time. I might give you what you want if you’re good for me. If you’rescaredfor me.” I can feel him leaning over me again, and his lips find my throat, urging my head back against the table.
For a moment I hold out. I give it my best effort, at least, until I let him tip my head back so he can kiss and nip at my neckunder my jaw. “Un-cuff me,” I huff. “If you want to give me what I want, then?—”
His scoff cuts me off, by biting down almost punishingly, just enough to hurt, before letting go of my throat and moving up my jaw. “Please. I’m not an idiot. I may have a bit of an obsession with you, Scaredy Cat, but I don’t want another flashlight to the face. Especially from this close.”
“My flashlight is outside.”
“You’re smart and creative enough to find something else to hit me with.” He smooths his hands down my thighs as he says it, and the warm praise is genuine enough to make me pause in my protests.
“I…thank you?” I ask, befuddled by the compliment. “I think?”
“You’re welcome.” He kisses me again before I can say anything else to embarrass myself, this time is sweeter and less demanding. I want to fight it, to fight him. I want to kick him off of me and find a way to turn this around so he’s the one in handcuffs and I can get away.
I swear to myself that I won’t admit to anyone how I melt into him, into his kiss. That I will never admit to the soft sigh that leaves me when he licks my lower lip. When he grips my hips hard to drag me up against him, I hiss, the sound muffled against his mouth. But my stalker just grinds against me and groans against my lips.
“I don’t even know your name,” I point out in a nervous breath.
“What do you call me in your head?” he purrs, hands splayed on my lower belly.
“My stalker.”
His chuckle is warm and affectionate, and he licks my lower lip before replying, “Then let’s stick with that.” He moves, kissing his way down my chest again, and suddenly he’s kneelingbetween my thighs with one of my knees hooked over his shoulder once more. With his other arm, he grips my thigh, holding me in place and open for him. I’ve never felt so exposed, so fuckingvulnerable,and protests rise, bubbling to my lips.
“Beg for your stalker to spare you, Scaredy Cat,” he breathes, his mouth so close that I can feel his breath on my inner thigh. “Beg for me not to make you Mill House’s newest ghost.” His free arm shifts, and the cold, metal edge of a blade trails up my outer thigh. On impulse, I shove my heel into his back, whimpering fearfully and squirming on the workbench.
“Jeremy Lane, Jeremy Lane,” he hums, ignoring my protests. “What a nasty guy he was, don’t you think? Blamed the demons in this house, when we both know it was probably the demons in his head he brought here with him. Can you believe what he did to his wife, Persy? The way he cut all those marks into her skin? A cross, a star, a heart…” The blade digs in, just enough to make me tense but not enough to cut.
