Page 20 of His to Fear
His words wrap around me until that’s all I can hear, and his touch is all I can feel upon me. Not the panic. He mimics breathing, his shoulders rising and falling at a steady pace that makes me stare at him.
“Come on,” he encourages, breathing in for four seconds and out for another four. I’m mimicking him, feeling myself finally calming down.
Just havinghimhere is already making me feel safer. As if I have someone else to fight my inner demons for me.
“Good girl,” he whispers.
His words send a flush through me, heating something inside my chest. He must see the hesitation in my eyes, the embarrassment flaring.
“You can do anything you want to, so take your time, yeah? No need to be ashamed.”
His words empower me, filling my chest with an explosion that feels dangerously good and intimate.
He sits with me until my breathing comes back, and in the flickering light, I manage to see how he’s assessing me all over.
I realize one thing: he made me come back from my panic attack. No one’s ever been able to stop one. Not even myself. Not until I’m on the verge of fainting, needing pills to calm myselfdown.
My heart stutters. My stomach clenches with a fluttery sensation, bordering on the precipice of butterflies.
“Good fucking girl,” he whispers.
My legs involuntarily clench, but I ignore the sensation. I keep staring into his gorgeous, breathtaking eyes every time the neon light flickers on, still assessing me. Ensuring I’m okay.
He reaches out his hand, motioning for me to take it.
I hesitate for just a second, searching his face. I find the faint scar running down his forehead, the appeal of it, and how it barely glints in the light. It anchors me to the present.
“We all bear our scars. Some more visible than others,” he whispers.
His words flood through my senses, touching my soul in a way no man ever has, and it almost makes tears build in my lower lids. I blink them away.
“Now I don’t know what caused your panic attack, but you’re safe here. With me. They’re all terrifying, making you feel like you might die, but they always pass.”
Somehow, I believe him. I grab his hand, and he helps me to my feet, pressing me closer to the wall. His arm wraps around my waist, steadying me while his bright gray eyes lock on mine, as if looking away for even one second will risk my entire well-being.
There is something so undeniable about him that pulls me closer, calls to my wicked soul. This stranger makes me feelseenin ways no one ever has. Not even Eveline, with whom I experienced that horrible night.
His other hand crawls upward, reaching my mouth and covering it, ultimately forbidding me from speaking while cradling me in his hold.
There’s still fear lingering inside me, remembering this is, after all, a stranger. My heart pounds hard against my ribcage,and it’s no use trying to calm it down. I’m sure he can feel it pumping through the vibrations of my body.
His hand feels like a serrated blade, caressing my body as if he has the right to. But I’m not stopping him, for some reason, and I guess that makes me as complicit.
“You smell afraid,” he whispers against my ear, teeth grazing against my earlobe in a move so exhilarating, it makes me lose my breath.
He’s back in character, finally done assessing me.
The panic attack is lying dormant.
The hand he has around my waist digs its fingers into my skin, causing a low pinch to take root. I’m once again enchanted by him.
The axe’s blade scrapes against the concrete floor, waking me out of my reverie. An irrational fear takes over me, pulsing through me with incessant need, and I can’t get it to disappear. What if it’s real? What if he’s a real serial killer, just waiting to get me?
But again, he had me all to himself in the forest. He could have done anything he wanted there.
“Mmmm,” he breathes. “Your fear smells so fucking delicious.”
And then, I feel the brush of his mouth against my neck. Then the slickness of his wicked tongue, gliding against the side of my throat. Is he fucking tasting me?
