Page 39 of The Misfits
When his eyes return to my face, I take a step back. His look is hungry, but this time, I’m not stupidly confusing it with a hunger for food. He is famished. Thirsty. Overwhelming every sense I own.
“Put them in the trash. I have new ones for you in the car,” he commands when I start to place my folded clothes onto the lowered toilet lid.
It seems like a waste, but I do as I’m told. My father taught me obedience and what occurs when I don’t follow the rules.
“Do you not want your razor…” Dexter’s words trap in his throat when I twist my wrist to hold out my hand palm side up. The smile he releases when he spots the silver instrument nestled in my palm sends goosebumps scuttling across my skin.
He returns his eyes to my face. There is something in them I haven’t seen before.
Is it pride?
“Did you want to use that on Joseph tonight, Megan?” I nearly lie until he cuts off the shake of my head with a stern warning. “If you lie to me, I’ll cut out the little freckle on your thigh and send it to Lee’s family as a parting gift.”
Trusting his threat, my shake switches to a nod. I’m not stupid. He was being honest.
He steps closer to me, crowding me with his impressive frame. “What did you want to do to him?”
I flick open the switch then slice an X pattern in the air half an inch from Dexter’s neck. My movements are so rushed, cool air rustles between us.
I’m fully anticipating for Dexter to check if I’ve maimed him, so you can imagine my surprise when he doesn’t. He merely sucks in a prolonged breath through his flaring nostrils before dropping his eyes to the bald spot between my legs.
“You are like me, aren’t you, Megan.” Although he appears to be asking a question, his tone doesn’t allude to that. It was a confirmation.
When his eyes slowly stray back to mine, demanding a reply, I can neither agree with nor deny his statement. His hand is gripping my locks too firmly for me to do anything but glance up at him. The threat of him tearing my hair from my scalp isn’t the sole cause of my silence, though. It is the confusion bombarding me.
His hold should be frightening, but for some reason, it isn’t. It increases my pulse, which surges in an area stripped as bare as my heart right now. I love Nick—I gave him my heart for eternity—but as I stare into Dexter’s fiery eyes, I can’t recall if Nick’s eyes are darker than Dexter’s or paler. Does he have more lashes or less? Are his eyes even blue? I only saw his photo mere minutes ago, but I truly can’t remember what he looks like.
My response shouldn’t be shocking. A ravenous wolf has me in his sights, and the only thought I can muster is,“Yes, please.”
I am the most mentally unstable I’ve ever been.
“Don’t tempt me.” Dexter’s warning is more a growl than an actual threat. “You couldn’t be so lucky to have someone like me pop your cherry, but every woman must drudge through the minor leagues before stepping up to the big hitters. It is a rite of passage.”
His grip on my hair doesn’t stop my eyes rolling skyward. His reply should have me immediately shutting down our conversation. I should demand he release me this instant from his barbaric grip. Or better yet, use the razor to force his relinquishment, but with my veins free of mind-numbing medication, the thoughts streaming through my head don’t belong to a rational woman.
I don’t want to dodge Dexter’s attention.
I’m encouraging it.
When I return my eyes to Dexter, my determination obvious, his lips curl into a heart-fluttering smirk. “But you’re not like normal women, are you, Megan?” The agitation that generally arrives with his questions is nipped in the bud when he quickly adds, “You’re special. Unique. Completely fucking fucked-up.”
A thrill jolts down my spine when he yanks my head back. He drags his nose down my neck, sucking in my scent with a long, undignified whiff. Goosebumps follow the trek his tongue makes when it travels the same path, just in the opposite direction. It glides along the throb in my throat, only stopping when he reaches the base of my ear. “As sweet as heaven but as sour as Satan,” he growls into my ear. “Tell me to stop before I drag you to the depths of hell alongside me.”
I shake my head, deepening his breaths.
Conscious of what is about to transpire, his bite doesn’t hold half the sting it did yesterday. His teeth sinking into my earlobe spikes my heart rate and causes the slippery situation between my legs to become more apparent.
I grow wetter when he growls at the taste of my blood on his tongue. “I can make your cunt bleed just as readily. Do you want that, Megan?”
My mind scrambles for a reply when he seeks a response in a non-verbal way. If I went off my first thought, I’d scream yes, but with my mind as knotted as my lower stomach, I settle on a halfhearted shake.
I don’t want you to hurt me.
“Oh, trust me, it’s going to hurt. Whether me or a man with half a cock, you will bleed.”
I don’t understand the origin of his slurred words. He drank more glasses of the fruity drink Joseph topped off all evening than me, but his eyes aren’t carrying the same drunken edge my father’s always did.
“But I can show you how you can achieve pleasure from pain. Would you prefer that?”
