Page 20 of Little Blue

Flushed with anger, eyes still glassy, lips ruby red and legs on display, I feel my cock harden in my pants. That’s another intriguing development in the past week. Sure, I engage in sex. I’m a man with urges like any other. What sets me apart is the fact that, for me, sex is a clinical kind of thing. It’s about release, not intimacy or even enjoyment. For the most part, my fist does the trick just fine.

I never simply see a woman and want her.

But I’d wanted Irelynn the moment I saw her sitting at that table in my casino. When I leaned closer to her, inhaling the scent of cookie batter, it had taken everything inside of me not to push her over the table and fuck her raw, audience be damned.

Her voice breaks through my thoughts. “This is not my life, you psycho asshole.”

I laugh, because she’s not just sexy as sin. She’s fucking cute with her feathers all ruffled. “You have no idea how psycho I am, Little Blue.”

Her eyes widen, but little hands slam down on her hips. “Take me home. Take me home right now.”

“No.”

She stomps her slender bare foot, a sound of frustration tearing from her chest. I nearly laugh.

She’s adorable. “I mean it. You can’t keep me.”

“I can, and I will.”

She stomps her foot again. She’s like a ruffled little kitten, angled sideways and spitting tiny hisses. Too bad she’s tossing tude for a tiger. I’m not intimidated.

“I’m a person!” She takes a step toward me. My heart leaps in my chest. I want to grab her and kiss her. “You can’t just take people.”

“I do it all the time.” I don’t mean it the way she takes it, and instantly regret the words as her eyes widen, darting to the door. I clarify, “Not women.” Her jaw unhinges. It’s clear I’m quickly making a mess of this. “I mean, I take men. Often.” Fuck, that sounds—well, it sounds bad. I add, “I always kill them.”

“Oh, my God,” she gasps. That step she took toward me turns into six steps back before she bumps into a chair, falling into it.

I watch as she scrambles back to her feet, the anger abandoned for absolute, unbridled terror.

Fuck.

“They’re bad men,” I try again to clarify. She doesn’t seem to care that I’m killing bad men as she puts more space between us. I track her around the room as she walks backwards, back into the direction of my bed.

“You—you kill—p-people.”

“Men. Bad men.” I’ve killed a few bad women, too. I don’t discriminate. But I don’t think telling her that now will help to dissolve the situation. I also don’t bother telling her that I’m also a bad man.

Her eyes are wild as the backs of her legs connect with my bed. She falls to her ass, and I stride quickly toward her. She lets out an ear-piercing scream that has the previously mentioned, unaffected organ in my chest, pumping blood on overdrive.

I’ve never felt anything like this.

I can hear it pounding in my head between my ears. It slams like an axe in my chest, threatening to cleave me in two.

The cat scurries, running in place for a moment before he gets traction.

She falls onto the bed. Her shirt rides up around her waist as she flings her legs to the side, hurrying to crawl across my bed in her haste to escape me. I get a flash of little blue cotton panties with snowflakes before she’s leaping onto the floor on the other side of the bed. Her cat scurried from the foot of the bed when she screamed, the skin on his back twitching as he stands to watch the commotion from a safe distance.

The sound of his nails on the floor must have drawn her attention, because her wild eyes land on him and she cries, “Lucy,” as she takes a few thoughtless steps toward him—and therefore toward me. I continue to close the space between us, and she lets out a grief-filled sob as the black ball of fur runs away, before she turns away from her cat to race, full-speed, for the door.

Only, it’s the closet door.

She gets to it, her hand twisting the matte black knob a moment before she throws it open.

Nine

Irelynn

It’s a closet.

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