Page 3 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

“Benji, I’m sorry I’m calling so late. I just...” Tatum says before going silent again. And then, a sniffle. A sound that wrecks me on the inside. Why is he sad? Who has hurt this precious man? I want to find them and make them suffer. I want to snuff the life out of them. Instead, I remain crouched beside the chest of drawers, trying to keep my anger in check. “I know you’re probably still upset with me from earlier at the bar, but I got a message from Scotty’s stalker earlier, and I’m really scared. I think someone’s after me. If you don’t hear back from me, I just want you to know that I love you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t enough. You deserve the world—youandBennet—but you’re not going to get it fromhim, so, I need you to do something for me, babes. I need you both to go out there and find whatever it was I couldn’t give you because you fucking deserve it. I love you. Always.”

The call ends and there’s a loud, crashing sound before Tatum’s sobs fill the silent apartment. It’s a sound that shatters me from the inside out as his words reverberate in my mind. “Someone’s after me.” He’s spoken with Brody. There’s no telling what he’s told Tatum about us. The little one probably thinks we’re trying to kill him. Sure, Fiona wouldn’t blink an eye at taking his life, but I will not allow that to happen. Not after what he and I shared in the bar’s bathroom earlier.

I’m not sure how long I sit in silence, waiting for him to make a move. It feels like minutes turn to days, then turn back into seconds. For a while, I worry what Fiona might do to him if she gets to Tatum first. I pull out my phone and shoot her a quick text telling her in no uncertain terms that if she touches him, she’ll have to answer to me.

The pantry door creaks open, so I stand. I will not allowFiona to frighten or harm Tatum. She’d be more than happy to torture what information he has out by force, but we don’t need to sink to those depths. Not when I’ve still got thirty doses of our agency’s serum left from my last assignment. I grab my small black satchel from where I left it on the chest of drawers earlier and take out a syringe. Uncapping the needle, I creep closer to the door. On the other side of the wall, there’s a thud, and the pantry door closes again.

Fuck.

Has she harmed him? He hasn’t even made a sound. I swear to God, if she’s killed him, I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself. I will not harm her, but I’m happy to drug her and leave her in Scotty’s apartment to fend for herself.

No one touches him. No one.

Thankfully, Fee responds to my message with an eye roll emoji, so at least I know nothing’s happened yet. I can’t just sit here, though. When I creep around the corner, the apartment’s layout works to my advantage. The sofa is on the other side of the wall I’ve been resting against. Tatum is sitting sideways, his back against the armrest, feet on the cushions, legs pulled to his chest. Across the room, I locate the source of the crashing sound from earlier. It appears Tatum hurled his phone against the wall, and it is now on the floor, facing upward, the screen shattered. Tatum is facing away from me, making this even easier. If he does not see the needle coming, I can be in and out in a flash. But then I see him. Truly see him.

Tatum’s shoulders are shaking as if he’s scared, and he’s making all of these terrible, horrible sounds. Sobs and cries like he’s lost everything and it’s taking all his strength to hold himself together. I want to wrap my arms around him and tell him he has nothing to fear. I’ll keep him safe, should he allow it.

Something catches my eye. Fee’s phone, resting on the sofa cushion in front of him, showing our text exchange. I’m given no chance to process what I’m seeing, because he suddenly whirls around and something slams into my stomach. Acracking sound fills the room, and it isn’t until I’m on my back, staring at the ceiling as pain spreads through my chest that I realize he’s cracked—if not broken—my ribs. Then he’s on top of me, pressing something against my throat, cutting off my oxygen.

“Surprise, asshole,” he hisses into my face. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

The room is shrouded in darkness, so it takes him a moment to realize who I am. A man he met mere hours ago in a dirty gay bar bathroom. The moment it registers, his mouth drops open, and his eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. He almost looks hurt, like me being here is a betrayal. Perhaps it is. Perhaps he felt the same connection I did at the bar, and by realizing I’m the one underneath him, I’ve extinguished what little hope he had.

Hope for me? For us?

“How—I mean, why...” He blinks slowly, still trying to process my presence. “Abi?” I can’t stand to see the look of betrayal on his face. “I got a text saying someone was coming for me. It’s you?” He shakes his head, dazed. “It can’t be you.” His eyebrows draw together. “It isn’t supposed to be you.” The cracks of hurt in his voice are unbearable because I do not wish to hurt him.

“Hello, little one,” I whisper, trying to ignore the pain spreading through my chest. My pain means nothing right now. I need him to calm down, so I do the only thing I can. I open myself up in a way I’ve never done before. “I’ve missed you,” I wheeze, my voice cracked and broken. His grip eases, allowing me to breathe easier, but he doesn’t move the object away from my throat. Tatum is half the size of me, and I could easily push him away if I wanted, but I do not want to. The pain I’m feeling doesn’t come close to the warmth spreading through me due to our physical contact.

He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and studies me. It takes him a moment to collect himself, but when he does, I’m rewarded with more of his sass. He scrunches his nose up at meand snarls, “Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck do you want?”

“You,” I answer without hesitation. “I am here for you, Tatum.”

His eyes widen, but he pushes any fear he may be feeling down into a tiny little ball, tucking it away for later. “So, you’re ... what? Here to kill me? To torture me?”

I chuckle, but it just makes my chest hurt more. “I’ll only torture you if you ask me to.”

He rolls his eyes. “Why would I want you to torture me? Jesus, Abi. I’m hardly going to ask you to hurt me.” A smirk twists in his mouth. “But if you’re dead set on killing me, why don’t you call for your partner. See if they can hold me down while you stab or strangle me. Go on. I’ll give you the advantage.” I smirk right back at him, and there’s a strange sense of pride rushing through me as I stare at him.

“I could do that,” I say with a nod. “But we both know there is no use. The pantry door opened, there was a thud, and you now have my partner’s phone. You’ve clearly incapacitated her, and now I am at your mercy.” His mouth hangs open in surprise. Clearly, he hasn’t expected me to piece all of this together, but I’ve trained for this for years. It’s in my DNA. Still, the effortless way he was able to eliminate Fiona as a threat tells me I may have met my match. Good. “Well done. I’m proud of you.”

He scowls. “Why the hell would you be proud of me? Your partner could be dead right now, and you could be next.” I tickle his ribs because he looks adorable on top of me, but he slaps my hand away. “Stop it. Answer the question.” I tickle him again, and this time he slaps me in the face, making my cock swell. He must feel it against his ass, because his eyes widen. I could use the distraction to pry whatever weapon he’s choking me with from his hand, but I’m enjoying our game of cat and mouse, so I allow him this win.

“I just am,” I finally answer. He puts a bit of weight against my throat, and I try to gasp, but no air comes. That’s fine. I havetactics of my own. His eyes flicker down to my hand as it creeps up his thigh, and he presses the bar even tighter against my throat. I have to choke the words out as I say, “I’m very proud of you for getting the upper hand.”

“Stop that.”

My nails dance lightly against his skin. Tight doesn’t begin to describe the pink shorts he’s wearing. They cling to him, accenting the nooks and crooks of his groin. His gaze lingers as I trail my fingertips closer to his waist. He probably thinks I’m going to grab his hip, but I’ve got my eyes on a bigger prize. When I cup his bulge, Tatum’s entire body shudders, and I feel him lengthen in my hand.

“There you are,” I choke out, giving his package a gentle squeeze. His grip eases, and I’m able to breathe again, but I don’t waste my breath on oxygen. Instead, I give it to him. I’m pretty sure I’d give him anything he wanted. “Did you miss me?”

“I don’t even fucking know you.”

“You knew me well enough earlier. You came for me.” I run my hand up and down the underside of his shaft, making him moan. “Would you like to come for me again?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Never.” I wrap my hand around his cloth-covered shaft and stroke him slowly. He’s fully erect now, and pride courses through me. I’m the reason for his erection. Me. Not his boyfriends. “I am not trying to kill you. I am trying to make you come.”

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