Page 19 of Meating Dalton

NATALIA

My body twitches, a live wire activated by the strange man’s nearness. Freshly showered, he smelled like amber and pine, no hint of the gore that coated him earlier. And his cock moved against my butt, spurring me to flee up the stairs.

I’ve read this book before. It belonged to Lauren and Sarah. Tremors travel to my fingertips and I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear his soft footsteps behind me.

“Skittish, are you, little lamb?” His voice slides over me like velvet over butter. I prefer him covered in blood, eyes wild with madness than the smiling, dimpled man striding toward me, dressed all in black. He leans against the door frame of the second door, a mocking tilt to his lips.

“I want a bath. And clothes.” My demand comes out only a little shaky, but I hold my ground, maintaining the two feet separating us. His head tilts in a considering manner, and I’m almost certain he’s going to refuse. Until his lips stretch wide. Whatever comes out of his mouth, I’m certain I won’t like.

“Under one condition, my sweet flower.” He holds up one finger, dimples deepening with his smile. “You let me watch you dress.” His arms cross over his chest, back resting against the door frame, ankles crossing. The picture of leisure.

Oh, I’ll make him eat his fucking “condition.” Two can play at being the devil. I saunter up to his leisurely lean, watching his pupils expand, until my toes brush the tips of his black loafers. Leaning up on my toes, lashes lowering, I smile when our faces are inches apart.

“My condition to your condition is that you can watch but not touch.” I let my lips barely graze his before lowering to my heels, gasping when a large hand lands on my hip, fingers denting the skin.

“Deal,” he growls, scraping his nails across my skin when he pulls his hand back. His other gestures at the stairs to our right.

“Ladies, first.” He smirks, mischief dancing his eyes. I’m not a violent person but him, I wouldn’t mind smothering in his sleep. Daydreaming of murder, I turn on a heel and march toward the stairs, feeling his eyes burning my skin. It would be a stroke of luck ifhestumbled and snapped his ankle. A girl can dream.

A BATH

DALTON

What the fuck did I just agree to? Watch her naked? My eyes track her lush body, practically sashaying up my stairs. I don’t want to see her naked. I see meat naked all the time.

But nothermeat. Fuck! I need to kill her before she rewires anymore cables in my head. There’s enough of those loose, sweetheart. Don’t go adding water to a fucking dam. My hands trail along the wood bannister to give them something to do, fighting the urge to salivate some more over Natalia’s pert ass.

Maybe I’d feel right as rain if I’d succeeded in my hunt. But Goldilocks wasn’t where I expected, and there were too many witnesses. Probably should’ve roofied her drink anyway and carted her unconscious body out the front door, spewing some lies about being a friend of her boyfriend’s. A real friend to the end. I should’ve taken more time with him.

My hands itch to hold the handle of a knife, but things bleed when I get bored, so I’d left my pocket knife behind. Now I need to scratch that itch, the craving rising again.

Natalia glances at me over her shoulder, standing at the top of the stairs. Why the hell does she have to be so alluring? I nearly stumble in my haste to close the distance between us until I’m towering a head above her.

“Bathroom?” she asks, the word coming out a tinge breathless.

“My bedroom.” My mind operates on autopilot, saying the first thing that pops into my wheelhouse. My bedroom, where I want her spread out on my bed, legs open, pussy bared and dripping. She steps back as if sensing the direction of my dirty thoughts.

“You don’t have a guest bathroom?” She frowns at me, a tendril of distrust entering her eyes. Oh, now she distrusts me? Not when she agreed to let me feast on her naked body. Visually.

Meat. Meat. Meat. Meat.

I point toward my bedroom door in answer, her eyes following until they alight on a gold and white wooden door, blending with the swirls painted into the hallway walls. She was a cunt who wanted to have me institutionalized, but my adoptive mother knew a thing or two about interior design. She did what she loved in the end, painting the walls. At least her blood did. I smile at the memory and Natalia flinches, walking in the direction I pointed.

* * *

NATALIA

His eyes raise goosebumps on my skin, marble flooring kissing the soles of my feet as I walk toward his bedroom. I wish I’d taken more self-defense classes after Lauren got taken. Us Bells sure have shitty luck. The freak strolls behind me, whistling some obnoxious tune, but I saw the gleam of madness lurking in his eyes when he smiled. He can’t hide it. I’ve seen it in enough creeps on cases I worked alongside law enforcement. I never thought I’d get taken by one.

Pushing the door open, I step inside, blanking my face to hide my reaction. A four-poster king side bed rests against the right wall, white posts reaching for the etched ceiling. At the foot of the bed, an all black bench gleams, beckoning for me to sit. A black wood dresser sits opposite the bed, next to the door I assume leads to the bathroom.

Tasteful artwork graces the walls. Beautiful decor, but lacking personal effects.

“The bathroom is to your left.” Fighting the shudder his voice sends down my spine, I nod, walking blindly toward the door, mind pinwheeling through different scenarios. If he has a window, am I willing to jump?

* * *

Grudgingly admitting he actually has a nice bathroom, I submerge myself beneath the water in the porcelain clawfoot bathtub big enough to seat three people. Closing my eyes, water whooshing in my ears, I let the blood wash away, taking my fear with it. Things could be so much worse.

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