Page 30 of As Devils Love

It’s only when my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, that I notice the shape of someone sitting on the foot of my bed. His back is turned to me and he’s fiddling with something in front of him.

It has to be him. My stalker. My assassin. Whatever the hell he is to me.

Should I shout to get Tomas’s attention? He’s only a few rooms away. He could be here in an instant to deal with this guy...

Unless I’m wrong. What if thisisTomas?

I can’t be so foolish as to think that my stalker would be able to get through all of my apartment’s locks, past my bodyguard, and into my bedroom without also believing that Tomas couldn’t at least get through a single lock.

Jumping to conclusions could make things much worse, especially when whoever it is still thinks I’m sleeping. Maybe I don’t have to do anything. If I just lie here completely still, he’ll do whatever he did the last time he came around. Wander around my room aimlessly, knock over some things on my drawers and side tables, and be on his way.

That’s a terrible idea. If it is my snake-eyed stalker, he’s probably here to finish the job he couldn’t finish in the fitting room. A change of heart in the moment is one thing, but can he change who he is because he wants to have sex with me?

Then there’s the most screwed-up part about all this, and it’s the flutter in my stomach that finds this exhilarating. He’swilling to defy all, and risk being caught by Tomas, just to be here. And if it’s anything like our time in the changing room, I’m sure he isn’t going to stop at pressing his masked face against my thighs or stealing another pair of panties.

He’s going to take what he wanted to then, and I’ll be the lucky recipient of his pleasure.

A shifting weight at my feet snaps me out of my daydream and back to reality. Holy shit, did I really just get excited by the thought of this guy touching me again? I should be repulsed by it. I should fight tooth and nail to get him away from me. I should cry out for help at the top of my lungs...

And yet, I watch him slink through the shadows instead. He gets off my bed, with whatever he was inspecting in tow, and walks around to my side. Given his size, I know it isn’t Tomas. There’s too much muscle for even the darkness to conceal.

I shut my eyes as he nears the end of his walk, and instead, I focus on the sound of his footfalls. Big as he is, he moves with the quiet elegance of a panther—stealthy, controlled, and unnervingly smooth.

He wanted me to wake up when he dropped onto my bed. He wants me to know he’s here. He wants to prove that my father’s men aren’t good enough to keep him out, and that he can do whatever the hell he pleases.

“In vain, I have struggled. It will not do.” His raspy whisper strikes my ear, quoting one of the lines from my copy of Pride and Prejudice.

My cheeks are instantly set ablaze at hearing him speak. The heat is twice as harsh, as I realize he’s read my notes scattered across those pages. He’s seen my ramblings and scribbles, mixed in with my own wants and desires.

Is it normal to feel embarrassed when you’re about to be murdered?

He doesn’t give me time to search myself for an answer, but grabs the end of my blanket in both hands and rips it off my body.

I launch myself forward with my duvet, in some vain attempt to pretend he’s just yanked me from sleep. Before I can make a sound, his open palm slams against my face with a slap, and clamps my mouth shut tightly. He forces my head back down into the pillow, pinning me in place as his body begins to move again.

His grip is different this time. It isn’t the soft leather of a glove holding my mouth, but his skin brushing against my lips. And unlike in the changing room, the rest of my senses come to life as the darkness blinds my vision in here.

I hear the soft rumble in his chest, as his free hand grazes my silky-smooth shin. His oaky cologne wafts in my direction with every repeated touch. Most importantly, I feel the goosebumps forming on my skin wherever his hand moves, as he starts to ascend my leg.

My heart pounds against my rib cage as he moves past my knee and against my thighs. Try as I might to fend off his touch, my body is fighting my mind and I part my legs further, wholly accepting what he’s trying to do.

Trying to fight it is pointless.

I was literally dreaming about this very thing happening before he appeared in my bedroom, and now that itishappening, I’m getting more turned on than I ever thought possible, with the man who is trying to kill me.

It’s forbidden arousal, I reason with myself.The emerald-eyed monster has been taunting you for weeks. It’s Stockholm syndrome without the kidnapping.

I can think of a thousand more ways to make sense of this, but none of them do my thoughts any real justice.

Because, deep down, I know the truth.

I want it just as much as he does.

After admitting my desire to myself, I finally gather the courage to meet his face. To my disappointment, he’s still wearing his black mask. The biggest bummer of all is that I don’t even get to see his eyes in the darkness. He’s just a black mass, sliding through the shadows and—

My thought is cut off as his hand glides down my thighs and a single finger grazes my soaked panties right above my pussy.

“Aaah,” a choked sound is emitted into his palm. It inspires him to tighten his grip on my mouth further, forcing my silence.

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