Page 14 of Bake the Town Red

Anyone comes in here, and I’ll slit their motherfucking throats.

She’smine, even if I can’t have her.

Good thing that, on some unconscious level, she’s aware of it. Dahlia doesn’t date. Doesn’t flirt. The endless days I spend stalking her provide me proof of that. Here. At her shop. While she’s on her way home. Sometimes, I hack her phone.

There’s no one.

She’s a virgin.

She’s mine.

I hover over her bed and anger surges. I’m furious at her. At the love I have for her.

At how I was so weak for this girl—first out of compassion, then when she turned seventeen, out of somethingmore—that I let her stay in my life. I should’ve realized that after Al fucked up her and Ian’s lives, we were cursed.

I shouldn’t come anywhere near her.

Not to tempt fate.

I know. I know.

Except I want her.

So fucking bad.

Blood rushes to my groin. I’m hard, and it fucking hurts, how much I need her.

My depravity rises to the surface. Calls on me to violate Dahlia in her sleep. Make her mine while I suffer through every second of it. Because this is fake. Because she’s not really mine.

“Oh, little savage,” I mouth as I unbutton my jeans and lower the zipper. As I take myself out. “You’ve been busy today, haven’t you?” My cock pulses in my hand as I fuck it. “Putting up Halloween decorations. Your spooky season cupcakes are on display. You must be exhausted.”

Her bed is a high one. When I inch closer, Dahlia’s breaths are hot on my cock.

I haven’t fucked her mouth before. The closest I got was rubbing my cum on her lips. Her body. Writing our initials with cum on her skin.

You love her.

Fuck, my brain is messing with me. The distance, the four years of not talking to her.

You love her.

I love her, yes.

I’m a dirty, sadistic fuck. I pull back, bend to her mouth, and spit onto her open lips. My saliva makes her sweet, pinktongue glisten. The desire to lick it off her, then spit on her again is overwhelming. It has precum wetting the tip of my cock.

Dahlia doesn’t stir. As if she’s awake. Listening to my thoughts. Begging me to do it. In slow, meticulous strokes, I lick her mouth clean. Then spit between her parted lips again.

Beforethe day, I hadn’t been like this. Nowhere near this depraved.

Then Dahlia gave me the mother of all complexes when she blossomed into a magnificently disturbed seventeen-year-old. The person I’ve been so hung up on that I haven’t so much dated or fucked anyone for years.

No one has or ever will come anywhere close to her.

She’s mine. And I’ve always been hers in one form or the other.

Holding on to the headboard, I place the crown of my cock on Dahlia’s spit-coated lips.

Fuuuck.

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