Page 42 of Bake the Town Red

A million ways for fate to take her from me. Because we’re together. Because we’re happy.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. I want Dahlia.

“Be a good girl, Dahlia, and take what I’m giving you.” I draw back, despite her tight hold on my hair. “This evening, I’m giving you an orgasm with my tongue. My teeth. My fingers. I’ll rub and lick you until you’re nothing but a desperate little thing. Until you make a mess of my face. That’ll have to be enough. That’s all I’ve got. Oh, and Dahlia?”

“What?”

“If anyone walks in, tell them to leave. Did I make myself clear?”

Pain. Physical, emotional. All of it. So much of it that if Dahlia’s answer is no, I’ll still suck her clit and make her come every day for the rest of her life.

Her short life.

“I won’t.” She rocks her hips, begging me with her body for me. “It’s my shop. When you”—she moans, because I’m not done tasting and finger-fucking her—“disappear tomorrow, this place is the one thing I have left. My c-c-customers are what keep me going.”

Customers. The only person coming in here this late is another target.

It’s cute how she thinks she can lie to me. The man who’s obsessed with her. Who had been her guardian and stalker for years.

I too used to be what some people would deem cute. But life stripped away that part of me. Tore my heart piece by piece. Sucked the blood from my veins.

Who cares about that? Not me. Not right now.

Dahlia’s close to orgasming.

She’s also refused to do as I said.

“As you wish.”

As hungry and ravenous as I am, I pull away. Put her panties, then dress back in place. Get up on my feet. Cradle her cheek in my palm and torture her some more by kissing her forehead ever so gently.

“Ty,” she huffs, tears in her voice.

“Your orgasm isn’t yours, little savage. It’s mine.”

A million emotions come alive behind her blue eyes. Betrayal. Fury. Desperation. She clutches at the sleeves of my hoodie, her mouth opening to give me hell.

Ding.

My head snaps to the sound of the bell. A middle-aged woman saunters inside as if the sign doesn’t sayClosed. She wears a cream-colored tracksuit, her short black bob looking fresh out of the salon.

“Dahlia? You said you wanted to apologize.” The woman’s voice is a snotty one. Grates on my nerves. “Why does it seem like I’m interrupting?”

“He’s leaving.” Dahlia flashes her a smile. A predator’s smile.

Morbid curiosity. That’s what I’m feeling. Other than wanting to fuck Dahlia raw, I’m dying to stay and watch.

One of her suppliers could rape her. A fire could catch in her shop. Lightning could strike her.

Fuck.

Leaving is the lesser of two evils.

When Dahlia ushers me out the door, I say nothing. Neither does she.

I want to scream. To break something. Demand the universe to end our curse.

All I do is taste her on my fingers, sucking on them all the way home.

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