Page 50 of My Bloody Valentine

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, a mixture of fear and desire. That’s what I live for. Creating this cocktail of emotions in my private suite, creeping inside her mind and owning it. I’ve tapped into her deepest, most shameful desires, a most decadentdelight in seeing the polished critic with a pristine reputation—reduced to a tangle of sexual heat.

Her resistance only fuels my fervor, and my thrusts become wilder, more urgent. I clamp my hand over her mouth to muffle her cries, needing to silence them even as I savor them. Her eyes widen, their fear only spurring me on.

I drag my hand away from her mouth, and she sucks in a sharp breath, then lets out a keening moan. Her body moves beneath mine, a perfect melody.

“Look at me.” My voice is a husky command, and I tilt her chin with the tip of the knife. “You want me to stop?”

“No!” The word bursts from her, a mixture of fear and arousal. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Hearing those words frays my control. I need to possess her fully and brand her as mine in every way imaginable. I lean forward, my lips claiming hers in a kiss that tastes of desperation and longing.

My hands move from her wrists, trailing down her arms to her breasts. Her sharp intake of breath tells me she feels the cuts I made, the sting of the knife wounds amidst the pleasure. It only excites her further.

I twist her nipple between my fingers, earning a gasp, then a moan. I picture the mark my fingers leave, the evidence of my ownership. The thought sends a surge of power through me, fueling the darkness that thrives in the depths of my soul.

With my free hand, I explore the curves of her body and the softness of her skin while my mouth works against hers. Our tongues dance in a sensual tango, mirroring the rhythm of our bodies.

My pace quickens, driven by the knowledge that I’m taking her to the brink. I whisper against her lips, “Come for me, Maya.”

Her hips buck against mine, and I tighten my grip on her throat just enough to heighten the pleasure. She arches her back, a hoarse cry torn from her throat as her release consumes her. Her inner walls clench around me, and I lose myself in the sensations, thrusting wildly as I chase my own climax.

“That’s it, little critic,” I growl the words against her ear. “Let me feel it.”

Maya’s body trembles beneath me, and her nails dig into my back as my rhythm becomes erratic. With a final thrust, I bury myself deep within her, spilling myself into her as my name falls from her lips like a prayer.

I collapse onto her, breathing hard, my mind a blur. The wild beat of her heart drums against my chest, and I know she shares my passions. As I catch my breath, my lips find her neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along her throat, marking her again.

I want to keep her like this forever, bound to me, her body molded to mine. The possessiveness I feel toward her surprises me.

“You haven’t seen all I have in store, little critic.” I brush my face against her throat, skimming my teeth along her flesh as I contemplate what comes next, knowing I’ve fallen completely under her spell.

21

MAYA

Hot water cascades over my shoulders as I try to wash away the confusion clouding my mind. Adrian has stocked the marble shower with expensive products. Still, I cling to my jasmine shampoo—one small piece of normalcy in this beautiful nightmare. The familiar scent grounds me and reminds me of who I used to be before him.

I step out, wrapping myself in a plush towel that costs more than my monthly rent. Water drips onto the heated floor as I work another towel through my dark hair. Everything in this suite screams luxury and wealth, from the rainfall shower to the designer toiletries lined up with military precision.

Wiping steam from the gilded mirror, I stare at my reflection. The woman looking back is someone I barely recognize. A wildness in her eyes and a flush to her cheeks speaks of more than the hot shower. She’s transforming into something else entirely.

My fingers trace the marks he’s left on my skin, stark against my shower-pink flesh. Each one tells a story of submission, of choices I can’t untangle. Am I playing a survival game, pretending to want him just to stay alive? Or has something dark awakened inside me?

“You’re losing it, Maya,” I whisper to my reflection. The rational part of my brain screams that I should be horrified, disgusted, trying to escape. He’s a killer. His chocolates... I shudder remembering the truth about his special ingredient.

But then there’s that other part. The part that recognized something in the taste of his blood, that understood the depth of emotion he captures in his creations. That part of me wants to dive deeper into his darkness.

The footsteps in the hallway make my heart race, but they pass by. Adrian’s been gone for hours, probably in his workshop, crafting more delicacies. I pace the room, running my hands through my tangled hair.

The walls of this beautiful prison close in. Artwork worth more than my yearly salary mocks me with its perfection. Everything here is calculated and curated—just like Adrian himself.

The woman staring back in the mirror someone I barely recognize. There’s a wildness in her eyes, a flush to her cheeks that speaks of more than fear. She’s transforming into something else entirely.

My stomach churns as I wonder how many others have stood in this room before me. Did they stare into this same mirror, watching themselves change? Did they feel this same intoxicating mix of terror and desire? The pristine surfaces and perfect arrangements suddenly feel sinister—how many women has he brought here, played with, before they disappeared into his special chocolate collection?

My fingers press against the cool glass. “What are you becoming?” I ask my reflection. “Just another ingredient in his twisted recipes?” The answer lurks in the shadows of my mind, in the hollow spaces where morality used to live.

The worst part is—I’m not sure I want to stop it. Even knowing I might be just another in a long line of his obsessions,another woman he’ll use up and transform into something dark and beautiful, I can’t bring myself to run.

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