Page 51 of My Bloody Valentine

I slump against the bathroom door, my legs trembling. What am I doing here? Playing house with a murderer while he crafts his chocolates downstairs using human blood?

“Get it together,” I mutter, splashing cold water on my face. The woman in the mirror looks haunted, with dark circles under her eyes. My reflection tells the truth—I must get out of here.

My fingers brush over the bruises on my neck, evidence of last night’s... encounter. The marks tell a story of submission, of letting him take control. But they also remind me of what he’s capable of.

The suite door isn’t locked—Adrian’s confident I won’t leave. Why would he worry? He’s twice my size, all lean muscle beneath those perfectly tailored suits. One hand around my throat last night proved how easily he could overpower me, take the very life from me.

I test the door handle anyway, cracking it open an inch. Classical music drifts up from his workshop below, along with the rich scent of melting chocolate. He’s distracted, working on his next creation. This could be my chance.

But then what? My phone, purse, everything is gone. Even if I made it outside, where would I go? He knows where I live and where I work. The police? They’d never believe me—a respected chocolatier secretly killing people and using their blood in his recipes?

I close the door, pressing my forehead against the cool wood. The truth is heavy in my stomach: I can’t fight my way out of this. Adrian’s too strong, too careful, too obsessed. My only hope is to play along, to make him trust me enough to lower his guard.

The thought makes me sick. Or maybe that’s just the haunting flavor of his latest truffle, which he insisted I try thismorning. I stumble to the bathroom again, dry heaving over the sink.

What terrifies me most isn’t Adrian’s strength or his careful planning. It’s how part of me doesn’t want to leave at all.

I jump at the sound of the door opening, spinning around to find Adrian filling the bathroom doorway. I hadn’t heard him coming. He studies me with those intense eyes, taking in my disheveled appearance.

“Everything alright in here?” His voice is silky smooth, laced with concern.

“Yeah,” I lie, turning back to the sink. “Just not feeling so great.”

Adrian steps closer, his presence filling the small space. His fingers softly stroke my hair away from my neck, exposing the marks he left. “Are you sure? You seem a bit...”

“Dizzy,” I finish for him, not meeting his eyes. I let my shoulders slump, pretending to be weaker than I am.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me close. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

I don’t resist as he leads me out of the bathroom, half-carrying me back to the plush bed. Everything in me screams to fight, to use this moment to gain the upper hand. But I force myself to relax, sinking into his embrace.

“Just rest,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear.

I draw in a shaky breath, my body responding to his touch despite my conflicting thoughts. As he eases me back onto the bed, I let my limbs go limp, pretending to be more affected by his sedative chocolates than I am.

His hands move over my body, stroking and caressing. I struggle to breathe as his touch ignites a fire in my core. I bite my lip, feigning submission, letting him believe I’ve accepted my captivity.

“That’s it,” he whispers, trailing kisses down my neck. “Let go, Maya.”

My fingers thread through his hair, encouraging him, even as my mind screams to stop. I’ve entered a dangerous dance with this man, and I’m unsure how to break free without getting burned.

I let my body melt against him, my hands roaming his chest. His heart pounds beneath my touch, a rhythmic reminder of the passion simmering beneath the surface. I move my hips, intentionally brushing against the growing bulge in his pants.

I watch Adrian step back, his fingers moving to his tie with practiced grace. The silk whispers as it slides free from his collar. Each precise movement speaks of control, even in this heated moment.

His jacket falls next, draped carefully over a nearby chair. The crisp white shirt follows, revealing the lean, inked muscles beneath. Scars mark his skin—telling stories I’m not sure I want to know.

My breath stutters when he removes his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft hiss. The sound makes me shiver, bringing back memories of earlier encounters.

His shoes and socks join the neat pile of clothing. Even in this, Adrian maintains his meticulous nature. Nothing is rushed, nothing is messy.

I watch his hands move to his waist, undoing the button of his tailored pants. They fall away, leaving him in black boxer briefs that cling to his form.

“See something you like, little critic?” His voice carries that dangerous edge I’ve come to know too well.

I don’t answer, but my racing pulse betrays me. The last piece of clothing joins the others, and Adrian stands before me in all his glory. Scars and muscles tell a story of violence beneath his refined exterior.

He moves toward me with predatory grace, reaching down to gather me in his arms. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, his breath hot against my skin. “You know what I want, Maya.”

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