Page 12 of Devil on the Lake

“Not a chance in hell, baby. This isn’t over.”

Dante hoists me up the stone steps and gets the door open. The inside is dim, illuminated only by the pools of moonlight pouring in from the window. There isn’t much inside other than a double bed with a quilt in the corner, a wood stove, and a sitting area with rustic furniture.

Fear races through me that he might actually hurt me. Out there in the woods, being chased and encountering the callous booby traps designed to terrify me suddenly seems the lesser of two evils.

“What do you want with me?” I demand with as much steel in my voice as I can muster.

“I want you to pay,” he growls.

“Fuck you.”

I unleash hell on him, managing to wrestle free from his hold. He charges me, flinging my purse away. I fight more fiercely. He grunts when one of my kicks lands. As hard as I fight, he only deflects. It registers belatedly that as much as he’s scared me tonight, he won’t strike me.

Planting my hands on his chest, I shove hard. He only falls back a step before he’s in my face, herding me until my back hits the wall. My eyes go wide and he smirks. I bare my teeth and release a frustrated noise.

“That’s right. There’s no way you can get out of this. No one’s coming to save you, either.”

“You’re a deranged maniac. What is the matter with you? If I go to the police, this is grounds for harassment, maybe assault.”

“It was a prank. Get over it. You won’t be able to prove anything. Lowell and the guys will back me up. It’ll be my word against yours.” A dark look crosses his face. “Do you know how much pull my grandma has in this town? She’ll fucking crush you if you’re any kind of threat to her.”

With another angry snarl, I fight against him, hissing insults and curses. He represents everything I hate in this town. The overprivileged getting away with murder. The judgmental assholes. His license to bully me.

Dante is my nightmare. A devil on the lake.

In the struggle, neither of us realize it when something shifts from me trying to attack him and him deflecting, to him pulling me so close I could climb inside his chest if I cracked open his ribcage. His hand is in my hair, almost cradling my head, and when one of us releases a ragged pant, the other breathes it in, sharing each breath.

We both freeze and stare at each other. Dante’s gaze falls to my lips and his fingers curl in my hair. I don’t know if he moves first, or me, but we crash together in a kiss.

This is so wrong. I can’t stand him. But I can’t stop, and neither does he.

A moan leaves me when his tongue slips past my lips. He tastes sweet from the sticky fake blood. He crushes his body into mine, pinning me completely to the wall. His hardness digs into my belly. His mouth is demanding, hot and relentless as he kisses me deeply.

We shouldn’t be doing this. We hate each other. He’s bullied and terrorized me. Yet kissing him is addictive. It’s intense, charged with the razor thin line between hate and lust.

He tears his mouth away. I nearly pull him back for another kiss by the grip I have on his hair, but he mouths and bites his way down my neck. I suck in a breath as he bites my throat while sweeping his hand down my side.

I’m powerless to stop him when he pulls my bodice to the side in a deft move, and slips his fingers between my legs like he owns my body. I feel his grin against my skin when he finds I’m not wearing underwear beneath my outfit, only fishnets. I cry out as he cups my pussy, teasing my entrance between the thin webs of my stockings.

“Look at you, goth girl. Knew you’d be wet as fuck. You’re a little slut for freaky shit.”

Humiliation burns through me, but what he’s doing feels too good. My clit aches with pulsing heat and I widen my legs so he has better access. A wicked chuckle shakes his shoulders.

“See, slut. Fucking begging for it.” He thrusts two fingers in me. I whack my head against the wall from tossing it back with a silent, open-mouthed gasp. His full lips skim the column of my throat, biting my pulse point. “Fuck, you feel good.”

“I hate you,” I grit out.

The acerbic tone is ruined by the breathy moan that leaves me when his thumb circles my clit and his fingers curl inside me, lighting me up with pleasure.

“I hate you, too,” he mutters. “Now shut up. I don’t want to hear a word out of you unless you’re begging for my cock to fuck you harder. Got it, little slut?”

My cheeks burn, but arousal rushes through me.

“Come here,” he orders.

Dante’s fingers clamp on my wrist. He whips me around and he pushes on my back to bend me over the foot of the bed. A low rumble sounds behind me, then he smacks my ass. I jolt and kick at him.

“Dick.”

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