Page 66 of Choke

Rip Me To Pieces

Lex

I fight to keep my expression unreadable. He can’t know how much this is turning me on. Each step he takes, and I’m drowning in my heat. He is enormous in my room, not that this space is large—no condo in the city is—but even with 12-foot ceilings, the walls feel like they’re closing in.

He’s still in his suit from tonight. All black. Black pants, black button down, black tie. When my back hits the dresser, it’s all I can do, not to moan. He moves across the room toward me, nothing short of predatory. The darkness in his eyes sends a shock across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“But it was Colton. That was the icing on the fucking cake. You made a pass at one of my best friends. Knowing what that would do to me. Knowing what it would do to our friendship.”

He is practically on top of me. I tilt my head up to look into his eyes and press myself harder back into the dresser, wishing it would disappear. When it doesn’t, I huff. I need him to touch me, but how do I ask for it?

Suddenly, his hands shoot up, and I flinch. Again.

Fuck.

They slam into the wall behind me, caging me in. The depth of the dresser means his face is millimeters from mine. Our lips are nearly touching when he whispers, “So, Lex. Are you ready for your punishment?”

Something about the tone of his voice triggers my flight response. I don’t want to get away from him, but I don’t want to submit justyet. Dropping down, I duck under his arm and bolt for the bedroom door. I must take him by surprise because he miraculously doesn’t immediately grab me. I crash into the kitchen and slam into the counter, my lungs emptying on impact. His heavy footsteps follow—unhurried. Controlled. I notice the butcher block in front of me and reach for the largest knife. It’s one of those huge horror movie-like blades.

I spin fast, knife raised, the blade glinting under the light—aimed straight at his chest.

He laughs. Low. Dark.

He. Laughs.

He laughs and doesn’t hesitate for even a second. He stalks forward, reaching out and grabbing the knife out of my hand, flinging it to the floor. I spot the small slice on his hand immediately.

“Do not try something so stupid again.”

His voice is demanding, and the part of me that has always despised being told what to do reacts.

I spit directly onto his face.

Oh. You stupid, stupid girl.

He leans in, pressing his left hand onto the counter and raising his right hand, which drips blood to his face. He slowly wipes the spit, holding my stare, and then sticks the bloody, spit-covered finger into his mouth.

I feel the blood drain from my face, yet the inferno in my veins intensifies. I’ve never been so turned on in my fucking life.

His eyes roam over my face and then down to my chest. I see his expression shift, and his lips quirk up in a smirk.

“Look at you.”

I don’t need to look at shit. I know what he’s saying. My nipples are so hard, and there’s wetness pooling between my legs. I am so drenched and fighting the urge to fuck myself right here in front of him.

Not that I would ever admit that to him, though, so instead I say, “Fuck you.”

His smile widens, and his hand brushes my nipple, and my back automatically arches, pushing me into his touch. This must provide the permission he was waiting for because his hand slowly drops, trailing his bloody fingers across my stomach, leaving a streak of red behind. My hips shift forward, silently begging them to continue.

I hiss a breath when he circles my clit, but I do not break my stare.

His lips part slightly. They are full, and I am desperate to see what his tongue tastes like tonight. I’m leaning toward him when his eyes return to mine.

“Bed. Now.” He commands.

I must hesitate a second too long because the fingers that were lazily circling my clit firmly lock into place, pinching off the blood flow and pushing a high-pitched noise from me.

“Now.”

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