Page 35 of The Hellkeeper

I grin. “Why?”

She gestures vaguely at me. “Because you’reyou. You’re—” She makes a vague, circular motion with her hands. “You show up in my room in the middle of the night, you follow me everywhere, you leave me gifts like some kind of deranged secret admirer. And don’t think I forgot about the tongue. Now, all of a sudden, you want to take me on a date? Like whatever’s between us is normal?”

“Amelia,” I warn.

“Damien.” She mimics my tone.

“Put on the dress.”

She shakes her head, but she’s already holding the dress up against her body, studying herself in the mirror.

My little flower doesn’t even realize she’s blooming for me. She wants this. She just doesn’t know how to let herself have it. Guilt flickers across her face before she pushes it down, pretending she isn’t considering it. Pretending she doesn’t want to wear my gift, slip into something I chose for her, let me wrap my obsession around her body like silk.

She’s trying so hard to fight it.

“Whether you want it or not, you will be going. So let it be your own choice.”

Her lips part, eyes snapping to mine. I see it there—hesitation, defiance, longing. She needs the illusion of control, of resistance, so she can pretend this isn’t her willingly walking into my world. Willingly facing the real world with her arm wrapped around her monster.

But it is. I know her better than she knows herself.

She rolls her eyes. “Ugh,fine.Leave so I can get dressed.”

I don’t move.

She narrows her eyes. “Come on!”

“No.”

“Yes,” she hisses back.

I arch a brow. “I’ve seen…allof you,” I murmur, letting my gaze drag down her body, lingering where I know she’s burning. “This is nothing compared to that.”

Fire rushes up her throat, blooming across her cheeks. Her hands fist at her sides.

“You’re adorable when you’re shy, little flower.”

“Get out.”

“I will undress you myself, Amelia,” I threaten.

She sucks in a breath, recoiling from me like she hates the idea. I wait, giving her the illusion of choice.

“Turn around,” she mutters with a pout, finally making her decision.

Compromise doesn’t sound too bad, so I oblige. I give her my back, even though every cell in my body resists.

She hesitates before the rustling of fabric fills the room. I imagine her delicate fingers tracing over her smooth, unblemished skin as she undresses. I imagine the way her clothes pool at her feet, leaving her in nothing but lace. My breathing turns shallow.

I hear her struggle with the zipper of the dress, huffing in frustration.

"Let me," I say, turning back to face her.

She stills.

My hands find her waist, my fingers caressing her back before I dip my head to it.

She jolts, breath hitching. I press my mouth to her spine. Kissing. Licking. Dragging my teeth across every inch of her skin. My marks bloom against her. Her knees buckle, but my arm wraps around her stomach, holding her up, not letting her fall. She will never fall while with me.

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