Page 24 of No Mercy In Red

“I can’t.”

Those words shattered the delicate balance we had. The way his lips crashed onto mine, fierce, punishing and earth shattering. He kissed me like he needed to prove a point, that he was claiming me, branding me, obliterating every last shred of my resistance. And fuck, it worked, because when I unlocked my apartment and beckoned him inside, I knew it was the point of no return. I had let my stalker in willingly –into my home, into my world, into me. And the sickest part of it all? It thrilled me. As I heard that door shut behind us, cutting us off from the rest of the world, my mind wasn’t thinking about caution, or logic. My mind was consumed only by Connor – by his strong hands, the way his height loomed over me. The way those dark eyes looked into my very soul with a dangerous need that his entire being radiated. His mouth was on mine again, rougher now, his grip almost bruising as he hoisted me up, carrying me towards the couch as though I weighed nothing at all. The way he had thrown me down roughly, my breath escaping in a rush, laughter spilling from my lips as the adrenaline surged through me. He had towered over me, stripping me of control – something I was so used to having – yet I loved every fucking second of it. His grip was utterly punishing, reminding me that tonight, I was entirely his. My mind spiralled out of control, caught between fear of what this meant – of who he was, of how far he’d go – and excitement that he’d chosen me, wanted me, neededme.

I wasn’t just his obsession anymore, someone that he stalked. I had turned into his prey. His fingers bit into my thighs, his mouth scorching hot on my skin, marking me, claiming, showing me exactly who I belonged to. My heart raced uncontrollably, everything about this should have felt wrong, yet I felt free in a way I hadn’t in months – God, years even. With every punishing thrust, every whispered demand, every rough touch, he stripped away my walls, my need for control. I was laid bare beneath him, vulnerable, my darkest desires on full display, and he saw all of it. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t look away. Instead, he watched me unravel beneath him like he’d been waiting his entire life to witness it. I was utterly fucked in the head for letting him in, but as he brought me to the edge again and again, stealing away every last shred of my control? I’d realised just how long I’d been secretly wanting this. To let myself feel utterly helpless in the hands of a man powerful enough to break me, but who chose to do it in the most breathtaking of ways.

Connor had shattered every wall I’d built around myself, and I had willingly allowed it. I had let this man, who just mere hours ago was a complete stranger bar a few teasing stares, come in and tear down the one thing I had buried so deep. I had spent the years since my dad had died being in absolute control of every man I came across, sexual or otherwise. And here I was, letting the guy who had confessed to stalking me, the person who had said he was infatuated with me, break me apart so fucking easily. I let him bring out my desires of having my control taken away, and I didn’t try and suppress it. I knew I longed for the day I didn’t feel the need to continue my fathers legacy. I knew I longed for the day I could walk away from that basement and never return, to not have to control the terrible men that surrounded me. But Connor had taught me that I also longed for that control to be taken away intimately, to feel safe enough to let that happen. What my mind couldn’t figure out, was why the fuck I felt safe enough to let that happen with my stalker. And that when I laid in his arms tangled together, limbs heavy and sated, I felt completely, dangerously alive.

During some point in the night, Connor had left. I woke up alone, a singular black rose on my pillow. It was him all along, leaving me roses long before I even knew he existed, the knowledge sent a shiver of excitement down my spine. My sheets smelled like him – warm with a hint of spice, it was intoxicating. I groaned into the pillow, half in embarrassment, half in longing. Last night replayed in my mind over and over again – every bruising kiss, every punishing touch, every whispered demand. How I’d given myself to him without hesitation, to my stalker. My obsessive, tall, sexy fucking stalker. I pressed my palms into my eyes, groaning louder. What the fuck was wrong with me? I shouldn’t have felt so good – so alive. It was like he’d ignited a spark within me that had long since died out. With him, I wasn’t Max, the controlled and careful killer, I was something entirely different: raw, unfiltered, and completely vulnerable. What scared me the most, was how good it felt. How right it felt, letting this man inside of my world and letting him fuck me in waysI could have only dreamed before him. But what did this even mean? Did this man, who admitted to stalking me – openly, boldly, without even a hint of shame – even care for me? Or was I just an obsession to him, part of a twisted game. Something to be conquered and claimed, then left behind because the thrill of the chase was no longer available to him. He’d chased, watched me for fuck knows how long, and now he’d had me. So was this it?

The sound of my phone buzzing on my nightstand pulled me back into reality. Lara. Her texts flooding my phone, demanding details on where the fuck I was last night and why I’d ignored her calls. I couldn’t exactly say, ’Sorry, Lara, I couldn’t answer because I was getting fucked senseless by my stalker.’ I sighed typing out a quick response:

‘Sorry. Long night. Catch up soon.’

Her response was immediate and full of emojis that I rolled my eyes at:

‘Bitch. Details. ASAP.’

I smiled despite myself, at least some things never changed.

Dragging myself from bed, I winced at the ache in my muscles. Connor had stayed true to his word and truly did punish me for missing our apparent ’Café dates’. Yet he never once hurt me in a way that wasn’t sexual. He asked for consent, telling me that at any point I wanted to stop, to just say the word and he would. He continuously asked me if I wanted it, if I wanted him. How truly dangerous could a man be that asked for fucking consent and gave me safe words, even if he had referred to himself as the devil. I couldn’t disagree, only a man who disgraced God could fuck like that.

I made my way to the bathroom, catching sight of myself in the mirror. My neck had faint bruises from his mouth, my lips swollen, and my eyes – fuck, despite being streaked with mascara, they had a certain sparkle to them.

“Jesus, Max, you’re fucked,” I whispered to my reflection.

Because I was. But even knowing that, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He’d awakened something inside of me I’d buried so deep beneath layers of caution and control. He’d ruined the version of me I’d worked so hard to build, with one incredible night. I’d debated calling in sick to work, hiding myself away in my apartment to figure out what the fuck to do with myself now. Maybe look up a therapist, or a psychiatrist? But I knew deep down that staying home and rotting sure as shit wasn’t going to help me, I’d just drive myself insane. I was also curious; would he be at Melinda’s for our ‘café date’ as he called it? Or had he now completed the quest? He’d fucked his latest obsession, and he’d be onto the next. The thought of that sent a pang of irritation through my chest that I quickly pushed down, down, down. Nope. Not about to start getting my feelings hurt over a fucking stalker.

I showered, and threw on a pair of black jeans, a long sleeve black t-shirt and my leather jacket, pairing it all with my docs – that were a little too well loved. I gazed at myself in the mirror, at my bruised throat. I brushed my fingers lightly over them, smiling at the image of Connors hand wrapped around my neck. The way the veins in his forearm strained when he gripped me, the way his muscles tensed when he squeezed, he was all fucking alpha male, and I loved every single bit of it. I painted my lips my usual blood red and gave myself one last look over, my eyes yet again catching on those bruises, bringing a smirk to my mouth and a slight throb to my pussy. Yeah, I was well and truly fucked.

I hesitated outside the door of Melinda’s. What would I do if he wasn’t there? What would I do if he was? Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuck. I took a deep inhale and pushed open the café door, my eyes anxiously scanning the room. And there he was, sitting at my usual table, not his, and in my seat nonetheless. My heartbeat tripped over itself. He looked up, catching my gaze instantly, and my stomach flipped as his deep, dark brown eyes burned into mine. The shadow of facial hair accentuated hissharp jawline, his messy dark hair falling effortlessly over his forehead. He sat back, observing me with casual ease, confident and calm, as if he hadn’t completely destroyed me just last night.

“Max,” he greeted softly as I walked over, his voice as smooth as ever, but edged with something I couldn’t quite place.

I stiffened, lifting my chin, determined not to let him see how easily he affected me. But when he stood, unfolding that lean yet muscled frame that was over six feet of intimidating perfection, closing the gap between us, my pulse betrayed me, quickening shamelessly.

“What do you want, Connor?” I asked.

“You,” he murmured simply, eyes dropping briefly to my mouth, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, deepening that irresistible dimple as he passed me a coffee.

“You’ve already had me,” I shot back, feigning confidence.

His eyes darkened, and he leaned in closer. “Oh, sweetheart, you haven’t seen anything yet. There is no had, only have. I have you Maxine.”

I felt the flush spread across my cheeks and hated myself for how quickly he could break down every defence I’d painstakingly built.

“Are you always this arrogant?” I shot back, desperate to hide the effect his words had on me.

“Oh absolutely. Even more so when it comes to you, my little fox.” He answered, lips curving into that dangerous smirk, the dimple on his right cheek deepening. God, he was infuriatingly attractive.

“And here I thought stalking me would’ve given you more humility,” I quipped, arching a brow.

His smile widened, a breathy laugh escaping his mouth. It was deep and seductive, the way he grinned accentuating the sharpness of his jawline.

“If you’re waiting for an apology, Max, you won’t get one. I like knowing where you are. I like knowing you think about me just as much as I think about you.”

“That’s a bold assumption,” I challenged.

“Tell me its not true, princess,” He breathed

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