Page 162 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

If he told me to beg, I might.

And he must know. He feels it in me—because he smiles against my skin, stilling my hips with a grounding hand.

I hadn’t even realized I was moving.

“Soon, baby,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

His lips move to my jaw, then my collarbone with a soft nip.

“So soon.”

Then the strap behind my head loosens. The gag slips out—wet, and warm, my cheeks sore.

I breathe. Lick my lips and swallow.

The silence tastes strange.

I brace for his mouth on mine.

But I can’t do it.

I lock my lips, turning my head. My body tenses—but he doesn’t kiss me.

I’m scared of it.

But I’m also disappointed.

Instead, he slides into bed beside me, pulling the covers up. Wrapping me in them like a shield, not a trap.

“If you keep the blindfold on,” he says softly, “I’ll stay.”

I don’t speak. Don’t move. But I don’t lift it.

He settles behind me—solid, warm.

His arms curl around me, and I melt into him like gravity’s pulling me there.

His leg covers mine. One hand rubs circles into my back.

My breath releases.

My body relaxes.

He kisses the top of my head. “That’s it, baby.”

And then I break.

It starts quiet—a tremble in my breath.

Then the sobs hit.

Raw. Sudden.

Like they’ve waited at the edge of everything we just did.

I cry into him—clutching his hoodie, burying my face in his scent.

Strong. Warm. Unapologetic.

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