Page 257 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

I feel another orgasm cresting—blinding, brutal.

“And you’re gonna love it when I take your ass too, aren’t you, little slut?”

I freeze.

When I don’t answer fast enough, he smacks my clit again—sending me headfirst into another climax.

I scream, not caring who hears.

“Yes,” I sob. “Yes, I want you to take my ass.”

The pleasure burns so hot I can barely breathe.

We come together—violent, breathless—bodies crashing like a storm.

His hand clamps on my bottom.

My fingers rake down his back—desperate.

And just as his hips stutter and he groans into my neck, I hear it.

That lazy, mocking humor under the growl.

“I told you we’d work on your dirty talk.”

Casual. Familiar.

Declan.

The realization crashes into me, shattering everything.

It’s been him the whole time.

And somehow—deep down—I already knew.

I freeze.

The cold slams into me.

I shove at his chest, breaking free.

“Poppy.”

I yank my pants from the car, fumbling them on with shaking hands.

“Poppy, just wait.”

“Take it off,” I rasp.

Silence.

“Take it off, Declan,” louder now. “Take the mask off.”

He hesitates.

For one breath, I think he won’t.

But then he does in an instant.

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