Page 23 of Vicious Hearts

"I can feel empathy, I think, but I can switch it off if it's getting in my way,” he says. “Don't get me wrong. I'm capable of caring, sometimestoomuch, and definitely not in a healthy way. What would you call that?”

“Psychopathy,” I reply. “Maybe an insecure attachment style.”

“Precisely.” Ben nods. “No one ever cared to diagnose me formally, but I’m not wired up right. With my affection, there’s all, or there’s nothing. I veer between the two, and it makes me a fucking nightmare to be with."

He's trying to tell me he's bad news. God knows what's wrong with me, but every word he says drags me deeper.

I catch the scent I remember from Hawaii. When did he apply it? He wasn't wearing it earlier.

Thisis what he's talking about.Manipulation. Olfactory memories are strong—he knew his aftershave would jostle my memory and invoke the hot, dreamy atmosphere of that night in his beach house.

Ben’s gaze drops to my lips, my neck, my cleavage. My skin heats up at his attention.

"Iseeyou, Roxy." He reaches for me, his fingertip trailing from my cheek to the hollow of my collarbone. I shudder at his touch, my nerves over-sensitive. "You're scared of me, but you fucking love it. So do I. I've never seen anything hotter in my life."

I should say something, but I don’t wanna break the spell. His intensity is mesmerizing.

“Not my fault if you wanna learn the hard way,” he says, his voice low. "You want me to teach you? Give you an education?"

I nod.

Without warning, his hand wraps my throat, and I gasp. It’s such a sudden escalation that I freeze, unable to respond. He bares his teeth at me, a low moan escaping him.

"Fuck, I wanna ruin you,” he murmurs. “Pleasure you until you're delirious, cover you in spit and blood and come until you're as low and debased as you can get. Do you think you can handle that, Rox? Because the thought has obsessed me since the moment we fuckingmet."

He leans close and licks the corner of my mouth, his breath hot on my cheek.

I can't speak. Ben's grip on my neck is tightening, his fingertips pinching the sinew. I should fight him, hit him,anything, but instead, I reach into the waistband of my pants. My clit is chafing against the seam, desperately in need of attention.

He isn't the gentleman lover of my naive teen dreams. He's not gonna hold my fucking hand. No poetry, no flowers. I saw a glimpse of it in Hawaii— something raw, elemental, and rough.

Benedikt Voratov wants to take me apart, body and soul.

The intercom buzzer slices shrilly through the atmosphere, snapping us back to reality.

I withdraw my hand, and Ben lets go of me, sliding off the couch and picking up the handset.

"Hang on," he says. He replaces the handset and opens the apartment door, heading downstairs.

I sit motionless. My neck throbs painfully where Ben's fingertips pressed into me, but my pussy throbs even more.

After what happened in Hawaii, I felt humiliated— even more so when he didn’t come back, and I couldn’t talk to him about it. I dated one guy, but couldn’t hold a candle to Ben, and I didn’t even contemplate having sex with him. Ididspend a lot of time with my dildo, trying to fantasize about anything and anyone but Ben.

It was useless. I couldn't come without imagining Ben touching me, fucking me. I couldn’t keep from wondering whathiskind of rough might be, and just like that, all my masturbatory thoughts switched from sweet lovemaking to dirty, nasty sex. But only withhim.

I didn’t travel to Europe as I planned. Instead, I signed up for extra studies, telling myselfthat’swhy I was staying.

Notwaiting for Ben.Nothoping he’d come back for me.

But now he’s here, and hedoeswant me. He always did. But his desire is made of something filthy and base and primal. He doesn'tjustwant to fuck me. He wants to devour me, subsume me. And I want him to do it.

Ben reappears with two paper grocery sacks.

"I forgot to tell you—I ordered takeout. You still love seafood?"

I smile. "Only if you have cold white wine to go with it."

He pulls a bottle of Chardonnay from one of the bags, condensation beading the glass. "I remember someone telling me this was good with lobster."

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