Chapter seven
Him
Thisacceleratedthings.
Orgasm after orgasm, sensory overload for him, changed everything.
Since his memory served, his sensory receptors hadn’t worked right. He had never been able to respond to any sight or sound, even if he registered it. But seeing her had felt like finding the richest shades of his favorite colors, seared across his retinas with a taste of something sweet on his tongue. People had said that was an odd experience because of his eyes, but he knew it wasn’t that. His perception of things was just different. But it was her voice that he couldn’t explain. The first time he heard her speaking, the sound had sent vibrations over his skin, like a tuning fork hit with something, rippling across his body with such vividness it was unheard of, again leaving him with the sweet taste on his tongue. He had sought her out again, just to see for himself if it had been a fluke or real.
His body still buzzed from the vibrations of her words, her little cries, her strangled moans, his mouth filled with both her juices and the sensory sweet taste, a combination he was becoming addicted to with each passing second. It was real. And whatever it was, it was his. He didn’t care if she had this effect on any other human. He would eradicate them all until he was the only one left standing, if that was the case.
Her exhausted body jerked in her slumber, and he ran a finger over her delectable mouth. Lush lips pillowed under his touch and he wondered what she would taste like there. He had never kissed someone on the mouth, never really had the urge to. Why would he want a stranger’s mouth so close to his own and their fluids in his body? It made no sense. Fucking, he could understand. It was a biological need, but kissing wasn’t. Oral wasn’t either, which was one of the reasons he had never tasted pussy either. But he was well-versed in the ways of pleasure, and with her taste cemented on him, he doubted he’d taste another again, just hers.
He was going to be her last and she would be his first in so many ways.
He pressed the heel of his hand down on his cock, the piercings straining as it continued to throb, hard for the hours he’d been wringing out delicious orgasms from her pussy. His tongue, the same tongue her pussy had spasmed around through the night, was swollen with sensation.
Oh, he was going to fuck her, fuck her hard. He would take her like that one day, he decided. Maybe slide inside her while she slept, make her give him her trust to the point her body intuitively reacted to him even in her sleep. And in the morning, she would wake up sore with no memory of how but feeling him in every inch of her delicate, delicious cunt. He was going to test her trust, take every little ounce that she had in her capacity, until her body, her mind, her fucking soul believed in how important she was.
She was it.
She was the reason.
She saw him for who he was, and she melted for him. She hated him, and yet she trusted him. What had begun as intrigue had turned into fascination, slowly morphing into a fixation, culminating in an obsession so deep he was incomplete without it.
And one day very soon, she would be entirely his.
Not right now. Right now, the drug was bad enough to mess with her system. She didn’t need him to add to it.
Covering her with the blanket in the hotel room above the club, a place he knew like the back of his hand thanks to his own past, he was on the move, able to see through the pitch black thanks to his night-vision glasses. The darkness was for her, to shield her from the cameras, their audios disabled. With the way the room was locked and darkened, no one would dare to come in, not unless they wanted to risk facing him.
And no one in this world in their right minds wanted to face the Shadow Man in the dark.
Touching her cheek with his gloved hand, his mouth and chin wet from her, her taste etched on his tongue and his memory, he let the neurons in his brain register the rush they were feeling.
She had spoken to him, to warn him, to save him. Despite all her anger and hurt, she cared for him. Soft-hearted little fool, but his fool. She was rare, the fire of life, of warmth. He didn’t understand emotions, but he understood science. Something happened chemically in his brain and his body where she was concerned. He looked at her, heard her, and felt sensations in his system. It was the oddest response, one he had extensively researched, only to realize it was some form of synesthesia and it didn’t have a rational explanation in all cases. The wires in his brain were simply crossed, and they simply electrified when crossed with hers, and that was something he knew already.
Leaving her in the aftermath of her intense drug-induced episode, he walked to the door and looked out the peephole. Three men with guns waiting for him, as expected. Idiots.
Taking steps back into the room, he checked the feed on his phone before pushing it into his pocket, and headed for the window. Wedging it open easily, he jumped on the ledge, the adrenaline rushing to his body at the height. He liked heights. It reminded him of the home he would take her to one day.
Holding the upper edges of the window, he jumped onto the pipe that ran on the side of the building, his trained muscles working with memory, and began to climb up, one foot on the window edges, another on the pipe, glad that he’d worn his athletic workout gear. That had been more incidental than deliberate though. He had seen the feed from her room coming online, and known within seconds it was a trap for him and she was the bait.
They didn’t know she wasn’t the bait he would bite, she was the prize he had already won in this bloody game—he just had to claim the winning.
But he realized a message, a louder message, needed to be sent.
Coming to a stop on the window five stories above where she was, he looked in and saw it occupied with Howard and two girls, both of them sucking on his cock as he lay in bed, grinning with the mouth he had put on hisgirl.
The other man was going to regret that.
With the stealth of a cat, years of martial arts and parkour training kicking in automatically, he swung himself to hang from one hand until his other got a solid grip on the windowsill. Holding himself steady, checking to see all occupants of the room were distracted, he slowly opened the window and jumped in noiselessly, immediately ducking behind a giant couch on one side.
“Blasted window,” he heard Howard mutter. “Doll, go shut it.”
He stayed still as one of the girls closed the window and turned back, just as a knock sounded on the door. Someone, he assumed the girl, opened it.
“What’s the status?” Howard asked, the sound of sucking resuming.