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She whimpers at that, and although her voice is still afraid, I feel a surge of heat from her clit. “There we are,” I mutter. “Let’s get you one more orgasm.”

“That’s not going to happen.” She looks at me, lifting her shoulders. Her pupils drown out her honey-colored eyes, making them look nearly as dark as mine.

I grin, accepting the challenge.

“Then try to get away.”

She stares at me for a long moment with her lust-drowned eyes and then says, “What?”

I slip my fingers out of her pussy and press the heel of my palm against it instead. Her lips part and I see a flash of her tongue and imagine sliding my cock into her mouth, a pretty thought that I set aside. Too risky.

“You can try to get away,” I repeat, kneading her cunt a little. She’s overstimulated. I can see it in her flushed skin, her hoodedexpression. And I can feel it too, the wet spot spreading out on the sofa. “Make a run for it.” I lean down over her, drop my voice a little. “Make me catch you.”

For a moment, she only stares at me, breasts rising and falling as I rub between her legs.

Then she scrambles away. I fall back, watching to see what she does. If she wants to escape, really escape, she’ll go for her clothes first. Maybe the door, since her purse and keys are still lying in the dirt outside.

She does neither. Instead, she ducks into the kitchen, all opened up on the other side of the room, and snatches a knife out of the knife stand.

Then she whirls around to face me, the blade catching the bright fluorescent bulbs overhead until it gleams like the sun.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SAWYER

It’s thehottestfucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. My perfect prey, my Edie, trying to act the predator?

It takes every ounce of willpower not to bolt across the room, bend her over the counter, and bury my cock into that sopping, overstimulated pussy.

I don’t do it, though. Not tonight. My blood’s up from my earlier kill, and I don’t want to get rough with her. Don’t want to kill her on accident.

I do, however, want to devour one more orgasm out of her before I leave.

So I stand up and amble across the living room. She stares at me, clutching the knife so tightly her knuckles whiten. Her hair is tousled and mussed from where she dropped back against the couch, the curls all twisted together. Looks the way it did fifteen years ago.

“I told you,” I say, coming around the counter. “I can’t die.”

She backs up against the counter, knife raised. I’m not looking at that, though. I’m looking at her. Her thick, voluptuous body, the way her waist curves in just above the wide flare of her hipsand swell of her belly. Those long muscular legs. I want them wrapped around my shoulders.

“You told me to run for it.” Her voice shakes a little.

“So why didn’t you?”

I close the space between us with Hunter speed, moving so fast she cries out when I close my fingers around her wrist. The knife flashes as I spiderwalk my fingers up to hers and peel them open to take the blade away from her. Her lips open and close, but she doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have an answer, I’d reckon.

I slide the knife into my belt. I could use another.

“Well?” I press closer to her, drop my hand to squeeze her breast. Can’t help myself.

“I’m n-naked,” she whispers.

I nuzzle against her neck, breathing in the scent of her sweat. It’s mostly sweet, kind of floral like the woods in springtime. But she’s scared, too, enough to undercut the sweetness with a rich, dark spice. I lick her before I respond, tasting the salt.

“Clothes are right there.”

“You w-wouldn’t l-let me—” She gasps as I bite gently against her skin, showing enough restraint that I surprise myself. I start kissing downward while she stutters out her response. “You w-wouldn’t let me g-get dressed?—”

“No.” I speak against the top swell of her tits, then slide my nose down the valley between them, moving over her belly. “But not for the reason you’re thinking.”