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“That’s it,” he says. “Taste the gift I brought you.”

His words urge me on. I don’t let myself think about why. Instead, I eat the cupcake off the knife’s cold steel, licking it the same way he did, with my eyes on him. It’s delicious, tender and buttery and flush with sweet autumny notes of apple, but what really sets my body to shuddering is the way Sawyer’s lips part, the way his pupils flood his irises.

“Lick the knife clean.”

I do, drawing my tongue along the flat silver side, lapping up every crumb, every smudge of frosting. When I’m done, I let mygaze linger on him as I pull my tongue back inside my mouth, dizzy with a confused, disorienting lust.

The next thing he does, he does as quickly as a snake.

The knife clatters against the counter, the sound reminding me a little of wind chimes, and he lunges at me, wrapping his long fingers around the back of my neck. And then he crushes his lips against mine, his kiss hard and unyielding. I melt into it, kissing him back with a fire, a hunger, I haven’t felt in a long, long time. He presses his body into mine and draws his fingers around my neck so that his thumb presses into the little hollow of my throat. There’s no real pressure, but there’s the promise of it, and I know I should hate it, I know I should shove him away and call the police, but I don’t. I just keep kissing him, moaning into his hot, eager mouth as he massages my pulse.

He breaks the kiss to trail his mouth over to my ear. His other hand is on my hip, drawing up the fabric of my dress. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps into my ear. “The most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

I whimper and kiss him in response, attacking him with the fervor he used on me, because those are words I’ve never heard in my life, and every time I’m in his presence it unlocks all the shameful desire I’ve felt for him since that night fifteen years ago.

I’m not surprised when his fingers slide into the waistband of my panties and rub against my clit. He laughs when I jolt against him, teeth scraping my lips. “Come for me again,” he says into my mouth, slipping one finger into my pussy. I spread my legs to accommodate him, winding my arms around his shoulders for balance. He responds in kind, dropping his hand away from my throat to hook my knee up and spread my pussy wider.

I shiver at the absence of his hand around my throat.

“You’re so eager,” he murmurs, sliding another finger inside me. I don’t bother to deny it; how can I? I know how wet I am. All those dark, deadly looks. All his dark, deadly praise.

It doesn’t matter anyway; he catches my mouth with his againand pulls me close for another devouring, murderous, sugar-flavored kiss. I roll my hips against his hand, impaling myself on his long fingers. He squeezes me around the waist, stilling me, and takes control, curling his fingers against my inner walls as his thumb rolls agonizing circles over my clit.

It’s not going to take long. That much is clear. All the tension and adrenaline of the past week is about to spill out over Sawyer Caldwell’s dexterous hand. I break the kiss to suck down air, gasping and moaning, my fingers clinging to his hair.

“That’s it,” he mutters, his Appalachian drawl as sweet as honey. “That’s it, my perfect prey.”

My perfect prey. The words shudder through me and draw my orgasm along behind them. I scream as the tension breaks and heat pulses out from my clit and my pussy both, rolling and thunderous. Sawyer doesn’t stop, just keeps touching me until I think I’m never going to stop coming.

It subsides eventually, of course, and to my surprise, Sawyer does pull his hand away and lowers my leg to the ground. I lean against him, squeezing him for support, and he wraps his hands around my waist and nuzzles his face against my neck, breathing in deep.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “For letting me kill you like that.”

I stiffen against him, and if he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps nuzzling my neck. Then he kisses me, right on my pulse, and steps away. His face is flushed.

There’s a telltale bulge between his legs.

“I—I mean—” I flounder, not sure what to say. My eyes keep dropping down to his cock, and to my embarrassment, he notices, because he adjusts it in his dark jeans and says,

“Not right now.”

“Oh.” Disappointment curdles in my chest. An old humiliation, that all his pretty words were a lie.

“Ain’t safe.” He sounds sheepish. Embarrassed. He doesn’t quite meet my eye. “For you, I mean. I gotta—” He swallows,Adam’s apple bobbing. “Don’t want to go too far. Don’t want to kill you in the wrong way.”

Ice shoots down my spine. I back up, knocking against the counter. “I thought you said you didn’t want to kill me,” I whisper.

He fixes me with his black eyes. “I don’t,” he says, voice hoarse. “Wantto.”

My mouth opens, closes. I have no words. Not for any of this.

He nods at me, a curl of hair falling over his forehead. Nods at the counter, with the mostly-eaten cupcake, the two undrunk coffees, the lovely bird skull.

“You don’t have to eat the rest of that if you don’t want to,” he says, still not looking at me. “But I hope you do.”

And then he’s gone. He darts out the front door and leaves me standing there in the sunlight and the wind blowing in from the forest. His truck engine starts up and fades away.

I turn toward the counter, my movement shuddery.