Page 70 of Freaks Of Nature

But I don’t get an answer, and when I creep a silent step closer on my toes to peer around the corner, I can’t see a thing.

But I hear him breathing.

His gravelly chuckle travels through the darkness directly to my core. “I never said I was going to play fair.”

My pulse punches up my throat at the sound of his gruff voice.

The fear is irrational. I know nothing bad is going to happen when he catches me. Just like in the alley. Of course, I remembered his threat. It was all I’d been thinking about since he left my bedroom that night.

Perhaps I was taunting him by walking home alone after work.

And yet I’m so fucking scared.

Mason terrifies me in a way that arouses me. He takes control, and I have no idea what he will do next. His play leaves me an aching, whimpering mess.

“You feel that, baby girl? The hand around your throat stealing your breath… your heart racing?” he taunts. “That’s me.”

My clit answers with a pulse, and my nipples harden in our standoff. With the rough terry cloth shifting against my skin, I recall the feel of the brick wall in the alley chafing through my T-shirt as he pinned me.

Mason dominates the darkness of the hallway. There’s no escaping him.

And I want him to catch me.

Clutching the towel, I lift my chin and step into the hallway—the devil’s domain.

Another wicked chuckle commends my courage, rippling through me like all the other times he praised me.

Through the whisper of his clothes under light motion, I recognize the unmistakable flick of his knife, but I don’t see his hands. I think he’s wearing his black motorcycle gloves.

Then I catch a glint of the blade from who knows where. He wags it in a beckoning gesture.

I swallow, weighing my options. It’s a long hallway. He’s standing somewhere toward the end by the bathroom and my bedroom, leaving only the front door on my left accessible.

I’d rather be caught dead than locked out of my apartment in nothing but my towel.

I consider diving past him to make it into my bedroom and lock the door. Would he kick it down to get to me?

Since he broke in without making a sound, I’m starting to believe he has a key to my apartment. Would he justify causing that kind of damage?

Where does he draw the line?

I take a timid step, the cold slickness that meets me from below reminding me of my lack of underwear.

Mason mirrors my movement, challenging me, but I still can’t make out his face in the dark as he flips the knife in his grip, blade going back instead of out toward me. I assume it’s so he won’t accidentally stab me.

“You know I don’t need to touch you to get you wet, baby girl,” his voice reminds me. “You can already feel me fucking you.”

Yes, I can feel his greedy hands mapping my curves, nudging between my thighs.

My clit throbs more vehemently. His words hit their mark. He’d hardly have to touch me, and I’d come apart in his hold.

Making my move, I feign right, then lunge left and duck under him—

But Mason is faster. His arms lock around me from behind.

He laughs, mocking my attempt. “Did you really think that was gonna work?”

It’s only now that I realize his voice is slightly muffled by something.