Page 63 of From Hell

“Don’t—” I grit out. He inhales deeply, brushing my burning skin with his mouth. “Don’t touch me.”

“Why not? You seem to enjoy it,” he muses, pinning my wrists over my head so I'm locked down tight. “You like the part of me that treats you like a princess, but you also like the part that doesn't.”

I hate that he's right. I bare my teeth, my chest squeezing tight until he reaches my lips and plunges his tongue inside my mouth, burning away my protests with a bruising, searing kiss. He bites my lips, drawing blood and a soft, pliant moan out of me. My back arches without meaning to, and my legs part involuntarily as his erection drills into the heat between my legs despite our clothing. As his hand slips under my dress, dragging my panties aside, my world falls apart.

I’m a sinner; this is how I deserve to be consumed.

His finger delves inside, feeling the wetness up to his knuckle, lighting me up with an internal flame as he strokes away all my defenses. He gives a low, vibrating chuckle.

And I realize what the hell he’s doing. I jerk back. Lips swollen. Body trembling. Raw.

“Fuck you,” I choke at him, digging my nails into his forearm to stop him from going further.

Jaxon stares down at me. He rips his hand away and grabs my jaw so I must look at him. His hair is mussed, and his eyes have a wild glint. Bloody half-moons scatter over the muscles of his arm as he flexes. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, little fox,” he sneers.

“Or what?” I’ve no idea why I’m encouraging him. Despite his rough treatment, heat slices through me at his nearness, and I can’t help but think of him stripping me bare and devouring me here on the bed of the man I almost killed. I hate that my body reacts this way to him. It knows he’s toxic, yet it wants to be poisoned.

Because I’m poison.

I knee him in the balls. He chuckles as he lets me go. It dawns on me as I’m down the stairs, dashing into a closed room, scraping the sliding door shit behind me that he let me go.

It’s a game to him.

The room I’ve barged my way into isn’t empty, which placates my thrumming heart threatening to crawl up my throat a tiny bit. Margo, Henry’s sister, and some girlfriend she’s clinging to, sobbing into her bosom, looks up as I stare around the room.

A casket draped in flowers.

Closed, thank God.

Margo goes back to crying, dismissing me instantly. I start backing out of the dark, somber room when the door squeaks open, and Jaxon slides inside, closing the door and coming up beside me, hands crossed in front of him in respect.

My heart kicks it up a notch, fear consuming every cell in my body.

We stand there for a full minute as he leans close, the scent of his cologne enveloping all my senses until it feels like I’m drowning in it. “I love it when you run. You love it too,” he grates under his breath.

From my lateral view, his smile deepens like he can read my mind, eyes flitting to me, now obsidian black. I’ve looked into the eyes of murderers and rapists, and it’s the same look. He moves behind me, the heat of his body burning every contour, searing every line. “Shall we see if I’m right?”

“You’re wrong. I hate it.”

“You’re never going to give up, are you?”

“Over my dead body.” I grit back, barely a whisper.

“I’ve often thought about that,” he breathes in my ear.

I have to fight not to tremble when he slides his warm hand over my thigh, up my skirt, stopping my heart. He eases my underwear aside with his fingers and dips into the slick wetness there I’m ashamed of. A small gasp leaves my lips.

I try to stop him, my hand closing over his, but not hard enough. Not when he swirls in that languid head and then thrusts two fingers into me.

Margo and her friend are still staring ahead, mourning over Henry. All it would take is one glance behind, and they will see.

“But you wouldn’t scream anymore.”

“Go to Hell,” I manage.

Thick fingers plunge deep, making me shudder, bite my lip, and stifle a moan. When I’m weak-kneed and barely able to stand, leaning wantonly against his chest, he removes his hand from between my legs. He traces his wet fingers over my cheek to wrap around my jaw, as something cold ghosts over my thigh, where his hand was earlier. I don’t need to look down. I know it’s my knife, the one he pried from my fingers in the bedroom. I suck in a breath as Margo stirs.

“Don’t say a word. Turn to me and act upset.”