Page 18

SEVENTEEN

FREYA

A part of me was frustrated that Ava had moved into the room next to mine this morning. It meant my stalker would think twice before sneaking in, knowing she was so close. But another part of me, a darker, twisted part, wanted her gone. I wanted him to come back. I wanted him to hold me like he did last night.

No one had ever touched me like that before. I shouldn’t have needed it, craved it, but I did. I knew it was wrong. My brain was playing dangerous games with me, turning fear into longing, danger into comfort. And yet, somehow, it felt right.

I had someone once—a person who was supposed to be there for me, someone I relied on. But he had used me when I needed him the most. I didn’t want this stalker to be the same. And still... I couldn’t deny the pull.

Was I falling for this idiot?

He had been following me for days, always just out of reach, never showing his face. And here I was, falling—not for him, maybe, but for the idea of someone wanting me, of someone always being there. Maybe that was all it was: the need to be held, to be seen. And he had appeared at just the right time.

What the hell was I thinking?

I had missed most of the day, skipping dinner while everyone else went. I had stayed in my room, trying to reclaim a sense of control over my chaos. But Ava had ruined that too, taking away the one thing that kept me collected.

She left to see Oscar, and I knew she wouldn’t be back tonight. The moment I was alone, I took my chance and headed for the shower. I let the water run as I undressed, letting steam fill the small space, just in case he had hidden cameras somewhere. If he was watching, the steam would hide his view.

Stepping into the hot shower, I let the water wash over me, trickling through my hair, down my body. I took my time, soaking in the warmth, trying to cleanse something deeper than just my skin. Trying to heal, though I wasn’t even sure from what.

When I finally came out, I wrapped a towel around myself and stepped into the bedroom. The moon was buried behind thick clouds, leaving the room darker than usual, but I didn’t bother turning on the light.

I walked to the closet, pulled out the oversized shirt I usually slept in, and moved toward the bed. As I reached for the lamp on the nightstand, ready to settle in for the night, something shifted in the corner of my eye.

I froze.

At first, I thought I imagined it. A trick of the dim light. But as I adjusted the lamp, moving it to the edge of the nightstand, I saw it more clearly. A scorpion was crawling across my nightstand.

My breath caught. A scream clawed up my throat, but before I could let it out, a gloved hand clamped over my mouth, smothering the sound.

Panic surged as he spun me around and pushed me down onto the mattress. My towel slipped, and I scrambled to clutch it against me before it fell completely. My heart pounded against my ribs, each beat louder than the last.

Tonight was the night.

He was finally going to kill me.

His mask loomed over me, the cold reflection of the lamp catching in the dark glass that hid his eyes. But I could still see them, dark brown, watching me, calculating.

I barely breathed. Not because of him but because of that little beast. It was still there, crawling far too close.

Maybe I wouldn’t die at his hands tonight.

Maybe fear itself would kill me first.

I could hear Ava coming in, her giggles blending with someone else’s. Then came the sounds of kissing, lips moving, bodies shifting. I should have screamed. I wanted to. I wanted them to save me.

But then he pulled out the knife.

“Scream, and I will cut them open.”

He knew me better than I knew myself. If he had only threatened me, I would have screamed anyway. But threatening them? That shut me up. Even if I didn’t care about Ava, I cared about Stella. I cared about how devastated she would be.

So I stayed silent, staring at the man who had changed since last night. The man I wanted to be gentle again.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered.

He took a step closer, his knee sliding between my thighs as he leaned in. “Then tell me to leave.”

I licked my lips. “Leave.”

He smirked. “Nah, I know you don’t want that, Little Star.”

The tip of his knife traced a path from my throat down to the center of my chest, hooking beneath the edge of the towel tucked tightly around me. With one slow movement, he flicked it loose.

The towel slipped away, leaving me naked before him. My body tensed as the cold steel of the blade continued to slide down, and I couldn’t tell if what I felt was fear or something far more twisted.

I tried to forget who he was. What he was. A stalker. A predator. Someone who would take me no matter what I said next.

He shifted, placing a hand on the bed. To my horror, the scorpion crawled onto his gloved fingers. He let it wander, moving languidly over the smooth black leather, as if it weren’t one of the most dangerous creatures on earth.

He leaned in, his breath warm against my skin. “Scared?”

Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even speak.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice soft, amused. “So afraid of something so small.”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin, before stepping back, slipping off the bed. His eyes stayed on me as I lay frozen, completely naked against the black silk sheets. And then, without hesitation, he moved toward me again. The knife in his hand gleamed in the low light, and with a sudden, sharp motion, he plunged it into the mattress beside me.

I flinched, my breath hitching in my throat.

He lifted his other hand—the one with the scorpion still crawling along his gloved fingers—and pointed toward the knife. The handle was thin and long, and I knew exactly what he intended.

My stomach clenched, nausea rising. I shook my head, my chest tightening with each rapid breath.

“What do you want me to do?” I whispered, my voice cracking as my gaze darted between him and the knife.

“I think you know,” he replied smoothly, watching me.

“Please… don’t make me do this,” I pleaded, my lower lip trembling as a single tear slipped down my cheek.

His dark eyes flickered. “Your body doesn’t lie, Little Star. You can pretend all you want, but we both know the truth.”

His gaze roamed over me, unapologetic. My pulse thundered in my ears, my entire body tense with a war I wasn’t sure how to fight. A part of me wanted to resist. A part of me wanted to run. And yet, another part—one I hated—felt drawn in by the way he watched me, by the sick, twisted control he held over me.

He moved closer, lifting my chin with two fingers, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Show me what you want.”

I wanted him gone. But he would call me a liar.

My heart pounded so hard it ached. A shiver ran down my spine as his presence pressed in, suffocating, intoxicating. He was too close. Too much.

I shifted, just slightly—then got on my knees and crawled just enough to reach the knife stuck in the middle of the mattress. My body hovered above it, my legs spread. My whole life, I was taught to be a good girl, and tonight, he taught me lessons that I never was.

I leaned down, my body lowering, shivering as he watched my every move. I teased myself with the tip of the knife, letting it slide from the tip of my clit to my inner flesh. Inch by inch, I lowered myself onto it, gasping as the cold leather of the tip pushed inside.

I could hear his steps, getting closer. Then the mattress dipped under his weight as his knees touched the back of my thighs. He was behind me, his hand gripping my hip, pulling me down, while I pushed the tip of the knife in and out.

His other hand settled on me, and I felt something crawling on my skin as I leaned back into him, my head tilting toward him.

“He won’t bite,” he chuckled, taking his gas mask off. I tried to move my head, to see his face, but he grabbed me by the neck, pulling my head back just enough so I couldn’t move. The only thing that moved was my hips, up and down, as the knife slid deeper inside.

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips ghosting over my skin. Goosebumps spread across me as he reached my ear, whispering,

“Do you know why scorpions don’t always sting right away?”

This was all wrong. So wrong. But I couldn’t stop. Even if it was wrong, it felt so good.

He pulled my head back more, fastening the gas mask onto me. The plastic muffled my breaths. He leaned in, tightening the straps.

“Because they like to watch.”

He lifted the scorpion in front of me, placing it on the mask. It crawled over the glass, its body moving toward my eyes. I wanted to scream, but the mask swallowed the sound. The tiny beast loomed in my vision, tail raised.

My hands clenched the sheets next to his knees as I leaned back against him. He removed his gloves, and I felt his warm hands on my thighs—then my hips—as he cupped them from the sides and pushed me lower onto the knife.

A whimper caught in my throat. I jerked back, but his free hand caught my wrist, holding me still, lifting his body close to my back, locking me in.

The sting from the scorpion didn’t come.

But the fear of it was worse.

My skin burned where he touched me. He could let go. He could move the scorpion away.

But he didn’t.

He held my wrist, pulling my hand further back, and his free hand made its way from my stomach down to my clit. I felt his three fingers pressing against it, then circling it like a clock.

My heart was betraying me. My body, too. I didn’t know what was more terrifying—that the scorpion was on my head, walking across the mask above my eyes, or that my body responded to his touch.

His fingers spread down my lower lips, then traced around the knife still inside me. He pulled it out gently, moving my body closer to him until I was fully leaning against him. His thumb brushed my clit as two fingers pushed inside me.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

I opened my mouth inside the mask. Nothing came out. Just the plastic air filling my lungs.

The scorpion’s tail twitched above my eyes.

He smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

And he continued, pushing his fingers deeper, hooking me onto him as he rubbed and thrust at the same time.

He let go of my wrist, his palm finding my right breast, squeezing it as he fucked me with his fingers as fast as he could.

I felt my whole body vibrating, responding to his touch. My thighs started to shake. A tear slid down my temple, trapped inside the mask.

Then he lowered his head to my neck, kissed my skin—then sucked it into his mouth.

I felt his teeth leave a mark on me.

“I can feel how tight your pussy is,” he growled in my ear.

His fingers were slick with me, wetness sliding down as he pushed deeper, now fitting three fingers inside me.

“Do you know what this makes you, Little Star?” he asked, as my inner flesh clenched around him.

I had no answer. I didn’t want to answer.

I had felt a man’s fingers inside me before, but he didn’t make me feel like this. He didn’t make me feel like I was teetering on the edge, ready to explode. He didn’t make me forget everything —the pain, the dark thoughts clawing at my mind, the chaos. Nothing else existed anymore.

The mask muffled my moans as he continued.

“Say it.”

“What does this make you, Little Star?” he asked again.

Then his fingers left me—only to slap my clit twice before rubbing it hard, rough, relentless.

“That makes you mine.”

He pushed me down onto the knife again, my hips grinding against it, wanting more. Needing more. The orgasm was building, twisting inside me, my moans spilling into the mask, hitting nothing but plastic.

“Once you get used to breathing like this, normal air will never feel the same, Little Star,” he murmured against my ear, his teeth grazing the tip of it.

Pleasure rocked through me in waves. He didn’t stop—his fingers still rubbing my clit, then another sharp slap before his hand wrapped around my neck, yanking my head back.

With one swift motion, he tore the mask up just enough to expose my mouth and shoved his wet fingers inside. My breath fogged against the glass covering my eyes as I surrendered, falling into his arms.

“Now you’ll always remember how it feels to suffocate for me.”

I was a mess. My hair stuck to my back, my body still trembling from what had just happened. But I didn’t even know what had happened. I couldn’t see in front of me. I wanted to see him, needed to, but the mask wouldn’t let me.

He kissed my neck, then stood, letting me slowly fall onto the bed. But I caught myself, pressing my hands into the sheets, refusing to collapse. I reached up, trying to pull the mask off, forgetting the scorpion had been on my head just moments ago.

He stopped me, gripping my wrist.

“It suits you,” he said. “Don’t ruin it by ripping it off too soon.”

“Scorpion,” I mumbled, my voice muffled by the mask.

He chuckled. “He’s leaving with me.”

“Now?” The question left my lips before I could stop it.

“You want me to stay, Little Star?” he asked, voice laced with something dark. “You know those two are in the next room fucking by now. I won’t be able to control myself if I stay.”

I was silent. He was right.

But I didn’t stop him.

He didn’t say a word, but I heard the door click shut.

I sat up, my fingers fumbling as I clawed at the mask, desperate to rip it away. By the time I finally pulled it off, he was already gone.

I collapsed back onto the bed, silent tears slipping down my cheeks, my body still trembling from his touch.

I couldn’t believe I had let him do this to me. That I had let him win.

But he was right.

I had wanted it.

And I hated myself for how good it felt.

Shame burned through me as I grabbed the towel, wrapping it tightly around my body. I rushed out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, locking the door behind me before turning on the shower.

Stepping under the scalding water, I rubbed soap against my skin, scrubbing until it burned. I wanted to wash him away—not because I hated his scent, but because I knew that if I smelled it any longer, I would crave it again. I would need it again. I would need him.

I guess this was another lesson learned.

Not all cages are made of steel. The strongest ones are built from fear, and the key is knowing you’ll never truly be free.