Page 21 of Soul to Possess (The Artmaker Trilogy #1)

I shut the door behind me, turned the bolt with a slow, satisfying click, then leaned my weight against the frame, a sickening sense of dominance coursing through my veins. Control. Always fucking control.

I breathed in through my nose and exhaled long through my mouth, the way the stupid city shrink taught me. The room was dark, shadows stretching over the bed and the walls like a shroud, hiding the sins I was about to commit. I didn’t turn the light on. The dark helped me hide the monster within.

She didn’t even realize what she was doing to me. The way she looked at me tonight—hope simmering just beneath fear, like she wanted to be devoured and just didn’t know it yet. God, I wanted to ruin that softness, to tear her apart and feast on her innocence.

She didn’t run. Not when I leaned in, my breath hot on her neck.

Not when I called her little girl, my voice a low, dangerous growl.

And she liked it. I saw it in her eyes, felt it in her quickening pulse.

She was made for this. For me. For the dark, twisted things I wanted to do to her.

I walked toward the dresser and peeled my shirt over my head, letting it fall to the floor.

My skin burned with a twisted energy that I had never felt before.

Her scent still clung to me—soap and nerves and something warm, feminine, sweet like honeysuckle.

No. Not honeysuckle. Bluebell. I froze, my jaw tightening until it ached. Goddammit. I had said it earlier—let it slip when she wasn’t even looking at me. Bluebell. I hadn’t called anyone that in years. No one since—

No. No. That name belonged to someone else. To something buried in a shallow grave, along with my humanity. Gennie was not her. Gennie was… something new. Something alive. The past was dead, and I was the one who fucking buried it.

But it scared me, how easily the name had fallen from my mouth.

Like my subconscious already knew the truth.

Those bright blue eyes. The way they stared into my soul like she was going to own me, instead of the other way around would be my undoing.That mouth—smart, but never cruel.

She still believes in good things. In glittering snow.

A fantasy. A pretty one. The kind that made men like me want to possess, to break, to make our own.

I turned to the mirror. My eyes caught the low gleam of my reflection.

Bright green, black at the edges, like a fucking demon staring back at me.

I looked hollowed out. Hungry. Wrong. My hand twitched, wanting to reach out and touch the glass, to feel the coolness against my fevered skin.

I needed a shower. Ice cold. To wash away the memories, the guilt, the desire.

I didn’t want to hurt her. I truly didn’t.

That thought disturbed me more than anything.

Because it meant I’d already started making exceptions. For her. And that was a weakness I couldn’t afford. She might be a natural submissive. Maybe even a little, if the way her eyes lit up when I teased her meant anything. She was too quick to blush. Too eager to please. Too good.

She needed someone to own her. To guide her. To control her every breath, every thought, every fucking orgasm. Not Marvin. Me.

I stepped out of my jeans, kicking them aside with the heel of my foot.

The zipper had been biting into my throbbing cock since she smiled at me across the table, her eyes wide and innocent, begging to be fucked, begging to be used, begging to be filled with my hot, thick cum.

The need in her eyes was raw, primal, and I wanted to give her every fucking inch of me, to ruin her for any other man, to make her my little fuck slave.

I reached for the shower handle and twisted it to cold. The water roared to life, steam curling around the edges of the glass even before the temperature dropped. I craved the shock of it, needed the fucking ice to cool the inferno raging in my veins, to calm the beast within.

But I stood there, frozen, my cock throbbing and leaking precum, begging for release, begging to be buried deep inside her tight, wet cunt.

My hands gripped the counter, knuckles white, as I stared at the sink, breathing like a fucking bull, my skin slick and flushed with lust. My heart pounded in my chest, my muscles tensed, and my cock ached with a need that was almost painful.

I wanted to fuck her until she screamed, until she bled, until she was so full of my cum she couldn't take anymore.

My cock was a steel rod, throbbing with the effort it took not to storm back out there, grab her by the hair, bend her over, and fuck her into next week.

She’d do it, too. She’d tremble and moan, but she wouldn’t say no.

She loves being told what to do. She craves being possessed, used, and thrown away like a dirty little fuck toy.

God, the way she looked tonight. Curled up on that damn couch like she didn’t know she was already in the wolf’s den.

Like she thought the danger was behind her—left on that fucking bus.

She was wrong. The danger was me. I was the monster in the dark, and she was my prey.

I wanted to pounce on her, to pin her down and make her scream my name as I took what was mine, as I claimed her, as I fucking ruined her.

I stepped under the cold spray, and it hit me like a fucking tsunami.

My breath caught, muscles tensing, my cock aching and begging for her touch.

But it wasn’t enough to douse the flames.

Not even close. The water was like liquid ice on my burning skin, but it did little to quell the wildfire raging in my veins.

I wrapped one hand around my throbbing cock and squeezed, eyes closed, jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth would shatter.

I imagined the sound of her voice, breathy and desperate, when she said she wanted to belong to someone.

The way her thighs pressed together subtly, like she thought I wouldn’t notice – when I got close, her nipples hardening and begging for my mouth.

She was so fucking wet. I knew it. My fingers twitched, imagining sliding them down her belly, parting her legs, and sinking into her tight, wet heat.

Not to hurt her—fuck no. To claim her, to make her mine, to ruin her for anyone else.

I leaned my head back, water cascading over my face, and I whispered, "Bluebell." Fuck, I wanted to taste her, to feel her wrap around me, to hear her scream my name. I wanted to own her, to control her, to make her my little cum dumpster.

She didn’t know what she was made for yet. But I did. I knew she was made for me. Made to be my little fuck doll, my plaything, my obsession. My personal little slut, my Bluebell.

And when she realized it—when she came apart for me the first time, trembling and screaming and begging for more—I’d make sure she never wanted to leave this place.

Never want to leave me. I’d ruin her for any other man.

I’d make her addicted to my cock, my touch, my control.

She’d be my little cum dumpster, and she’d love every fucking second of it.

She'd be so full of my seed she'd leak it for days.

I stroked myself harder, my palm slick from the water, hips jerking and rolling as I bit down on my own moan, imagining her lips wrapped around my cock, her eyes watering as she took me deep.

Gennie. She was mine. My girl. My angel.

My fucking obsession. My little whore, begging for my cum. My Bluebell.

I thought of her mouth, those plump, innocent lips parted in a soft gasp when I winked at her.

The way her pupils dilated, her breath hitching when I teased her about Marvin and the bedroom.

She wanted a man who could take care of her.

Not some pussy, safe little bitch. She wanted someone capable of keeping her, of controlling her, of ruining her.

Of making her beg for more. Of impregnating her and keeping her forever.

A deep, guttural growl tore out of my throat as I came, my hand clenching tighter, hot cum spilling out of me as the water hit my back in sheets.

My other hand slammed into the wall with a dull thud, leaving a mark from the force.

It wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough.

Not until I had her. Not until I’d claimed her.

Not until I’d made her mine in every fucking way possible.

Not until she broke for me. Not until she said please. Not until she begged for my cock, begged for me to knock her up and keep her forever, begged for me to never let her go.

I leaned forward, both palms now pressed to the tile, the spray drumming over my spine like a thousand tiny needles. I let the cold bite into me, let it seep deep into my bones. I stayed like that, panting and growling, the monster inside me fed—but not satisfied. Never satisfied.

Because now that I’d tasted her, even in passing—her laughter, her scent, her soft, aching silences—I wasn’t going to stop. I’d already decided. She’d never leave this place. Not unless it was in my arms. Or in a body bag. With my cum leaking out of her used, abused little cunt.