Page 22 of Soul to Possess (The Artmaker Trilogy #1)

I crept down the hall, my heart hammering, each beat echoing the throb between my thighs.

The house was too quiet, too still, and I could feel his presence lurking somewhere within these walls, a dark, menacing shadow that sent my nerves into overdrive.

I had seen the way he looked at me, the raw, primal hunger in his eyes, and it left me feeling both terrified and oddly exhilarated.

Atticus. Just thinking his name sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and unwanted anticipation that left me lightheaded.

When he looked at me earlier with his gaze intense, predatory.

It was as if he could see right through me, down to the darkest, most hidden parts of my soul.

That absolutely nobody had ever seen. Despite knowing he was the bad guy, despite knowing I should be running far, far away, my body responded to him in ways that horrified me.

I gathered my clothes, my hands shaking as I clutched the fabric to my chest like a shield.

I checked the hallway once more, ensuring the coast was clear before slipping into the bathroom.

The lock clicked into place, sealing me inside, and I let out a shaky breath, leaning against the door as if that could keep him out.

The bathroom was already steamy, the air thick and heavy with the scent of him—a musky, masculine smell that made my mouth water wafting in from his room.

I turned the water on, cranking the dial to the hottest setting.

The pipes groaned in protest, and I could feel the heat radiating from the showerhead, promising a scalding embrace.

I stepped out of my clothes, letting them fall to the floor, and entered the shower, the water cascading over my body like a torrent of liquid fire.

My skin turned pink, then red, the heat searing me, awakening every nerve ending.

My nipples beaded, hardening into tight, aching buds, and I couldn't help but touch them, rolling them between my fingers, imagining it was Atticus's mouth on me, his teeth nipping, his tongue swirling. I bit my lip to suppress a moan, my body already throbbing with a need I both craved and despised. Stop. Don’t do this.

I tried to stop my thoughts, to no avail.

The steam billowed around me, cloaking me in a thick, hot fog, and I could feel the tension coiling in my belly, the need building like a storm.

I leaned my forehead against the cool tiles, taking deep, ragged breaths, trying to calm the inferno raging within me.

But the images that flashed through my mind unbidden were far from calming.

Atticus, his eyes dark and intense, storming through the door, his gaze locking onto mine.

Crossing the room in two strides, his hands gripping my hips, lifting me effortlessly, and slamming me against the wall.

His cock, hard and insistent, pressing against my entrance, and I whimpered, my body aching for him to fill me, to claim me, to make me his despite the voice in my head screaming that I shouldn't want this, that I should be running to Marvin, to safety.

"Atticus," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the roar of the water. "Please."

In my fantasy, he didn't make me wait. He drove into me, his cock stretching me wide, filling me so completely that I could feel him in every fiber of my being.

I could hear his breath, ragged and desperate, his teeth grazing my neck as he marked me, claimed me as his own.

His hands would be rough, demanding, owning every inch of my body, and I hated that I loved the thought of it, my stomach rolling while my body betrayed me.

My hand wandered down my stomach, hovering over my mound, and I could feel the heat radiating from my core, the wetness coating my thighs.

I dipped my fingers lower, parting my folds, and I was soaking, my clit throbbing, begging for attention.

I circled it slowly, imagining it was Atticus's tongue on me, his fingers inside me, pumping in and out, building me higher and higher.

I bit my lip, stifling a cry as I slid two fingers inside, my palm pressing against my clit, mimicking the movements of my fantasy.

I was so tight, so wet, and imagined I could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as he pounded into me, his hips slapping against mine, his balls hitting my ass with each thrust. I could feel the sting of his hand on my flesh, the sharp bite of pain that only served to heighten my pleasure, to make me crave more.

"Little girl," I heard him growl in my mind, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

"You're mine. Every fucking inch of you is mine.

You belong to me, and I'm going to ruin you for any other man. I'm going to take you against your will, make you scream, make you beg for more. Don’t bother saying no, I’m not going to listen. "

I moaned, the sound echoing off the tiles, my body shaking as I fucked myself harder, faster, chasing the release that was just out of reach.

I could feel his hands on me, his mouth on me, his cock inside me, and I was lost, utterly consumed by the fantasy, by the need, by him.

I hated that my body responded this way, that I craved the dark, twisted things he made me feel.

I should be thinking of Marvin, of his kind eyes and gentle touch, of the safe, quiet life he offered me.

But all I could think about was Atticus, about the way he made me feel alive, about the way he made me want to sin.

I slid a third finger inside, stretching myself, imagining it was his thick cock forcing its way into me, taking what he wanted, what he needed.

I could feel the nasty, depraved side of me emerging, the part that wanted him to use me, to abuse me, to make me his dirty little secret.

I wanted him to bend me over, to pull my hair, to slap my ass, to mark me as his property.

I wanted him to take me against my will, to make me scream and beg for mercy, and then beg for more.

"I'm close, Atticus," I panted, my body trembling, my muscles coiling tight. "So close. Make me come. Please, make me come. Take me, use me, make me your dirty little whore."

And then I was there, teetering on the edge, my body balanced on a knife's blade, and I let go, falling into the abyss, my orgasm ripping through me like a tsunami.

I cried out, my voice raw, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me, leaving me breathless, spent, and utterly ruined.

As I came down from my high, I slid to the floor, my body weak and boneless, the water cascading over me, cooling my flushed skin.

I had given in to the fantasy, and it had been worth it.

But I knew, as I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, that the real thing would be so much more intense.

I knew I shouldn't want him, that I should be running far, far away.

But the hateful truth was, I didn't know what I wanted.

I only knew the stories I had read on my kindle, the dark, twisted fantasies that left me aching for more every time I read them.

And Atticus, with his dark eyes and dangerous smile, was the embodiment of every one of those fantasies.

The force of the desires that had consumed me was startling to me, as I hadn’t thought myself kinky at all prior to meeting him.

I enjoyed a lot of really naughty, smut-filled books, but that didn’t mean I wanted those things to actually happen to me.

I was a good girl, or so I thought. I had always imagined that I would end up with someone like Marvin, someone safe and predictable, not someone who would turn my world upside down and make me question everything I thought I knew about myself.

Yet, when faced with a situation where it was a possibility, my mind could not steer away from the subject, I could not tear my thoughts away from the dark, scary object of my fascination.. I grabbed a towel, quickly drying off, my skin flushed and sensitive from the shower.

I could still feel the phantom touch of Atticus’s hands on my body, his mouth on my neck, his cock pressing against me.

Despite the fact that I had already come, heat spiraled through me.

I squeezed my thighs together, trying to ease the ache that throbbed between them, but it was no use.

I was wet, soaking wet, and I knew it was because of him, because of the dark, twisted things he somehow made me want without even trying.

I snuck back into my room, locking the door behind me as if that could keep him out, keep his influence away. I put on a pair of pajamas, something soft and comfortable, and climbed into bed, drawing the quilt up over me and tucking it under my chin.

I had my kindle in hand, a barrier between me and the real world, a way to escape the turmoil that was raging inside me.

All I needed was a good book, something to immerse myself into and get my mind away from the muscled-up, inky, green-eyed wolf of a man in the next room.

I needed to forget the way he looked at me, the way he made me feel, the way he made me want things I shouldn’t.

I lost myself in a recent release from one of my favorite authors, a dark romance with an anti-hero who was as twisted and broken as Atticus.

The need from before began to fade into the recesses of my mind as I got lost in another universe, a place where I was in control, where I could explore my darkest desires safely.

As page after page was flipped through and read, my eyes grew heavy, and I drifted off to sleep, the kindle still clutched in my hand.

But even as I slept, I couldn’t escape him.

He invaded my dreams, his dark eyes haunting me, his voice whispering in my ear, his hands roaming over my body.

I dreamt of waking up to find myself tied to the bed, my wrists and ankles bound with thick, rough rope that bit into my skin.

I was naked, exposed, vulnerable, and at his mercy.