“Hey.” Emily’s angelic voice cuts through my thoughts.
I turn to find her standing in the doorway, biting her lip.
“Hi, Angel.”
Her hands are tucked behind her back. Hiding something.
I tilt my head. “What do you have there?”
She hesitates, then brings them forward.
Is that my mask?
And—
My knife?
Something tightens low in my chest. “Why do you have those?”
Her mouth curves, all mischief, though there’s a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes that makes my fingers twitch. “I found them in your drawer. I was looking for my charger.”
I haven’t touched either in months. Not since she learned the truth.
“Do you remember when you broke in,” she says softly, lifting the knife, “and held this to my throat?”
I groan. “How could I forget?”
She smiles. “You thought Graham was a man.”
I narrow my eyes. “Where is this going, Angel?”
She bites her lip again. This time, when she speaks, her voice is quieter. Steadier. “I think… I liked the fear. When it was you.”
I don’t speak. I want to hear the words from her.
“I was thinking we could maybe…” She trails off, and I stalk towards her, my patience snapping.
“Maybe?” I ask, my hand sliding to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair.
Her breath stutters, her chest rising sharply. “It’s just that… I know I can trust you now. I know you’d never actually hurt me. I think I’ve always known. And, well…”
“Angel,” I groan, pulling her flush against me, the knife in herhand pressing into my stomach. “Get to the point.”
Her eyes shine as she searches my face, lips parted. “I was thinking you could…”
“I won’t do it unless you ask,” I murmur.
I need her to choose it. To choose me. It’s what I’ve always needed.
“You… you could wear the mask when we—”
I raise a brow.
She huffs in frustration. “I want you to wear the mask and fuck me.”
I lean in, my lips brushing hers. “And the knife?”
“What about it?”