He wraps his fingers around the thin strap of my panties, and with a swift yank, it snaps, falling uselessly. His hand finds my bare hip, grabbing it with a greedy dominance as he grinds me down onto him, forcing me to move.
“Ty,” I gasp out, my eyes instinctively shutting.“Shit.”
The tension between my thighs intensifies as the length of his dick slides up and down the slit of my pussy, teasing and compelling me to feel every inch. I desperately try to shut out the sensations that threaten to pull me under, but his hold on me keeps tightening, sinking me deeper into his control.
As the pressure builds, my hips start to buck involuntarily, pressing against him, the friction making me pulse with an urgent need. Before I can gather my senses, he seizes the moment, his hand slipping around the curve of my ass, fingers grabbing the delicate fabric of my panties and he rips them clean off my body with an aggressive force. A shiver runs through me, my mind momentarily blank as I’m too consumed by arousal and horror.
“Don’t you fucking stop or I’ll slice this pretty throat and fuck your dead, bloodied body anyway,” he grits out with animalistic frustration.
He hikes my dress up, exposing my lower half, and my hips move frantically, stupidly desperate for more, as if I know no restraint on my own damn morals. The rough fabric of his jeans rubs against my exposed clit, dampening with a trail of my come and he growls in response, the sound deep and dark, His gazelocks with mine—fierce, as if he’s claiming me, as if he might snap at any moment and pull his cock out so I can ride it.
“Such a needy, little kitten,” he mutters, pressing the blade more firmly against my skin until I feel the sharp sting as it nicks me.
A trickle of blood slips down my chest as his big, warm hand slides up my body under my dress, holding the small of my waist harshly. He leads my movements, each stroke along his shaft igniting a spark of desire and my body betrays me—shaking, trembling, as if it has a mind of its own.
I mindlessly shift my pussy at just the right angle so I can chase my looming climax, moans spilling from my lips shamelessly. Then, with a sudden rush, a wave of pleasure explodes through me like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The orgasm slams into my entire body in blissful convulsions, and I’m left gasping, quaking in the wake of it.
I hear him groan, his forehead slamming against my chest, and that’s when I feel it—his big cock pulsing beneath me, thrumming in sync with my throbbing pussy.
Fuck... he just came too?I’ve never made a guy cum like that before. Not just from grinding my pussy on his dick. I’m not sure if he planned to do that.
His knife slips from his hand, hitting the floor with a loud thud, and we both pause, caught in the aftermath of what just happened, both struggling to breathe. Then, without warning, he stands, keeping me locked around him.
My legs cling to him as he moves, taking us a few steps before, in one swift motion, he drops me onto the cold floor. I land hard on my ass with a groan. He leans over, unlocking one handcuff, but my momentary freedom is brief. Before I can react, he snaps it around an old radiator behind me.
“Ty…” I murmur, my voice soft, trying to reason with him, but he doesn’t even glance my way anymore.
Shame fills every part of me. FUCK. I can’t believe I just came on him like that. I was stupidly weak in that moment, like some desperate little slut and he relished every second of it. He knows what he’s doing.
I watch him intently through a blurred, teary stare as he strolls over to a small fireplace I didn’t even noticed in the shadows before and he flicks out a lighter, crouching down in front of it.
He lifts an old piece of newspaper, the fire engulfing it and lighting up the dark, large room before he tosses it inside. A shiver runs through me, his heat on my skin just a moment ago gradually slipping away. My breath is visible in the cold air, and I huddle against the radiator.
Soon the fireplace is fully ablaze, and slowly, the room is being filled with a warmth I desperately needed. I start thinking about how I’m going to get out of here. Maybe Jess will call for help. Maybe I’ll be saved. Then my mind returns to Ty as he walks around the room, gathering cushions and blankets, now not willing to talk with me.
I can’t help my mind turning to more sexual thoughts after that just happened. Is he a virgin? I mean, it would make sense right? Fifteen years in an asylum since he was only thirteen. How he just came from the friction between us so easily. But then again, so did I and I’m not a virgin. Maybe he was just turned on just as much as I was.
But it makes me realize, I don’t really know much about him at all. Yeah, I know what he’s done. The bad things about him, but who’s he beyond that? Who has he been for the past fifteen years? Why does he want me out of all the women he could have?
It’s no secret that psychopaths become obsessive with frightening speed. When the urge consumes them, they take what they want, regardless of the cost. They think of themselves as superior—untouchable—and they alone hold the truth, even if the path they take is nothing short of monstrous. Empathy is foreign to them, and they can’t grasp the same emotions as others can. Their world is one of control, where morality is twisted to fit their needs, and their ability for cruelty knows no limit.
But one thing Dr Moss said about Ty still lingers in my mind—he’s on the mid-scale of psychopathy. Does that mean there’s still something inside him I can reach? Some flicker of humanity, a shred of remorse, buried deep beneath the surface? Or is that just me being desperate?
Sometimes, to outsmart a psychopath, you have to step into his mind, even if you risk becoming a part of the darkness yourself. Maybe I can turn his obsession with me into my weapon, use it to my advantage. It’s a dangerous game, but what other choice do I have? Have I ever tried to manipulate a patient before? No. Could I fail, utterly and horribly? It’s possible. But I have little choice.
What if, once he’s finished with me, he decides I’m no longer useful? What if I’m just killed and discarded—buried somewhere, where no one will ever find me? Because let’s face it, who the fuck would even notice I’m gone anyway? Maybe he knows that. Maybe I’m his easy target.
I observe him from a distance as his fingers brush through Midnight’s fur. She purrs under his touch, content and trusting beside him, which is unsettling.
How the hell did she manage to bait me here? The thought nags at me. Midnight’s always been cautious of other people, but now she’s at his side like she’s known him forever. It doesn’tmake sense. She’s who led me here. Pulled me right into his wicked embrace. She’s part of it. They worked together to bring me into his trap.
I lower my gaze, a sense of betrayal twisting in my chest—until he rises, standing tall and yanks his hoodie over his head in one quick movement.
I stare at him, unable to stop myself. His body is lean and ripped, I already knew it would be, but what shocks me are the scars—small and large slashes carved into almost every inch of his skin. Even from this distance, I can see them clearly, marks that his documents never mentioned. My brows knit in confusion. None of his files ever suggested an accident or some form of self-harm, so how did he get so scarred?
As he turns his back to me, undoing his belt, he kicks off his boots, moving with confidence. My eyes drift over his physique, captivated, unable to peel my gaze away. He’s not overly broad, although he’s extremely tall, but each muscle is defined, flexing with every movement, and I can’t even deny it—the sight of him, scarred and bare in front of me, is as frightening as it is alluring. He’s fucking dangerously beautiful.
I force myself to look away, desperate to rein in any drop of attraction—or worse, attachment—to him. This ain’t right. None of it is. He has me captive, for fuck’s sake. He just pressed a knife to my throat and ordered me to hump his dick through his jeans. And I did. I foolishly humped until I came. Until he came.Shit.