Page 21 of Til Def
After a while of gathering myself, I sluggishly slide off the counter, turning around to find my phone. My blurred eyes sweep across the counter, but it quickly becomes clear, he’s fucking taken it.
I growl, swiping the tears off my face with my palms before leaning down and scooping Midnight into my arms. As I lock the front door and climb the creaking stairs, my limbs feel like lead, my mind clouded, and by the time I reach the bedroom, exhaustion clings to me.
I flick on the light and place Midnight onto the blankets on the bed before moving toward the window to close the curtains.As my fingers wrap around the heavy, floral fabric, something pulls me to look down outside.
And there he is.
Ty stands at the entrance to the cemetery across the street, lit up by the faint halo of a streetlight. Rain pours down in relentless torrents, soaking his black hair until it clings to his handsome face. Water drips from the sharp lines of his jaw but he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, he seems to relish it.
In one hand, he holds a cigarette, the ember glowing faintly against the downpour. His other hand hangs loosely at his side, but everything about him is taut, coiled, like he’s waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His brown eyes bore into mine through the rain, and it feels as if the distance between us doesn’t exist.
My mind churns with the havoc of what just happened between us downstairs, the way he made me feel. Rough. Violent. Wrong. And yet, somehow, it felt stupidly right. He felt right.
I ask myself why? Over and over, the question loops in my mind like a broken record. Is it because I’ve lacked intimacy for so long, craving the touch, the connection I’ve been deprived of? Is it because he’s undeniably beautiful, with a face that could disarm any woman? Or is it something darker—because he’s like the forbidden fruit, tempting and dangerous, offering a thrill I’ve never allowed myself to chase before?
Or maybe, somewhere deep down, I see beyond the façade. Beyond the degrading words and the haunting smirks. Beyond the killer's confidence and the chaos he wields like a weapon. I see the lonely man he’s become. Broken. Lonely. Just like me.
But the thought sickens me even as it sinks its claws deeper into my chest. How the fuck can I feel like this about him? Idon’t know him—not really—and what I do know is drenched in constant blood and horror. He’s done terrifying things. Horrific things. Fuck. He’s getting into my mind isn’t he? Or am I the problem?
In another crazy life, maybe I wouldn’t have fought it. Maybe I’d already be on my knees for him, surrendering to his obsession because at least it’s real. That dedicated, deranged keenness he shows—it’s frightening but strangely intoxicating. Yet it’s not simple. Nothing about this is simple.
I’m a therapist, and he’s a psychopath. We’re two forces that shouldn’t collide. That shouldn’t want to collide. Therapists don’t do this. They don’t lose themselves to the patient. They don’t erase guilt with violent fucks or entertain the idea of covering for someone capable of countless murders.
I shouldn’t even be thinking about him.
And yet, here I am, drawn to him still. He’s dangerous. So fucking dangerous. And no matter how I twist it into my mind, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe that’s exactly why I didn’t say no. Why my knees go weak in his warped presence. Why I blush when he calls me kitten or beautiful girl. Why I keep covering for him, shielding him from his own violence.
Every single time I done that, I’ve only fed his obsession, let it grow—let him get deeper under my skin. But not anymore. Tomorrow, this ends. This dark pull he has on me? It stops now. I’ll break this mentality before it breaks me.
My heart slams in my chest while we stay locked in an unbearable stare. When I can’t take it anymore, I yank the curtains closed with trembling hands, shutting out the sight of him and the storm. I draw in deep gasps of breath before turning around and climbing into bed, hoping tomorrow I’ll have a clearer mind and plan to deal with this.
Chapter Seven
Ty
Standing outside the small, isolated church, I feel the rain soaking through my clothes, the coldness biting at my skin. The rush of tonight is still pulsing in my veins, the adrenaline driving me into madness.The wound in my abs throbs with the reminder of her, the knife she pressed into me until I pressed it into pussy.
I fucking snapped, lost my sense of control, but it was worth seeing and hearing her come apart. It’s just a fucking shame it wasn’t on my dick.
I wasn’t the only one who lost my mind in that moment. The way she pushed back to take more of that handle. The way her come dripped down my glove. Kitten loved having that knife deep inside her tight cunt.
As I always thought, she digs the fucking danger that lurks around me. Her fear, her small, shaking body. It makes my insides churn, the mix of irritation and... something else. Maybe some fucked up deprivation. She shook from the terror and the pleasure, and a part of me—so much of me—wanted to take it further, to break her completely and force her to feel what I feel. But instead, I left her to think about how I violated her, and how she loved every fucking second of it. I’m sure her mind is as messed up as mine is right now.
I lift the glove to my face, pressing it against my nose, and inhale deeply, my eyes sliding shut. The scent of her sweet pussy is still there—clinging to me like it’s branded into my very fucking existence, a part of me now. I can’t think. I can’t fucking breathe. The smell of her, the feel of her, it’s burned into my brain, pumping through my veins like a drug I never wanted but can’t live without.
How the fuck am I supposed to function when she’s not beside me? When she’s not fucking mine? Every second away from her feels like sandpaper against my nerves, grating to the bone. I don’t want air if it’s not fucking laced with her. I don’t want life if it’s not created around her.
The freedom of my release—it’s doing things to me, ripping at parts of me I didn’t know was there. I’m so full of pent-up weird emotions I feel like I might explode, my wrath taking every fucking thing out with me.
I tilt my head back, letting the rain wash over me, the cold droplets mingling with the heat pulsing through my veins. The storm inside me mirrors the storm outside, and for a moment, I just take it all in, trying to find a way to calm the savage animal tearing inside me.
I need her. It’s suffocating. It’s like a beast desperate to be freed. I have to take her. She’s mine. She’s not taking it seriously yet, but she will. She’ll understand when I’m done with her, when she’s where she’s meant to be—beside me.
She doesn’t belong to anyone else. No one will have her. No one will ever fucking touch her like I do. No one will ever be obsessed with her like I am. I’ll carve my mark into her until she’s nothing but a willing, trembling little thing, begging for my hands to be on her. She doesn’t know how much she craves it—how much she needs it. But she will.
I chuckle softly to myself, the sound almost lost in the howling wind and pouring rain.I’m fucking insane.My grasp on reality sinks more each day. I know it. I can fucking feel it. But it’s the only thing that makes sense. It's the only truth left in my fucked-up life.
Me and her together.
