Page 64 of Manic

“Oh,” I breathed. Oh.

Realization swept over me as the menacing glint in his eyes shone brighter, and a warm flush encompassed my entire face. I felt it in my fucking ears. Sex was what he sought after next. Unfortunately, heat bloomed inside me at the thought, and I dropped my eyes.

“What were you doing in your room, Sutton?”

My head snapped up, my lips parting.

I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it wasn’t that. For some reason, some small part of me thought he wasn’t watching my cameras. That he wouldn’t invade my privacy like that. Did he actually watch me touch myself? Did it drive him crazy like I thought it would?

“I—you were watching me?” I blurted, stepping back.

Apparently, he took that as an invitation to move forward, and his attention shot to my lips. Blood slipped down his fingers, dripping to the floor in rough splatters around his boots.

“Who were you thinking about?”

“Not you,” I lied, my voice wavering.

He let out a disbelieving hum and backed me into the island. The counter dug into my back as he braced his hands on either side of me. “It looked like you were having trouble.”

“Are you offering to have sex with me?” I balked. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and so I just stood there, mouth gaping.

“I won’t have sex with you.”

Ouch. Okay.

Regardless, I laughed lightly as if his bluntness didn’t send a twinge of hurt to my feelings. My voice dripped with sarcasm. “I thought I was your whore to do with as you pleased.”

A sad smile ghosted the edge of his mouth. “If I fucked you now, I’m positive I’d kill you. It’s probably best if I don't touch you. Not unless you have a death wish.”

He arched his brow.

Shock raced over me at the confession, but his determination to not kill me twisted into something warm in my chest. He was my kidnapper, and yet he was actually worried about killing me? The same man who’d held a gun to my head? The same man who had a hard time feeling anything at all?

It didn’t make sense.

Even though I narrowed my eyes, my entire body buzzed at the thought of him being rough. Or rougher. It was like I didn’t have an ounce of self preservation left in my body, because the thought of him fucking me senseless sounded… Well, really good.

Even with the possibility of him killing me.

Tension coiled tight along my shoulders, sinking until my thighs ached and warmth pooled between them. I buried my rising fear and the flicker of excitement that came with it.

“Then… what exactly are you offering?” I nudged.

“Can I watch?”

My mouth opened only to close again, confusion racing over me. Heat drove lower in my core, but so did my curiosity as I studied his face—the seriousness there. He wanted to watch? I tilted my head, thinking it over. Why didn’t that bother me?

Christ, I was actually contemplating it.

But why was he asking? Would it help him relieve whatever that pressure was? I didn’t think I’d mind. In fact, it sent a burning thrill right through me.

His stare remained on me while he waited, and I couldn’t help but study the meaning behind his expression. Yet I’d seen that look before—hollow and withdrawn—like he was trapped in a body that refused to settle. It wasn’t rage or violence that stared back in that moment, but damage and pain. Manic wasn’t violent because he was cruel; he was simply drowning, and he had no idea how to swim.

Was he manipulating me? Maybe.

Yet I couldn’t find it in me to care, because the man who only took what he wanted was asking for permission. And I wanted to give it to him.

“You’d only watch?” I murmured.