Page 13 of The Dead Don’t Scream
“It won’t.”
“You tell me anyway.”
“Yes, Reaper.”
Silk covers my eyes. Darkness swallows the room. Every sound becomes louder. The scrape of his boots. My breathing. The whisper of fabric as he removes his coat. Then nothing.
“Rhys?”
Silence. I test the ribbon around my wrists.
“Reaper?”
A fingertip touches the inside of my knee. I jerk. His hand closes around my calf before I can kick him.
“Easy.”
“You disappeared.”
“I’m standing directly in front of you.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
His fingers travel upward. Slowly. Deliberately. They disappear beneath my dress and trace the sensitive skin along my inner thigh. I spread my knees without being instructed. A quiet sound of approval leaves him.
“Ohhh, naughty Little Rabbit. You’ve imagined this.”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lie.”
“Too many.”
His hand stops inches from where I need it.
“Did you imagine me?”
“I imagined the mask.”
“Keep talking.”
His knuckles brush higher. Fucckkk
“I imagined being chased.”
“By one man?”
I hesitate. His touch retreats.
“No,” I answer quickly.
“How many?”
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