Page 50 of Problematic

Page 243.

The folded corner was abused, softened by her thumb. Interesting. Very interesting. The scene was filthy in an honest way. The kind of scene a woman reread when she wanted to be ruined safely, when she wanted a monster with a leash made of paper and ink.

Heat dragged low in my body.

My hand tightened on the book. The fictional man said he knew what she needed. I underlined the sentence. Then wrote:

He guessed. I pay attention.

I stared at it for a second.

Was this too much?

Nah. It was perfect.

I set the book back exactly where I found it, though my thumb lingered on the cover a second too long. Maybe she read this genre because she secretly liked men with psychological issues and murderous tendencies. Perhaps that was just wishful thinking. But maybe, just maybe, she sat here reading dark books, touching herself to men just like me because that was what she wanted.

My dick hardened. I stared at the ceiling. “Fantastic.”

There I stood, demon lord of New Abaddon, lord of shadows, nightmare of Hollowside, arguing with an erection in a woman’s bedroom while holding illegal surveillance equipment. My ancestors would’ve been proud. Or disappointed. Hard to say. Most of them were bastards.

I crossed to the corner near the closet and pressed the micro into place and looked back at the book on her nightstand one more time.

The lens blinked once.

Bedroom feed live.

My jaw tightened.

Full view of the bed.

I looked at the pillow. The sheets. The little pile of books beside the mattress. The half-open drawer with a strip of black lace caught in it.

Something frighteningly close to regret filled my chest. Her room was too much. I couldn’t just take every piece of her life for myself. Fuck, Vale was right. Maybe.

I snatched the cam back off the shelf and put it in my pocket. I had feeds outside her room, the hallway, the living room. I didn’t need this too. This . . . this was just me being greedy, and I knew it. I needed to leave.

I glanced back at the book as I turned to go, and a quiet thought slipped into my head before I could stop it.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

I wouldn’t be too much for her.

Maybe the girl who read about dangerous men pinning women to walls and threatening them with knives wouldn’t run screaming the first time she saw who I actually was.

Maybe she’d enjoy it.

The idea settled into my chest like a spark on dry tinder.

Dangerous.

Extremely dangerous.

Because the moment I started believing that . . .

The moment I started believing Liv could handle me . . .