Peter

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Sara avoids me until lunchtime, which is just as well. My self-control is fraying, the darkness clawing to the surface. I want to fuck her, and at the same time, I want to subjugate and punish her, make her understand that she is mine.

I want to take her to the edge and bring her over, no matter what it might do to her.

“Don’t do it, man,” Ilya says quietly as I finish slapping together Sara’s sandwich. He’s making his own sandwich next to me. “Whatever you’re thinking about, you’ll regret it.”

I bare my teeth in a humorless smile. “Really? You’re a fucking psychic now?”

“No, but I don’t think you’re thinking straight. She doesn’t deserve this.” He dips a butter knife into a jar of mayonnaise. “The least you can do is give her a little time.”

I picture grabbing the knife and crushing Ilya’s trachea with it. It’s too dull to slice his throat, but it would do a great job of choking him to death. Luckily for my teammate, he doesn’t say anything else, and I stride out of the kitchen with Sara’s plate.

I find her upstairs, going through a dresser in one of the empty guest bedrooms. Silently, I stop in the doorway and watch her, fascinated by the sight of her lithe, graceful body bending and twisting as she pulls out and closes the drawers one by one. There’s nothing in that dresser, but Sara doesn’t stop until she’s checked every drawer.

Only then does she turn around—and jump up with a startled gasp.

“Peter.” She presses her hand to her chest, as if her heart is in danger of bursting out. “I didn’t see you there.” Her voice is breathless, even as she makes a visible attempt to compose herself. “What are you—”

“I brought you lunch.” I step into the room, holding the plate. “I figured you must be hungry.” My tone is cool, unlike the fire raging in my blood. Just seeing her like this, still dressed in my overly large clothes, makes me want to pin her against the wall and fuck her so hard we’d both end up raw and bleeding.

Cautiously, she takes the plate from me and steps back, as if sensing the violence simmering within me. As she does so, she nervously bites her lower lip, and I picture myself doing the same, tearing the tender pink flesh with my teeth as I claim that soft mouth, tasting her, consuming her until I satisfy the lust scorching me alive.

“You’re not eating?” she asks warily, putting the plate on the dresser, and I shake my head, my eyes tracking her every move. I’m probably scaring her with the intensity of my stare, but I can’t help it. I feel like a predator on edge, the hunger inside me so savage and dark it barely resembles something as basic as a sexual urge. It’s more of a compulsive need to possess her, to bend her to my will and make her mine so completely she’d never think of looking for things to aid in her escape.

“I ate already,” I answer, and though my voice is slightly rough, it doesn’t reflect even a fraction of what I’m feeling. Rationally, I know that Ilya is right, that I have to give Sara time to adjust and accept her new life with me, but everything inside me demands that I grab her and make her admit she needs me… that despite everything, she loves me too.

I push the thought away, but not before it fills me with agonizing longing. Because that’s what it comes down to, what I want from her the most. Beyond the frustration of unfulfilled lust, beyond the sting of her rejection, it’s that acute, irrational craving that tears me up inside and prods at the monster within me.

I want Sara to love me, and I don’t know how to make that happen.

“Okay. Um, thanks.” Her gaze flicks from me to the plate and then back to my face. “I’ll just bring it down when I finish then, right?”

That’s my cue to leave, but fuck that. She’s uncomfortable with me after what happened in the bathtub, and all of a sudden, I’m glad about that. Some sadistic part of me wants her to squirm, to wonder if I’m going to finally cross that line and claim her over her feigned objections.

“It’s all right.” My tone is exaggeratedly pleasant as I walk over to the bed in the middle of the room and sit down on the edge, crossing my legs at the ankles. “I can wait.”

Sara blinks, then appears to take herself in hand. “Really? You’re just going to sit there? Don’t you have something better to do, like torturing some innocents?”

“That’s on the schedule for later in the afternoon.” I give her a sharp smile. “For now, it’s just you.”

Her face tightens, but she reaches for the plate and picks up the sandwich. Biting into it, she chews and swallows way too quickly, then tears off another large chunk with her straight white teeth.

“Don’t choke,” I advise lightly when she further accelerates her pace on the third bite. “We don’t have a doctor on hand, you know. Well, except for you, but that wouldn’t help much if you’re the one turning purple.”

Sara’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t slow down. She demolishes the rest of the sandwich at the same furious pace, then picks up the empty plate and thrusts it toward me. “Here. I’m done.”

“Good. Now bring it here.” I pat the bed next to me.

Her jaw clenches; then an unexpectedly sweet smile curves her lips. “Oh, you want this plate over there?”

Her eyes telegraph her intent half a second before her arm swings back, and I duck as the plate hits the wall directly behind me, shattering into a thousand pieces. Shards of ceramic rain onto the bed around me, mixing with crumbs of bread.

As if realizing what she’s done, Sara inches to the left, toward the door, her eyes locked on me with the same wary expression she wore after she slapped me. I forgave her then, because I knew she was shocked and overwhelmed, but I’m not going to put up with this any longer.

If Sara wants to make me into a villain, I’m happy to oblige.

“You will clean this up.” My voice is ice hard as I rise to my feet, brushing shards of broken plate off my sleeves. “This room is going to be perfectly clean again, do you understand me?”

She stares at me, defiance warring with self-preservation in her gaze. Common sense tells her to back down and do as I say, but she doesn’t want to give in too easily. Sure enough, her chin comes up. “Or what? Are you going to waterboard me? Threaten me with a knife? Kidnap me? Oh, wait, you’ve already done all that.”

Despite the bravado of her words, her hands visibly tremble as she stuffs them into the front pocket of her sweatshirt. If I were a better man, I’d back off at this point, let her have this small victory. But she’s not the only one angry today; the rage inside me feels like a living beast, dark and potent, fueled by her rejection and the knowledge that I may never get what I truly want from her.

If I can’t have her love, I’ll settle for her hate.

“Oh, ptichka…” I come toward her, enjoying the glimmer of fear in her eyes as she instinctively moves toward the door. Before she can take more than a step, I stop in front of her, cutting off her retreat. Lifting my hand, I brush her hair back from her face and lean in, inhaling her sweet scent as I dip my head and murmur into her ear, “Haven’t you learned not to play these games with me?”

I hear her swallow, and when I raise my head to look down at her, I see that her chest is rising and falling in a rapid rhythm. She’s scared, my Sara, and for a good reason.

Even I’m not sure how far I’ll go today.

Her lips part, as if to offer a rebuttal, and I bend my head again, possessing that soft, quivering mouth with all the violent hunger she arouses in me. My hands slide into her hair, holding her head still, and I swallow her protesting gasp as her arms come up, her slender fingers curling around my wrists in a futile effort to tug them away.

As usual, she’s delicious, the inside of her mouth like warm wet silk. Her slender body arches against me as I back her up against the dresser, grinding my erection against her flat stomach, and her plush breasts press against me, her nipples pinched into hard little peaks. I can hear her breathing quicken, and I know that if I were to slide my hand into her pants, I’d feel her growing slick for me, wanting me.

Her body, at least, is drawn to me.

It takes all my willpower to lift my head and step back, to release her instead of devouring her on the spot. But I do—because we need to settle this once and for all.

“You want to know what else I can do to you, ptichka?” My words come out low and hoarse, coated with the lust and anger incinerating my insides. “You want to know what will happen if you push me too far?”

Sara’s eyes are wide, her chest heaving as she attempts to catch her breath, and I step closer again, capturing her delicate face between my palms as I gaze down at her. “You want me to explain to you the reality of your situation?” I continue.

She swallows again, and I feel the tremor in her hands as she grips my forearms. “Y-yes.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but there’s still a hint of defiance in her hazel gaze. “Yes, I do.”

My lips curve, and even I can feel the darkness in that smile. “Oh, ptichka, where should I begin?”