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Stalking isn’t in my blood. Girls chase me, not the other way around. Which makes my obsession with Violet Harris a total fucking enigma.
I wonder what kind of dudes she writes about falling in love with. Not guys like me, that’s for sure. Probably sweet, spineless princes who say whatever she wants to hear. Not the kind of guy who will wrap his belt around her throat and fuck her so hard, her nails tear into the mattress.
Except that night did happen, and I’m not the girl he’s carrying to his bed. I’m his victim, and he’s carrying me to my crime scene. “I’ll scream,” I warn. “God, I hope so.” The words come out in a guttural groan that makes me blush. Almost like the thought of me screaming . . . turns him on.
“I’m going to take what’s mine, little flower.”
He plants a kiss on my clit, and I can’t help the whimper that escapes this time. “You’re going to hate how good this feels.” His words make me stop breathing. “I’m going to be the first man to make you come, and when you think back on your first time, you’ll have to think of me. The man who scares you, and you like it.”
The words that terrify me just to think, let alone say. But after everything I’ve put her through, she deserves to hear them. “I’m falling in love with you, Violet.”
