Phantom (Cat and Mouse, #0)

by H.D. Carlton

“What’s your name?” I ask again breathlessly. “Ronaldo.” “Do you want to hurt me, Ronaldo?” “Never,” he answers. “I only want to cherish you, Genevieve.” “How do you know my name?” “I know everything about you. Just as I know you will love me, too.”

I’m not only riveted by her. I’m possessed by a need to have her. And she must be mine.

I’d love nothing more than to be consumed by her words, no matter how they greet me. Whether it’s through those red-stained lips or from her delicate hands. I want to know every facet of her, every centimeter of her—mind, body, and soul.

She plagues my mind, infecting it like a parasite and overriding any autonomy over myself. My free will is indebted to her, and without her, I am nothing.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her lips bare of red stain. I imagine it’s a rare sight—one that John doesn’t deserve. I get the inkling that her red lips are her armor, and I’d love nothing more than to be the one to strip it away and behold her at her most vulnerable. To see her face as bare as her body, lying on her back with her legs spread wide for me, her beautiful eyes sparkling up at me as she waits for me to worship her.

It’s physically painful for me to walk away from her, but I know that I must. I’m a bad man, but I won’t be her monster. No. I want to be her savior.

ZADE <3

adeline <3

“Then you would be privy to all my deepest, darkest desires, Mr. Capello,” she teases. “You might find me boring if you knew everything about me.” I raise a brow and smirk. “I don’t believe that’s possible, my love. I suspect that I’ll only grow more fascinated by you.”

“Now crawl to me, mia rosa.”

A growl works its way out of my throat before I can stop it. I’ve seen many beautiful sights in my years. But nothing could even begin to compare to Genevieve Parsons crawling on her hands and knees for me.

“I rather like it when you beg.” “My God, Genevieve,” I choke out. “Are you trying to kill me?” She grins devilishly, crimson and saliva smeared across her chin. “How else will we spend eternity together?”

“Please ride my cock. Please make me come. Please fuck me. I need it so bad, baby.” I moan. “Good boy. You sound so pretty when you beg.”

“Right here, right now, this is all I could ever want from you, Genevieve. Nothing else.” I frown. “But I could have done something special for you.” “Baby, the only thing I want for my birthday and Christmas is your love.” He pauses. “And maybe your pretty cunt on my face. Otherwise, I want for nothing else.”

“It’s not nearly enough. If I could, you would have a ring on your finger,” he rebuts. “But I will settle for a brooch for now. I figured it may be something your husband would assume you’ve had for years.” Emotion clogs my throat as I set the box on his stomach and wrap myself around him. He cradles me to him as I brush my lips against his. “Thank you,” I whisper against his mouth, also hating that his ring doesn’t decorate my finger. Maybe one day, but today, I am only happy he’s here. “Just be careful,” he murmurs between soft kisses. “It could prick you.” I grin against him, my chest so full, I can hardly breathe. “I would gladly bleed for you.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to only love you in the dark when you deserve to be loved in the light?”

“Do you understand what it’s like knowing that when I leave here, another man takes my place? Or having to wait for him to leave to take his?” I don’t, but I can imagine, and it hurts. “He sleeps in your bed. He is the first person who sees you when you wake and before you sleep. He—” “But he is not the one I dream about,” I insist. “He is not the first on my mind when I wake. And it’s not he who owns my heart.”

“I am destined to love you from the shadows, mia rosa,” he says quietly. “I will never be more than your phantom.”

For the first time in sixteen years, I feel . . . free. Right now, I’m not a mother. I’m not a wife. I’m just me. Genevieve Matilda Parsons. A woman who has an unhealthy obsession with Gothic architecture, who wears red lipstick like it’s armor, who pours herself into a journal lest she go mad, and a woman who is helplessly in love with a made man.

“Thank you for showing me a love for waterfalls,” I whisper. “I never knew I loved them.” I feel his gaze burning into the side of my face, where a lone tear leaks down my temple. His index finger swipes the tear away, but he doesn’t coddle me or demand I tell him why I’m crying. Instead, he whispers, “There are so many more I can take you to.” My bottom lip trembles, and my heart squeezes painfully. Without telling him, he understands my emotions. He knows it isn’t often that I learn something new about myself—at least, not before he arrived. “I want to swim in one,” I tell him, keeping my voice quiet. “Can we do that, too?” “If you promise we can climb it, too,” he answers, his tone warm and gentle. I grin, liking the sound of that. “Will you take me to the Atlantic Ocean? I must know if sunrises or sunsets over the water are better.” “Then you shall know.” “Can we take classes together? We can learn to paint, or sketch, or maybe even throw pottery.” “You’ll master all of them in no time.” Another tear wiggles free, and it feels like my heart is soaring. “Will you take me to the desert? Where it’s hot and sandy, and there isn’t a single tree in sight? I’ve only ever known the mountains and ocean.” “Only if we bring lots of water.”