In The Dark

by Chelsea Curto

For the Halloween lovers.

“I’m not hiding in the shadows. I’m using my resources. Taking her on a long, romantic walk, except she doesn’t know I’m there.”

I’m going to track you down, Maxine. And when I do, I’m going to make you mine.

“I have a habit of getting attached to things. If you keep talking to me like that, I might fall in love with you.”

“Three fingers in your cunt and a few minutes are all it would take for you to scream my name. And since I’m a gentleman, I’d leave your underwear on. There wouldn’t be a hair out of place. You’d walk out of here without anyone knowing you just had the best orgasm of your life, because you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” He rocks his hips forward, and I feel the brush of his hard cock against the inside of my thigh. “But maybe tonight you’d like to be my little slut.”

“Shh, baby. You can’t let anyone hear you. I don’t want to get in trouble. Can you be good for me?”

“When I play with things I like, I make sure to have my way with them.” “Does that mean you like me?” “Oh, Maxine.” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, mouth right at the pulse point on my neck. “That’s one way to put it.”

“My last name? My favorite food? My credit card number so you can buy yourself whatever you want? I can give you the world if you let me, Maxine.”

I’ve always liked being on my knees, but I just found my favorite alter. My new house of worship, and she’s never going to be able to get rid of me.

“You should know something about me, angel. If you want it? Ask. I’ll give it to you. Do you want me to kiss you, Maxine?” “I think I’d like that,” she whispers, and I smile. “Please.” “With pleasure,” I purr, crashing my mouth against hers.

I’ve always been a determined motherfucker. Someone who goes after what he wants, and right now, the only thing I need is Maxine Walters. I need her like I need air, and I’m not going to stop until she’s mine.

“Might need to get some pearls or a diamond on the back of the other hand so I can dress you up when I’m gripping your throat. A pretty necklace for my needy slut.”

“I guess since the dictionary defines a serial killer as someone who’s killed three or more people in a month, I technically am. But I’m a good serial killer. I promise.” “There are good serial killers?” she shouts, raising another book to throw at my head. It’s alarming how much her feistiness turns me on.