Page 12 of Slaying for Sloan
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath.
The snow has transformed the little town into something even more dreamlike. The buildings are getting harder to see through the thickening snowflakes, but the twinkling holiday lights are like magic as they illuminate the copious amounts of holiday decor scattered throughout the streets.
My mind wanders back to Alex as I get lost in the falling flakes. He transformed into something unfamiliar. Something that makes me ache in places I didn't know could ache. Places that still pulse with the memory of his touch, his teeth.
God, histeeth.
The thought of his teeth makes me press my thighs together as I force myself to walk, trying to ease the ache that's building again. The way he scraped them across the most sensitive parts of me…Fuck.
If he could be like this all the time... God, maybe Icouldhandle his parents' constant judgment, their unveiled disapproval. Maybe I could deal with his mom’s passive-aggressive comments about my background and her blatant remarks about other women from "good families." Perhaps I could stomach his father's dismissive glances, the way helooks at me like I'm some temporary amusement his son will eventually outgrow.
Because that version of Alex? The one who grabbed me like he'd die if he didn't taste me right that second? That version doesn't give a fuck about any of it. That version would probably bend me over his mother's precious marble countertops without a second thought.
The image hits me so hard I have to stop walking for a moment, bracing myself against a brick wall. The rough texture grounds me, helps me focus on something other than the heat pooling low in my stomach. Snow melts against my ungloved hands, but I barely notice the cold. All I can feel is the memory of his tongue on my pussy.
I push off from the wall and keep moving, my boots leaving a trail of footprints that's already being erased by fresh snow. The wind is picking up, carrying away the sweet scent of Holly Grove. Somewhere in the distance the church bell rings, the sound muffled by the falling snow. The service is over and people will be flooding the streets soon. Midnight mass is over by now and they’ll be going out for hot cocoa and Christmas Eve festivities before returning home for the night.
He's still out here, stalking me. The thought alone makes my heart race faster. Is he as worked up as I am? Is he thinking about what just happened, about how webothlost control? Or has he already regained his composure, already locked that wild animal back in its cage?
God, I hope not.
I round another corner, realizing I've wandered into an even more unfamiliar part of town. The buildings here are older, their windows dark except for the occasional Christmas light display. The storefronts have a slightly shabby charm-a used bookstore with frost-edged windows, a vintage clothing shopwith mannequins draped in velvet and lace, a tiny café with chairs stacked on tables visible through the glass.
Two guys are standing beneath the café's awning, sharing a cigarette. They notice me immediately-of course they do. I'm the only other person crazy enough to be out in this weather. The ember of their shared cigarette glows bright orange in the darkness, like a tiny warning beacon, but I ignore it.
"Excuse me," I call out, already regretting the decision as their eyes rake over me. One tall and lean, the other shorter but broad, both wearing leather jackets despite the cold. "Can you point me toward the church?"
The taller one takes a long drag of his cigarette, smoke curling from his lips as his thin lips curve into a smile. His teeth are sharply white against the darkness. "Sure thing, sweetheart. You lost?"
"Just turned around in the snow," I say, keeping my distance. But the shorter one closes it anyway, stepping forward until I can smell the cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket, mixed with something sweeter-whiskey, maybe.
"It's dangerous for a pretty thing like you to be out alone this late," he says, reaching out to touch my waist. I step back quickly, but his hand follows, fingers grazing the soft fabric of my coat. His touch is nothing like Alex's-where Alex burned, this man's touch leaves an uneasy wave of chills jolting through my body.
"You should let us walk you there," the taller one adds, his smile growing wider as he flicks ash into the snow. "Keep you safe, you know?"
"I'm good, thanks." I take another step back, but my mind isn't really here with these two. It's back with Alex, wondering how far behind me he is. Wondering what he'd do if he saw another man's hands on me right now. The thought sends another shiver through me-half fear, half something elseentirely. "Just point me in the right direction." My voice is flat and firm.
The shorter one holds up his hands in mock surrender, but his eyes are still undressing me. I can feel them like phantom touches, making my skin crawl. Raising his finger and pointing, he says, "Three blocks that way, then left for two more. Can't miss it."
I'm already walking away before he finishes speaking, their muttered comments fading into the snowy night behind me. Something about "stuck up bitch" and "her loss," but I don't care enough to make out the rest.
Letthem look.Letthem want. They don't matter.Noneof it matters.
Because somewhere in this snow-covered town, Alex is hunting me. And maybe, just maybe, I want to be caught. Iwantto see what’s going to happen when he forces me to my knees in the snow. I want to find out just how dark his darkness goes.
I pick up my pace, snow crunching beneath my feet. My heart is pounding again, but not from fear. From anticipation. From the endless possibilities of what he’ll do to me in an empty church on Christmas Eve night.
From knowing that something has shifted tonight, irreversibly. That we've crossed some invisible line, and there's no going back.
And God help me, I don't want to go back. I want torunforward, full speed, into whatever storm is coming.
Into his darkness.
Chapter Eight
ASHER
Iwatch her walk away, her hips swaying in that way that makes my blood run hot. She doesn’t even realize the two assholes under the café’s awning are practically drooling over her. My fists clench at my sides as I catch their murmured comments. They’re not subtle. Not even close. And when that tall fuck touched her?