25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Tyler

I t's eight-thirty in the evening. I'm at the back of Sweet DeNights, standing near the hole I made in the wall. Waiting.

Have been waiting for the past thirty minutes.

Since she wanted it to be a surprise, I walked up here from a back alley. I have no idea who her target is, or if they came in. I'm here, looking through the peephole with the hood of my black hoodie pulled over my head.

Watching.

Noises carry from inside.

Showtime.

"I've had my eye on you for a while, Ben." Dahlia's sweet saccharine voice reaches from behind the door separating the back-back room and the baking room.

"You have?" He doesn't sound incredulous .

He should. Should be thanking his lucky stars a girl like my Dahlia acknowledged his pathetic existence.

Well…

Maybe this particular man shouldn't.

"Of course." Dahlia giggles, then sighs dramatically. "Until you showed up with your girlfriend. Broke my heart to learn you were off-limits."

A surge of jealousy bursts in my stomach. Poisons my blood. It's worse than any other venom. This thing latches around my sanity and tugs. Hard.

I'm a stupid, territorial idiot for feeling that. I'm aware I am.

Dahlia and I discussed her victim this morning. She explained the situation. Why this man deserves a punishment. When he'd visit her shop without his girlfriend, Ben would talk to other women on the phone. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was cheating when he said things like I'd come to visit after the controlling bitch went to bed.

Cheating fucker.

Dahlia doesn't like him. She doesn't mean it when she opens the door for him and bats her lashes at this Ben fucker. She didn't wear a skin-tight black dress over her chastity belt to highlight her sexy-as-sin curves for him .

It's a trap. Just a trap.

I'm a jealous sonofabitch regardless.

"Off-limits?" He saunters inside Dahlia's death trap. "To you, sweet stuff?"

Sweet stuff ? The fuck ?

The vein in my throat pulses. Both of my hands flatten against the wall. Every muscle in my body poised to strike.

I won't. Won't make a sound.

"Are you sure?"

"Never." The hedge fund manager in his blue expensive suit makes a mistake. He turns his gaze from Dahlia to the room, examining it.

While she locks the door behind them.

His eyes roam over the old paint on the walls. The black tarp he's stepping on. The table with the three silver bowls that are being heated on the stove and the piping bags.

The entitled piece of shit has a smile cracking on his lips. He gets this isn't a part of her bakery.

My guess is, he thinks it's some sort of a sex dungeon. A kink room that he can brag about to his friends later.

He won't be bragging to anyone anymore. He won't be doing anything, anymore, period.

My woman has that covered.

"No one owns this cock." He grabs his junk as if it's fucking gold, and I seethe. The vulgar piece of shit doesn't care that he has his back to Dahlia. That she can't see his vile gesture. He doesn't need a crowd other than his repulsive self. "God made it perfect. And something this perfect isn't meant to be kept away. I'm just doing what my creator would've wanted. Spreading the love."

Spread the STDs more like it. I roll my eyes, wondering what douchebag school he picked that up from.

"Perfect? Is that right?" Dahlia remains behind him. Picks something up off the table .

A long, hard, wooden something. A rolling pin.

She doesn't strike, not yet. Her lips curl in disgust, a sentiment that doesn't reflect in her voice. Ben would never imagine she was about to attack him from the slow run of her fingernails on his neck.

If not for the jealousy flaring in my chest, it would've been easier to admire her. I'm impressed. This seductive predator is doing an amazing job of lowering her prey's defenses.

Except I am jealous.

She touches his skin, and I'm losing it. The need to bash his head in is as real as my love for her.

"Yes, baby." He licks his lips as he looks at the chair that's nailed to the floor. "Fucking perfect. You'll be screaming by the end of the night."

"I bet I would." Dahlia glances to the far-end corner of the room.

I change the angle I'm standing at to see what she's seeing. A freeze dryer. It's big enough to store one—two bodies, tops. This can't be where she stores them all.

Dozens of corpses would never fit in, no matter how well she'd arranged them.

"We can make it a weekly thing. You'll bake me those Paint It Red red velvet cupcakes of yours. I'll fuck you long and hard." Douchebag spins to her. Slowly. A well-practiced turn meant to seduce her. "What's that? You're into pegging? Kinky. I like that."

I'm shaking my head. This fucking guy. He can't see danger when it hits him in the face .

"Another day." Dahlia's sweet tongue peeks to swipe over her bottom lip. "Keep guessing. Get this one right, and I'll reward you."

Ben towers over her. Over my woman.

"Let's see." He tips her chin up. I'll have to bite her there later. Leave my mark and erase his, just like I erased Al's. Tell her cheating men and fake seductions are off fucking limits. I'm possessive, okay? Fuck. "Did I get so lucky to land myself a masochist? You want me to spank you?"

"Getting warm." My little savage is hidden by the Wall Street fucker. But I hear her smile. The viciousness of it gets my cock hard. "Go on."

"No." He throws her against the closed door. "Tell me or lose your clothes. I'm tired of this game."

"Have it your way." Dahlia doesn't stay still as she talks. She launches forward, nailing Ben in the balls with the rolling pin. In his precious package.

"Bitch." He staggers back. Doesn't stay there. He reaches for Dahlia's throat.

Every protective instinct in my body rebels against staying in place. I'm ready to sprint in case she needs me.

"Cheater." She doesn't need me at all. Dahlia spits on his face a second before hitting the side of Ben's head.

Her grin slashes across her face as his head snaps to the side.

From this angle, I have a clear view of his eyes rolling, then closing. He blacks out, making a loud thud when he tumbles to the floor and crashes .

This makes everything better. My heart swells in my chest. I'm so fucking proud of her. So turned on. I pin the front of my body to the wall. Rock my hips for the friction. I'll go insane another second without it.

"Being a rude piece of shit is a bad look, Ben-Ben." Dahlia drags his knocked-out body to a chair in the middle of the room. "It's gross. But isn't as gross as cheating on your girlfriend, right?"

She's whispering. She wouldn't have to on any other day. On any other day, I bet she'd laugh.

On any other day, she wouldn't have a hole drilled into her soundproofed room.

Ben, for obvious reasons, doesn't answer. She shrugs before moving him around. She hoists him effortlessly on the chair, arranges him to her liking, and ties his hands to the back of the chair.

Then she—

I'm two seconds from banging on the wall and demanding she stop. I knew this would happen. Back home, I said I was okay with it. Understood why she had to do it.

But fuck. How does watching her unbuckle his belt, lowering the zipper, madden and get me hot all at once?

This isn't sexual for her. I have to keep reminding myself of that. And it works, especially with the clinical way she does it.

Dahlia puts on a pair of gloves and heads back to Ben to remove his pants and black designer briefs. Then her lips twist in disgust .

Yes, she's committed to going through with it. However, and that's a big one, she hates this part as much as I do. Maybe even more.

I'm going to make it up to you, beautiful, I vow in my head. Going to give you all the cock you want. Anywhere you'd like. You won't remember this shitface by the time I'm done with you.

"There." Dahlia throws away her gloves. Earlier today, she confided in me that she hates wearing them. Makes her feel more like a surgeon than her true self. "Almost ready."

In almost , she means Ben's missing the duct tape on his mouth.

"Now, we're all set." Another whisper before she grabs a bottle of water, unscrews the top, and lets the water rain down Ben's head. "Time for the party to start."

Two things happen at once. His eyes snap open and my girl's smile returns.

This right here is worth everything. The joy on her face when she's about to dig her claws into her prey gives me life. It's a breath of fresh, intoxicating air.

She keeps emptying the bottle on him. His hair sticks to his forehead. The navy of his suit jacket turns a shade darker.

"Mmm-mm-mm." Predictably, Ben thrashes and screams against his restraints. "Mmm!"

"Mmm," my angel of death mocks him. "You won't be running your filthy mouth tonight." A slap to his swelling forehead. "I won't say much, either. Just the stuff you need to know."

His nostrils flare, his damp hair sliding from left to right. "Mmm! "

"Did you hear me before?" Dahlia's hair whips behind her when she whirls effortlessly. "When I called you a cheater?"

She glides with so much grace toward the table, turns off the first stove, and grabs the handles of one of the bowls. My little savage transforms into the ballerina of this slaughterhouse. It's such a fucking turn-on that I can't help but thrust my cock into the wall.

"Well, I did call you that. And I don't like cheaters." No sound comes from her sneakers as she pads across the tarp. "Except, ugh." Her pout punctuates her fake sadness. "I can't blame you, can I? You have a hungry cock. Must be starving, the way you've been acting."

This doesn't soothe Ben. Moreover, when his eyes flicker lower. When he realizes he's naked from the waist down. His leg muscles bulge in his attempts to free himself. He's screaming into the duct tape.

"Don't worry, Ben. I'll feed it." Dahlia moves to stand to his side, holding the bowl close to her chest. "I'll feed your dick. It'll never go hungry again."

Boiling, sticky amber liquid cascades down the bowl and hits its target. Ben's penis. The liquid covers his dick, his balls, his inner thighs. Though I'm farther than I would've liked, I'm able to catch the moment the liquid begins to turn into solid and mold into the shape of Ben's genitals.

He screams, his body convulsing.

Though I don't care for that. It's Dahlia's red smile that has precum wetting the tip of my cock.

"Caramel for appetizers." She pats Ben's shoulder, blatantly ignoring the fact that his eyes are bulging out of their sockets. That his nostrils flare with each muted scream. "Guess what goes really well with caramel?"

The center of the duct tape on Ben's mouth is being pushed forward. His Adam's apple works. The sounds he's making—he's gagging.

Fuck, she's good. As I rub my length along the hard wall of the building, I'm thankful I didn't barge in and end this. This shit is priceless.

For the longest time, I've hated this for her.

I don't hate it anymore. This right here feels like everything bad that's ever happened to us has happened for a reason. It was meant to bring us to this place in time. To force us into being this version of us.

We aren't doomed.

We were made to be killers. And neither one of us is dying anytime soon.

Sure, I would've preferred to have our families around us. But these are the cards we were dealt with.

Can't say I'm disappointed.

"You're a special one, Ben." Dahlia looks him over her shoulder while she switches off the second stove. "That's why I prepared two, not one, types of chocolate on top of the caramel. So you won't"—she ambles to him with the bowl—"go"—tilts it toward his groin—"hungry. Ta-da! Milk chocolate incoming."

Heated brown liquid gushes down like a waterfall on Ben's dick. His muscles strain and thrash. His head snaps back. The veins on his neck bulge.

The duct tape doesn't break. What happens is the vomit goes up and back down his throat. Some comes out of his nose .

"No passing out." Dahlia discards the bowl to the floor and slaps Ben's face. "I have more to give you. You don't get to check out just yet."

Her next steps are rushed. Dahlia comes back a third time, dropping a healthy load of white chocolate on what's left of Ben's cock. He's barely moving, and yet she doesn't stop.

This gorgeous, meticulous woman squeezes frosting from the piping bag on top of the white chocolate. She starts with a wide circle around it, then smaller and smaller ones until everything's covered.

"For the grand finale." Ben's dead already. It's obvious from how his fingers dangle lifelessly on the arms of the chair and his chest doesn't rise and fall. Doesn't mean that Dahlia's going to miss out on the fun she had planned for him. "Heat to glue it all together."

She snatches a butane torch from the table and, with one click, there's fire.

I can't take this anymore. I swore to myself I wouldn't come without her. I wanted every ounce of this sexual energy to explode inside Dahlia, to fill her up with it.

It will. I could come a hundred times tonight, and I'd still have so much of whatever this is. For a whole night. A year. A lifetime. Watching her—stalking her—has every need and every desire bursting at the seams.

A quick glance to either side confirms I'm alone back here. There's no prickling sensation at the back of my neck. No lingering sensation that someone is lurking in a dark corner.

I'm the only one out here. And—fuck, does it feel good to unbutton my jeans and shove a hand down my briefs. While Dahlia happily sets Ben's penis on fire, I fist my cock. I fuck my hand hard, but it doesn't come close to what I need.

I need inside her.

A few more hours, and I'll have her. Just not now.

Stroking myself will have to do. I pump and squeeze and bite my lip while Dahlia's in that room, releasing Ben's lifeless body. My cock jerks in my hand when Dahlia rips off the duct tape from Ben's mouth and hops back to avoid Ben's vomit.

But it's when she reaches for a butcher's knife that this thing happens to me.

This isn't a feeling, what's going on in my stomach.

I'm so in love with her that I can't breathe. That's what it is.

Witnessing her strip a man of his clothes, then begin to peel off his skin is surreal.

No, it's much more than that.

It's everything.

As she removes the skin off Ben's shoulders, my orgasm pummels through me and I come on my hand with a choked groan. I'm not relieved by it. There's no real release, despite the amount of cum that covers my hand and lower abdomen. I have to have Dahlia.

And I have to wait.

I've never hated anything more in my life, but I can't barge in. I don't want to ruin this. This is her show. Next time, I'll be a part of it. Today, I'm a spectator.

Her stalker .

Okay. Deep breath. I'm fine. I tuck myself in. Stay in place for the time it takes her to strip Ben of one patch of skin at a time. Into a huge silver bowl each slab of skin goes.

He's a pile of muscle, bone, and blood once she's done. Dahlia doesn't say a word while she shoves Ben's skin to the side and gets to work on his flesh.

I fall harder and deeper every second that passes. Every moment she detaches flesh from bone. She wraps them in nylon, and now I get why she needs the freeze dryer. For the meat.

Sounds of dogs whining and their tails flapping cut into the silent night. Dahlia's taken Ben's bones in plastic bags down a secret door to a basement.

"That's why you're out here?" I whisper at the pack of strays Dahlia's responsible for. "You've been protecting my woman in case she gets in trouble?"

The five of them surround me. Their damp noses sniff my jeans for food, their eyes demanding that I give them something. I'm kind of mad at myself for forgetting them this evening.

Only I didn't forget. They haven't asked for food the last few times.

They won't go hungry for long.

"Sorry, guys." I rub each of them behind their ears, which seems to satisfy them. "Dahlia will be out soon. You'll get your dinner then, promise."

The door next to me bursts open. My heart slams against my ribs and I whip my head to look at her .

Dahlia stands in the doorway, her hair high up in a bun, her dress sitting perfectly on her body. There's not a drop of blood on her face.

She's perfect. She's here and, fuck, I love her.

Her red smile widens when I don't say anything. "Hey, handsome."

"Hey, beautiful." I start for her—me and the dogs—and stop.

She's holding a silver bowl in her hands. The biggest one I've ever seen.

Wrong. I have seen this bowl.

"Is this him?"

"It's dinner." Her fangs are white against the red lipstick she reapplied inside.

So this is what I've been missing out on.

The dogs growl, shoving Dahlia with their noses. She places the bowl on the ground and steps back. The dogs fight each other over it, each of them grabbing a piece and gobbling them.

"You've been feeding them human skin?" I move in on her. One hand cups her cheek and tilts her head up. The other skims low to feel the chastity belt. To cup her. "That's how you made them disappear?"

"The skin, yes." She grips the front of my hoodie. "The bones are in a freezer in the basement. I feed it to them in small portions over the rest of the year."

"Little savage." After shoving her chastity belt to her cunt, I raise my hand to hers, forcing her palm to my dick. Pressing my forehead to hers. "I just came all over my hand watching you. And look what you're doing to me. How hard I am for you. I could fuck you through the nig—no, screw that—through the whole goddamn year. Still wouldn't be enough. Fuck, I want you. Fuck, I need you. I don't know how I survived without you. I never will again. And now this belt. Motherfucker. I need this cunt. Need to make you come. Your fingers in my hair. Your nails drawing blood. My blood. Fuck ."

Her lips part. An invitation I eagerly accept as I kiss and taste her. I slide an arm around her back and yank her to my front. Haul her up my body, and her legs know what to do. They find their home around my waist. So close my cock presses to her soft belly.

Her arms sling around my neck, and she kisses me back, licks and bites me.

"Tyler." Her breaths are labored. Words clipped between one desperate kiss and the other. "There's more."

"The flesh." My fingers dive deeper into her hair, making a mess of her neat bun. I shove her into the wall, tilting my head for a better angle. But since it's important to her, I still ask, "Why are you freeze drying it, baby?"

"Well…"

The hesitation in her voice gives me pause. We stop kissing, doing nothing except staring into each other's eyes.

"I didn't give you any," is what she chooses to start with.

I frown. "Should I be offended?"

"That I didn't turn you into a cannibal? No." When she giggles, my heart soars. "I haven't turned anyone else into one, either. Unless you're interested. In that case, I can make an exception. "

"Maybe next time." It's a joke. Slamming into her body isn't. Drowning in the depths of the oceans in her eyes is the most serious thing I've ever done. "So? What happens to them?"

"Promise not to tell?" she asks. As if the answer isn't obvious.

"I'm a gentleman." As long as she wants to play, I'll always be here to entertain her. "I would never."

"A crazy, awesome gentleman." She brushes a kiss to my chin. Gazes into my eyes. She's proud of what she'll have to say next. "I wait for the morning."

"Why?"

"That's how you grind it into powder in the food processor. When it's dry."

I want to caress her skin with my lips. Nibble the sweet skin on her neck. But this moment is too important for me to look anywhere else but her eyes.

"M-hmm."

"I sprinkle it in the dog food bowls I give those guys." The corners of her lips tick up. Only when she smiles, I realize that I've been smiling too this whole time. "That's it. The bad guys are gone."

Dahlia doesn't ask if I'm mad. If I'm repulsed by her or never want to see her again.

She doesn't, because none of these emotions flash across my face. Because I crush my lips to hers, let her steal every last breath I have in my lungs. I show her I love the person she is by hugging her, then helping her clean and close up.

She's mine. Whatever she does, whatever makes her happy, that's who she'll be.

I'll never want her any other way.