10. Silas

10

SILAS

I pull up to Clara’s house, the engine of my Audi purring to silence. The roses rest in my lap—blood red, a dozen perfect blooms. Their thorns press against my thigh through the wrapping, but I barely register the sensation. Pain has always been an abstract concept to me.

“Eight o’clock sharp,” I murmur checking my Rolex. Punctuality is next to godliness, and I am nothing if not divine.

Clara opens the door before I reach it. Her face flickers with something - fear? Uncertainty? - when she spots the roses. Fascinating. Such a visceral reaction to such a mundane gesture. I catalog it away for analysis.

“More flowers?” Her voice wavers. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to.” I extend the bouquet, studying how her fingers grasp the wrapper as she accepts them. “Beautiful things deserve beautiful gifts.”

She cradles the roses awkwardly as if they might bite. If only she knew how many hours I spent selecting each perfect bloom and arranging them just so. The symmetry speaks to the order I bring to chaos. The red echoes the blood of my latest masterpiece, though she doesn’t know that connection yet.

“Let me put these in water,” she says, retreating into her house.

I follow, uninvited. I track her to the kitchen. She has a vase ready next to the one holding my previous bouquet. Those flowers are still fresh, perfectly preserved, just like my victims.

“You kept the others.” Pride swells in my chest. She’s learning to appreciate my gifts, even if she doesn’t understand their significance.

“Yes, well...” She busies herself with the vase, avoiding my gaze. “They’re lovely. Thank you.”

Poor Clara is so conflicted by her attraction to darkness. I’ll help her embrace it.

I guide Clara to my car, savoring how her curves are so perfectly framed in her dress. The memory of my latest victims in their choir robes floods my mind, but I push it aside. Tonight requires focus.

“I made reservations at Antonio’s,” I say, opening her door. Her eyes light up—exactly the reaction I anticipated after tracking her credit card purchases for months. The small pizzeria appears in her bank statements anytime she visits her dad.

“That’s my favorite place.” She slides into the leather seat, her dress riding up her thigh. “How did you know?”

I shrug, circling to the driver’s side. “Lucky guess.”

The drive takes seven minutes. I count each second, measuring her breathing against the ticking of my watch. She fidgets with her purse strap—a sign of excitement rather than nervousness. That’s good. The fear can come later.

Antonio’s glows warm against the winter night, strings of white lights framing the windows. Clara practically bounces in her seat as we park. Such innocent enthusiasm. It would be touching if I were capable of being touched.

The hostess leads us to a corner booth—the one I specifically requested for its poor surveillance camera coverage. Clara doesn’t notice how I position myself to block the camera’s view of her face. She’s too busy scanning the menu she surely knows by heart.

“I can’t believe you chose this place,” she says. “Most guys try to impress with fancy restaurants.”

“I prefer authenticity.” The word tastes like ash in my mouth. “Besides, the best conversations happen over comfort food.”

She beams at me, unaware I’ve orchestrated every moment of this evening. Being here at her favorite restaurant and booth is all by my design. My chest tightens with anticipation. Soon, she’ll understand how perfectly we fit together, how I can satisfy the darkness she tries to deny.

The waiter approaches, and Clara orders her usual Margherita pizza without looking at the menu. Just as I knew she would.

The waiter brings our wine. Her lipstick leaves a perfect crimson mark on the glass—like the stains my victims leave behind.

I slide closer to Clara, the leather booth creaking beneath me. Her perfume fills my nostrils—vanilla and jasmine, pure temptation. The candlelight dances across her face as she takes another sip of wine, her third glass. The alcohol has painted her cheeks a delightful shade of pink.

“You seem tense.” I rest my hand on the booth behind her shoulders, not quite touching. “Long day at work?”

She shifts, her thigh brushing against mine. The contact sends electricity through my veins. “Just... complicated cases.”

“Ah yes, your fascinating work.” I lean in, dropping my voice. “Tell me, Clara, what draws you to study the minds of killers?”

Her breath catches. I watch her pupils dilate, drinking in the sight of her arousal warring with unease. Perfect.

“I...” She wets her lips. “Sometimes I think there’s something wrong with me. The way I’m drawn to darkness.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you.” I trace my finger along the rim of my wine glass. “We all have shadows inside us. Some of us just aren’t afraid to look deeper.”

Clara turns toward me, our faces inches apart. “And what about your shadows, Silas?”

I cup her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my thumb. “Oh, sweetheart, my shadows would devour you whole.”

She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into my touch, proving every calculation I’ve made about her correct. The waiter approaches with our food, and I reluctantly release her, though I keep my thigh pressed firmly against hers.

“Maybe I want to be devoured,” she whispers so quietly I almost miss it.

My fingers twitch with the urge to wrap around her throat again.

A flush creeps up her neck, spreading across her skin like a fever. My thumb moves to her pulse point, feeling her erratic heartbeat. I want to press harder—to feel her fragile and fleeting life pulse against my fingers. Instead, I trace the delicate arch of her jaw, my fingertips skimming her skin.

“You like danger, Clara. Embrace it.” I bend closer, my breath grazing her ear. “Tell me your darkest desires.”

She swallows, her throat moving against my palm. “I—I can’t.”

But she wants to. Oh, how she wants to. My thumb finds that sweet spot beneath her jaw, coaxing her head back with gentle menace until her throat lies exposed and defenseless before me.

“Are you afraid I’ll judge you, Clara?” I murmur, my lips hovering above her pulse. “Or are you afraid of what you’ll do if I don’t?”

Her eyes flutter shut as my fingers tighten on her neck. I can feel her pulse thrumming beneath my fingertips, counting down the moments until she confesses. The restaurant noise fades away, leaving only us in this dark, secret world we’ve created.

“Sometimes I think about...” She pauses, her chest rising with a shaky breath. “I want to be controlled. Completely dominated.”

Her confession sparks a hot rush of need throughout my body. I slide my hand into her hair, tangling my fingers in the soft strands, and pull her head back further, baring her throat.

Her tender cry of surrender envelops me, and I revel in it like a man lost in the wilderness finally finding water.

“Go on.” My voice is rougher now, the edges of my control fraying.

“I want to be taken,” she whispers. “Forced. Tied up and helpless.” She swallows again, the tendon in her throat working against my fingers. “And I want to like it.”

Her cheeks are flushed, eyes burning with shame and desire. It’s a heady combination—I want to drink it from her like fine wine, savoring every drop.

“You should never be ashamed of your desires.” My lips brush her earlobe, and she trembles. “Especially when I share them.”

I release her neck and sit back. Taking her hand in mine, I press it to my erect cock gently. Her eyes widen as she feels my hardness, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans closer, her breath coming in short gasps.

“Do you know what I want to do to you, Clara?” My voice is hoarse, thick with need. “I want to tie you up. Make you beg.” I run my fingers along her jaw, down her neck, and lower until I cup her breast. She gasps as I squeeze gently, rolling her tight bud between my fingers. “I want to hear you scream my name as you come, over and over, until you have no voice left.”

So soft. So eager. I suppress a snarl as Clara squeezes me through my pants. My cock twitches, a primal response to her touch. Her fingers are confident, uninhibited. I’ve unleashed a monster and set free her dark desires.

The thought sends a rush of satisfaction through me, but I can’t indulge it for long. Not yet. I gently pry her hand away, entwining our fingers as I kiss her knuckles. Her lips part, her breath coming in short gasps, and I know she’s imagining what could have been. What will it be?

“Tonight isn’t the night.” I lean closer, whispering against her ear. “I play the long game, Clara.”

Her eyes flutter open, confusion flashing across her face. She’s not used to being denied, I can tell. Good. Let her squirm a little.

“But I want?—”

“You want many things.” I stroke her hair, gently pulling the pins loose so her blonde curls spill over her shoulders. The wildness suits her. “And soon, you shall have them all.”

Her pupils dilate, and her breathing turns shallow. A shudder racks her body as my fingers dance along her neck, down to the neckline of her dress. So much delicacy, so much restraint this silk demands of me. I want to tear it away, to unleash the chaos beneath. But I won’t give in to such base impulses. Not yet.

“I have rules, Clara,” I continue; placing a light kiss on her shoulder. “A gentleman never fucks on the second date.”

She shivers at the crude word, her chest heaving. “But what if I don’t want a gentleman?”

A dark laugh rumbles in my chest. “Everyone wants a gentleman, Clara. They just don’t realize it.” I move closer, my lips brushing her ear. “A true gentleman knows exactly how to give you what you want.”

Her eyelids flutter as I graze her neck with my teeth, my hands still firmly holding hers. She’s on the edge now, balancing desire and restraint. It’s what makes this game so intoxicating.

“What do you want, Clara?” I ask, nipping at her skin, knowing she’s holding back a whimper. “What do you want?”

“I want you,” she breathes, her fingers tightening in mine. “I want this tension to end.”

“And it will.” I pull away just enough to meet her eyes, letting her see the promise burning in mine. “When the time is right.”

“Tell me it’s soon.” Her voice drops to a sultry whisper, and I hear the edge of desperation. “Please.”

A shiver runs through me, and for a moment, the hunter becomes the hunted. That little word, dripping with need, winds its way around me like a chain. It takes all my control not to give in, to ravish her right here in the restaurant. But no, anticipation is key. The longer she waits, the sweeter the pleasure when it finally breaks.

“I’ll make you wait,” I murmur, savoring the satisfaction that sparks in her eyes. “I’ll drag this out until you’re begging for release.”

Her lips part, a delicate pink invitation, and I know she’s holding back a dozen questions. How long? What will I do? Will it hurt?

I smirk, feeling utterly invincible. “I want you off-balance, Clara. It’s where you’ll find the most delight.”

“I... I don’t understand.” Her brow furrows, confusion warring with desire. Such a delectable blend of emotions. I’ve never encountered a woman who inspires such intricate tapestries of feeling within me. It truly is... magnificent.

The confusion in her eyes stirs my protective instincts, surprising even myself. I remind myself that her confusion is a necessary step in our dance. She’ll understand, in time, that all my actions are grounded in an attempt to bring her closer to her true self and show her that she is just as dark and deviant as I am.

“I want to unravel you, layer by layer.” I lower my voice, letting each word fall like a promise. “Letting you have everything at once would be a disservice; to both of us.”

Her breath catches, and she parts her lips, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “But I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“This beautiful torment,” I rasp, my grip becoming a steel trap as my thumb teases her sensitive skin. “suspended between craving and satisfaction—that’s where you bloom for me.”

She leans toward me, her eyes half-lidded with desire. “So, what now? How do we get our magic?”

“Oh, we’ll get it.” I smile, leaning closer, letting my lips brush hers. “But first... I think it’s time we left. Don’t you?”