23. Clara

23

CLARA

I stare at Silas, my heart pounding against my ribs. Each measured breath pulls his shirt tighter across his muscles, and my fingers itch to trace the dangerous landscape beneath. The room feels electric with tension. A voice in my head screams that I should run, call James, and end this madness. But I can’t move. Don’t want to move.

“Please,” I whisper, reaching out to touch his arm. “Choose me instead.”

Those lethal blue eyes claim mine with the intensity of a shark scenting blood. “You know what I am now.”

“I’ve always known, deep down.” The confession tears from my throat. “Ever since that first body, something felt familiar. Like the Songbird murders when I was young.”

Silas steps closer, his heat enveloping me. “Those murders shaped you. Made you fascinated with killers like me.”

“Yes.” My voice breaks. “I should be terrified. Should turn you in. But I...” I trail off, unable to voice the twisted truth.

“But you want me.” His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my lower lip. “Even knowing what I’ve done. What I’m capable of.”

I lean into his touch, shame, and desire warring inside me. “I’m insane.”

“No.” His grip tightens. “You’re perfect. Every kill was for you, Clara. To draw you out. Show you who you are.”

“Then stop.” I clutch his shirt. “You don’t need to kill anymore. You have me.”

Silas’s breath catches. His other hand wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him. “If that’s what you want. But right now...” His voice drops to a growl. “I need you.”

“Yes,” I breathe, already melting into him, my body betraying any last shred of sanity.

Silas's hands are on me, tearing at my clothes, and I'm not stopping him. The heat in his eyes leaves no room for doubt: he wants me right here. My body betrays any sense of self-preservation I have left, craving his touch, his possession.

My fingers find the buttons of his shirt, fumbling in my desperation to feel his skin against mine. Each revealed inch of his inked chest makes me burn hotter, hungrier. When I can't undo them fast enough, I grab both sides and pull, sending buttons scattering across the floor. The sound of their tiny impacts is lost in our heavy breathing.

My dress is gone in an instant, tossed aside like discarded prey. I push his shirt off his shoulders, needing to feel more of him, to mark him as he marks me. He grabs my hips, pulling me back towards the kitchen counter, the cool granite a stark contrast to our fevered bodies. Our lips crash together, tongues tangling in a savage dance, skin against skin, heat against heat.

I feel his cock, hard and thick, pressing against my entrance. “You want this, Clara?” he growls. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“Yes.” The word is a plea, a declaration of surrender. “Please, Silas. I need you.”

He thrusts into me, filling me in one smooth stroke. I cry out, pleasure and pain mixing as he stretches me around his length. His hands grip my hips tightly, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"You crave this helplessness, don't you?" he breathes against my ear. "Being at the mercy of someone who could destroy you."

The truth tears from my throat. "Yes... I need it."

He withdraws completely before filling me again. "Your cunt weeps for me. For the violence, for the darkness?"

"Everything about you," I confess. "Everything we share."

He laughs is pure darkness. “My devoted little slut. Always so eager to please.”

I come apart at his words, my body shaking as pleasure crashes over me. Silas doesn’t stop, pounding into me relentlessly, his grunts mixing with my frantic cries.

Silas pounds into me, his thrusts relentless, merciless. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place as he claims my body with fierce possession. I can feel the intensity of his desire, the force of his need in each brutal stroke. His words are filthy, whispered against my ear, making my core clench around him.

“You’re a fucking whore for the darkness, Clara,” he growls. “And I love you for it. I’ll always give you what you need. I’ll always be the one to take you there.”

Hearing him say those words—that he loves me—while he takes me with such raw, animalistic hunger sends me careening over the edge. My release crashes through me, leaving me trembling and boneless against the counter. I’m overwhelmed, not just by the intensity of the orgasm, but by the depth of my feelings for this man.

Every psychological principle I’ve ever studied condemns this feeling, yet I am drowning in desire for a man who paints his love letters in blood and bodies. After only eight days of knowing him, is it possible to feel this way?

But Silas has known me longer. Weeks of following me, studying me, peeling back every layer of my psyche. He recognized the darkness I tried to hide even from myself, saw past my carefully constructed walls to the twisted desires beneath.

"Look how beautiful you are when you stop fighting it," he growls, his voice thick with triumph. "Every defense stripped away, every pretense shattered. I knew from the first moment what you could become."

Each syllable caresses my skin with dangerous intent, reminding me I’ve voluntarily stepped into the lion’s den. My secrets, my desires, my body—they’re all laid bare before him. And instead of fear, I feel a strange sense of peace. I trust him with the darkest parts of myself.

Silas slips out of me, leaving me wanting and needing more. Without a word, he lifts me into his arms as if I weigh nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist, my head resting on his shoulder. I feel exposed and vulnerable in this position but trust him to keep me safe.

He carries me to the sofa and gently sets me down, his eyes never leaving mine. There’s a softness in his gaze, a tenderness that takes my breath away. He’s seeing me, truly seeing me, not as a victim, not as a plaything, but as a woman.

He pushes my hair back from my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “You’re beautiful, Clara.”

I swallow, my voice thick with emotion. “So are you.”

He smiles a small, intimate smile that makes my heart flip. Then, with a gentleness that takes my breath away, he enters me again. His movements are slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine.

It’s different this time. There’s no rush, no urgency. Each thrust is a caress, a sensation that builds until it consumes me. I feel cherished, adored, loved.

He leans in, his lips brushing mine. “I’m not done with you yet.”

A shiver runs through me at his words, desire pooling between my legs once more. I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, taking in every reaction, every expression that flits across my face. I wonder if he can see how he’s affecting me and touching me, not just physically but on a deeper level.

I tug him closer, needing to feel the warmth of his skin against mine. Our lips meet, and we kiss slowly, tenderly, tasting each other and exploring. My hands roam his back, relishing the feel of his muscles under my fingers.

His thrusts become more insistent, his breathing ragged. I can feel his passion, desire, and something more—a deep, underlying connection beyond the physical. It’s as if our souls are touching, intertwining in this moment.

My orgasm builds slowly, like a tide rolling in, until it washes over me with irresistible force. I cry out, my body arching against his, my fingers digging into his back. His ragged breath scorches my neck as he floods me with his release.

We stay like that momentarily, our hearts pounding in unison, our bodies still joined. Our connection feels like a sinister symphony finding its completing note, a haunting melody that was always meant to be whole.

His kiss lands with deceptive gentleness. “I’m not letting you go,” he murmurs.

I smile, tracing the contours of his face with my fingers. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

He grins, looking impossibly handsome, and suddenly, the weight of what’s happening hits me. I’ve just confessed my feelings to a serial killer, a man who has murdered in my name. But instead of fear, I feel a rush of exhilaration. I’ve never felt this alive, this consumed by another person.

I trace patterns on Silas’s chest, my mind racing despite the post-coital haze. The question burns in my throat until I can’t hold it back anymore.

“How did you find me?” My fingers brush against his skin. “Why were you watching me?”

His chest rises with a deep breath. “You were hunting me in New York.”

My blood runs cold. The pieces click into place – the surgical precision, the mathematical angles, the signature details I could never quite pinpoint.

“The Broadway Butcher.” The notorious killer’s moniker falls from my lips like a curse. “Three years of profiling, tracking, theorizing... and you were watching me search.”

“You got closer than anyone ever had.” His fingers trail down my arm. “Your profile was remarkable. You understood parts of me I hadn’t even acknowledged.”

I push up onto my elbow, staring at him. “You disappeared. The killings just stopped.”

“Because I saw you.” Those electric-blue eyes snare mine with a hunter’s focus. “Late one night at the precinct, poring over my case files. The way your breath caught when you studied the crime scene photos. The darkness in your eyes that matched my own.”

My chest tightens. “So you started following me.”

“I couldn’t stop myself.” His hand cups my face. “You consumed my thoughts. Your fascination with killers, your secret desires – everything about you pulled me in deeper.”

“And now?” I ask, my heart pounding.

“Now you’re mine.” His grip tightens possessively. “Just as I’m yours.”

The confession should terrify me, but it doesn’t—it sends a thrill through my body. The case that haunted my career, the killer I could never catch—he’s been watching me, wanting me, crafting elaborate murders just to draw me in.

I trace my fingers along Silas’s chest, the question burning in my mind. “How can this work? I can’t let you keep killing innocent people.”

His muscles tense beneath my touch. “You think I only kill innocents?”

“The choir members?—”

“Were covering up abuse at the church.” His voice turns cold. “The priest was molesting children. They knew. Did nothing.”

My breath catches. “What?”

“I do my research, Clara.” His fingers trail down my spine. “The partridge victim? Beat his wife into a coma last year. Walked free on a technicality.”

“And the others?”

“Each one harbored dark secrets. The kind that slip through the cracks of your precious justice system.” He shifts, pulling me closer. “I won’t stop killing. It’s who I am. But together...” His lips brush my ear. “We could choose them. The ones who deserve it.”

My training screams at me to reject this, but another part that’s seen countless monsters walk free whispers something different. “Like who?”

“Child abusers. Rapists who buy their way out of prison. The true monsters hiding behind money and power.” His hand cups my face. “Your knowledge of cases, my skills—we could deliver real justice.”

“That’s not justice,” I whisper, but my conviction wavers.

“Isn’t it?” His thumb traces my lower lip. “How many cases have you lost because the system failed? How many victims never saw their abusers pay?”

Images flash through my mind—crying children, broken women, destroyed families. Cases that ended in acquittals despite overwhelming evidence.

“I can’t—” But the words stick in my throat.

“You already want to.” His voice drops lower. “I see it in your eyes. The same darkness that drew me to you.”

Silas’s fingers trace patterns on my skin. The question hanging in the air between us feels heavier than any confession of murder.

“Would you still want me if I wasn’t what I am?” His blue eyes pierce into mine. “If I was just another man without the darkness that draws you in?”

My throat tightens. The truth burns, but I can’t lie to him. Not now. “No.”

His grip on my hip tightens. “Why?”

“Because...” I swallow hard. “I’ve always been drawn to the forbidden. To men who could hurt me, who walk that line between control and chaos. It’s sick, but?—”

“It’s who you are.” His voice drops lower. “Just as killing is who I am.”

“Does it have to be?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

His hand slides up to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there. “What do you mean?”

“This darkness in you, this need to kill...” I meet his gaze. “What if there was another way to channel it?”

“Through you?” His lips curve into a predatory smile. “Fighting me in bed? Submitting to my control?”

“Yes.” My pulse races under his palm. “Let me be your outlet. Your prey.”

“It wouldn’t stop completely.” His grip tightens slightly. “But with you... maybe I wouldn’t need it as much. Having you fight me, resist me, then surrender...” He presses his body against mine. “It could be enough to quiet the urges.”

“I can help.” My voice is steady, filled with conviction. “I can give you an outlet for your darker urges. Channel your violence into something more controlled.”

Silas chuckles, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “Clara, my dear, if you saw what I’m capable of—the depths of my depravity—you wouldn’t be so eager to help.”

I swallow, my pulse quickening at the challenge in his eyes. “Try me.”

His thumb traces my jaw, his touch feather-light. “What if I told you that sometimes before I kill, I get hard? That the thought of taking a life arouses me?”

My breath catches, my body responding to his words despite my better judgment. “Go on.”

“And what if, after I kill, I stood over the body, covered in their blood, and stroked myself to completion?” His cock stirs inside me at the image he paints. “Would you still want to help me then? Or would you be fantasizing about watching me, about tasting the combination of our fluids on my skin?”

My cheeks flame, but I meet his gaze, refusing to back down. “I’d want to see it. All of it. I’d want to know every part of you, even the parts that scare me.”

He chuckles, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “Oh, I know you would, Clara. I’ve watched you. I know how your body craves the forbidden, how your pussy gets wet when you think about surrendering to your darkest desires.”

I can’t deny it. My arousal is plain to see, my body still twitching and throbbing around his semi-hard cock. “Maybe I would,” I whisper, my eyes dropping to his lips. “Maybe I’d want to rip your clothes off and fuck you right there, taste the blood and sweat on your skin.”

Silas’s eyes darken at my words, his cock throbbing inside me in response. He leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “I knew it. You want to explore those desires, don’t you? To let go of your inhibitions and embrace the darkness.”

My breath comes in short gasps as his cock stirs inside me. “Yes,” I breathe, my voice thick with desire. “I want it all, Silas. The danger, the forbidden, the taste of you on my tongue.”

He presses himself deeper into me, his cock hardening fully once more. “Then embrace it, Clara. Let yourself fall into the abyss with me. There’s no turning back once you do.”

I tilt my head back, exposing my throat as he nuzzles my neck, his lips brushing my skin. “I’m not afraid,” I whisper, even as butterflies take flight in my stomach. “I want this. I want you.”

He thrusts slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving mine. “Say it again,” he growls. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.” The word is a plea, a confession. “I want you, Silas. All of you. The darkness, the violence, the desires you think are too twisted to voice. I want to explore it all with you.”

He growls, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his grip on my hips tightening. “Then take me, Clara. Take all of me.”

I answer his challenge, my body moving to meet his, our hips slamming together in a savage rhythm. His fingers dig into my flesh, leaving marks that will bruise, but I don’t care. I want him to brand me, to leave his mark on my body, a testament to our forbidden union.

Our lips crash together, our tongues dueling as we taste each other, exploring. My hands roam his back, my nails scraping down his skin, marking him as mine. His breath comes in sharp gasps, mingling with my ragged pants as we move together, our bodies slick with sweat.

The tension builds, electric and all-consuming, until I shatter, crying out his name as pleasure crashes over me. Silas claims me with punishing force, his second release filling me as his desperate pants scorch my neck, and his grip threatens to leave marks I’ll find tomorrow.

We collapse together, our hearts pounding in unison, our breathing the only sound in the room. He kisses me softly, his lips brushing mine with unspoken promises. In this moment, I feel safe, cocooned in the aftermath of our passion.

But the peace is fleeting. I know that soon, reality will come crashing down. The murders, the investigation, the realization of what I’ve just admitted to myself—that I’m falling for a serial killer.

But for now, I feel no fear in the arms of the man who understands my darkness. Only a sense of finally coming home.