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His smirk twitches at his lips, eyes sparkling with amusement at my words. Well, if nothing else, at least I’ll be able to list on my resumé that I can amuse a serial killer. That has to be worth something. “Is that what you want me to do?” he asks, sliding toward me on the bed until he’s crowding up against my legs and the glint in his eye is darker, more predatory. “Would you like me to carry you back there and tie you up again?” He reaches a hand up to my throat, peeling off the Bandaids before I can even consider stopping him.
My hands itch to reach up and rub the marks, but it’s clear he wants to look at them. Clearer still when he runs his fingers lightly over them, then cups the back of my neck to drag me forward and off balance. It takes some maneuvering, but I finally end up on my knees, one hand braced on his thigh and the other on his shoulder.
It’s nothing if not incredibly awkward.
“I still think I should get a reward for not safe wording last night,” I breathe, feeling bold when he’s not being particularly frightening. “I went above and beyond, you know?”
“I know, baby girl,” Kayde assures me, eyes never leaving mine. “Sit on my lap for me. You look…incredibly uncomfortable, if I’m being honest.”
Well, obviously I look that way because I absolutely am. This is far from the most comfortable position I’ve ever had the displeasure of being in, and my lips twitch at his words. “Do I get a please?” I ask, wondering if I’m pushing my luck.
Obviously, I am. Kayde huffs and grabs my hips, dragging me over him until he’s arranged me across his thighs, my arms resting tentatively on his shoulders. My breath hitches in my throat, and he purrs approvingly, the sound reverberating throughout his shoulders and into my arms. I curl my fingers against his shirt, watching him as the smile falls from my lips.
In my mind, this is always where things get dangerous. When he decides he’s done letting me mouth off, when he’s done letting me pretend to have any pull here. That’s when things always flip, and I have a feeling that shoe is about to drop as it has almost every night this week.
Because Kayde is not one to let me stay ‘in charge’ for long.
“If you’d let me talk instead of trying to get the last word, you’d know I do intend to reward you,” he tells me, his words easy and casual. I, however, can’t believe what I’ve just heard. Kayde giving me something? Admitting I did something well?
Okay, so, yeah. He has a lot of praise for me during the times he’s buried in my pussy, about to come, or when I’m sobbing and coming apart around him. But that’s not real. That’s not exactly a confession outside of the heat of the moment, and not one I can believe. Except in the moment, of course, with Kayde breathing against my skin and calling me all the names that make my stomach curl and my thighs clench together in a silent plea for him to fuck me.
But he really never needs to know that.
“I’m willing to let you pick, sweetheart,” Kayde goes on, once he’s sure he has my attention. “I’ll let you do anything you want with me tonight. So long as I get to fuck that sweet, pretty pussy of yours.” One of his hands curls in the waistband of my shorts, before both move down my thighs, pushing the fabric up as far as it will go.
Which is all the way up to my hips, given how loose my pajamas are. And as per usual, I’m not wearing anything under them. But I’d figured that there was no point since I knew Kayde was showing up. Why put more on when I’m sure he’s just going to rip it off?
And he certainly isn’t complaining. I pause with my hands pressed to his chest as I study his face. “Are you being serious?” I ask, head tilting to the side as I survey his face for any sign of mockery. He doesn’t seem to be taunting me. He doesn’t seem like he’s about to laugh, tell me I’m an idiot, and tie me down with a hand on my throat.
Not that I’d really complain about it, if he did. How could I, when the ax murderer in my bed is the best I’ve ever had?
God, that really says something about me.
“I’m being deadly serious, sweetheart,” Kayde promises. He shifts, moving slowly enough and with a hand on my hip so I’m not dislodged from his lap. But by the end of his moving under me, he’s reclining against my pillows and I’m on his lap, hands still on his chest.
He looks so…pliant like this. So sweet as he gazes up at me earnestly.
“Stop that,” I murmur, reaching up to touch his bottom lip without thinking. Before I can pull away, he nips at my fingers, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Stop what?” he asks, when he’s finally bored with what he’s doing and the tips of my fingers are tingling from his playful nips and licks. “What did I do, Summer?”
“This.” I reach up slowly, dragging my fingers cautiously down his cheek. “This isn’t, umm, you.” I don’t know how to phrase it without sounding like a maniac. “Don’t lie to me when you’re here. Please.” I can handle anything he throws at me. I’ve decided that, or at least, I hope I can. But I can’t handle the mask he uses on everyone else being used on me.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” Frustration builds in my throat, and I try to swallow it down. “You lie to everyone here and show them this face, making them think you’re earnest and friendly. You show them what they want to see; what you think they want to see,” I amend, sitting back on his hips with a little more confidence than I’d felt when I’d started this.
At least he hasn’t thrown me off of him and gotten mad.
But the way he’s looking at me, like he’s seeing something new in my face, is almost worse. “You think I lie to you?”
“I think this is how you look at people when you want them to like you and believe you aren’t an ax murderer. When you want them to think you’re, you know, nice.” I end the sentence flatly, unamused. “Kayde, I know what you are. I don’t need the Lassie face. That’s…totally what I call it, by the way.”
Kayde barks out a sharp laugh, his eyes darkening and expression becoming shrewd as he sits up on one elbow. “The Lassie face?” he chuffs. “That’s sort of ridiculous and maybe a little perfect?” He squints, glancing at my nightstand as he thinks about it. “We can call it that. The Lassie face.”
Unexpectedly, Kayde picks up my hand again, nipping at my fingers once more. “But I don’t think I’m Lassie-facing you,” he goes on, surprisingly serious. “I don’t need to, remember? You know what I am.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re looking really friendly right about now. Or, you were,” I amend. “You’re not that friendly.”
