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“You don’t understand,” I sob. “I keep seeing things. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
He tilts his head again.
I gulp. “One time, a dead body fell out of my closet. Then it reappeared in my car. I get strange texts, letters, and photos. Things keep appearing and disappearing. Like that envelope full of fingers. Then there’s you.”
“What about me?” he asks.
“You’re everywhere. In my thoughts, in my dreams. Sometimes, I look out of the window, and you’re staring back. Other times, I wake up at night and you’re torturing me to insanity.”
He drifts closer. “Tell me about this torture.”
“I don’t know if it’s real.”
“Talk.”
I gulp. This is insane. I shouldn’t negotiate with sexual terrorists, but I’m the one standing on a chair with a noose around my neck. Xero’s pale eyes shine through the dark, gleaming with an intensity that demands answers.
“There was this one time, you were standing between my legs and rubbing my clit, telling me I couldn’t come unless I begged. When I did what you asked, you knocked me unconscious.”
“Did you come?” he asks.
“I don’t think so,” I cry, every molecule of pent-up sexual frustration twisting into anguish. “Every morning, I wake up feeling horny and desperate.”
He nods. “I see.”
“What?” My voice cracks.
“The reason why you were so tempted.”
My mind races faster than the high-speed train, trying to decipher what he’s left unsaid between the tracks, but the toy vibrating against my clit derails my thoughts. My knees tremble with a fresh burst of sensation, forcing me to bite down on my bottom lip to stifle a whimper.
This is beyond sexual torture. This is psychological warfare. My body convulses, rocking the chair beneath my feet.
“Xero, I don’t remember. What are you talking about?”
“Last night, that bearded bastard carried you to bed and offered to lick your pussy. You were about to say yes.”
My eyes widen. “That didn’t happen.”
The buzzing between my legs intensifies, making them buckle. I drop a few inches, only for the noose around my neck to tighten. I’m going to die. Die with a toy in my pussy. Die with rigor mortis of the clit. Die in a perpetual state of arousal and become a horny ghost.
I can’t think of anything more humiliating.
“What did I tell you about lying?” he growls.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just don’t remember?—”
“Because that medication screws with your memory.” He punctuates that sentence with a press of the toy’s remote, cranking its intensity to eleven.
My eyes roll to the back of my head, and I moan. I’m so close. Just a few more seconds. My hips jerk, chasing an orgasm that feels tantalizingly within reach. Just as the first wave of ecstasy draws close, Xero lowers the toy’s intensity.
“No!” I cry. “I mean yes.”
“Next time you allow a man to touch you, not only will he die, but you will be punished.”
“But I didn’t?—”
“Do. Not. Lie. To. Me,” he snarls.
