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He senses my conflicted thoughts and squeezes me. His kiss leaving me absolutely breathless.

“You’re mine, Summer,” he reminds me. “You’ve always been mine. And if you let anyone else touch you, I’ll kill him.”

He moves his fingers in small circles. “Say it, pretty girl.”

“I’m yours,” I whimper.

That seems to satisfy him.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask as he pulls his fingers out and in again, rubbing me, then adding one more finger and causing another moan to escape.

“I’ll do whatever I want with you. I will slice up that pretty neck of yours or cut out your eyes. But before I do, I’ll take my time with you and fuck you in every position possible before I kill you.”

His words make me come undone.

My body is vibrating as he deepens his hold on me, and I mirror every movement until we are grinding to the music. A fresh wave of the drugs hit me, and I have this desire to touch him. The fear rippling through me is like lava, causing my lower belly to burn.

Fear.

Terror.

Lust.

The sensations are overwhelming, and I can no longer tell the difference.

His lips curl to that smirk as he leans into me again.

I become entranced by the music as the lights flicker around me. His intoxicating scent engulfs me. I invite his fingers to explore me, and we move together until my body pulses and explodes, and my moans harmonize with the girl nearby.

Even after my orgasm subsides, his fingers remain deeply embedded in me. I catch my breath and wrap my arms around his neck, getting a good grasp of his body, but before I can get a good grip, he drops me.

I fall right to the floor in a crumpled mess, my breast hanging out, the fabric of my pants torn, my hair frazzled and sweaty, and my pussy still pulsing.

He stands over me and smiles…

My heart flutters looking in the eyes of a killer. I curl myself against the wall to create some distance from him, my face heating from the fact I just got off on him like that.

Something flashes, and I realize he’s still holding the razor blade and he’s playing with it between his thumb and forefinger. He crouches so he is eye level with me. He takes the blade and cuts a larger hole in the center of my pants where he cut before.

He pulls something out of his pocket, and immediately, fire flares up in his fingers. He takes his lighter and holds it against the blade, and I watch in utter horror as he heats the piece of sharp metal in his hands.

My breath is ragged, and his hands are soft as he slips his fingers inside the hole he created and presses the blade near the apex of my thigh. I try to look away, but he holds my chin and forces me to look at him.

Those translucent shimmering eyes.

The heat of the blade burns the hairs on my skin.

I let out a small cry, and he tilts his head to gauge my response to him. My gentle cries, my slight whimpering…all the confidence in myself and my doubts about him eradicated.

As our eyes lock in a tense moment, he drives the blade into my skin, the sharp sting followed by a burning sensation. He leaves a distinct mark on me in the shape of an X.

And I scream, so violently, as he keeps the blade pressed into me.

No one hears me over the chaos, and panic consumes me as my consciousness blacks out to nothing. It’s quickly replaced by pleasure as he presses his fingers back inside me for only a minute, but it’s long enough for my clit to pulse. He runs his knuckles down my thigh, then pauses.

I’m still shaking as he moves closer to me. “Fucking. Mine,” he reminds me, as if I could forget.

Then the fucker—this sick motherfucker—just gets up and walks away.