The Wrong Kind of Love

It seems like forever before his breaths even out.

I slip from his bed, steeling myself as I drop to my knees beside him. I have to get out of here, and now is the perfect opportunity. Slowly, I slide my hand beneath the edge of the pillow. When my fingertips brush the razor, I debate getting back in that bed, but I can’t.

This might be my only chance. Tomorrow he could put me back in Caleb’s room.Or kill me.

My hand trembles when I pull the blade out and move it toward his neck. Every fiber of my being revolts against the entire notion of this. I’m not a killer. I save lives, but this time, I need to save mine. Kill or be killed…

I pause, the sharp edge millimeters from his skin. My conscience wages war on my survival instincts.

This should be black and white.

Jude will always be the villain in this scenario, and if I don’t do something, I’ll just be the naïve dead girl. So why is this so hard? Why do I feel like a horrible person?

I stare at the razor, willing my hand to close the short distance when he moves. Thick fingers slowly wrap around my wrist. Tears of frustration sting my eyes while a confusing sense of relief washes over me. It’s out of my hands now. I don’t have to kill him...

“What are you waiting for, Tor? Do it.” He presses the razor against the thumping pulse in his throat. “Do it.”

A paper-thin line of blood wells against his tanned skin. The blade is right there, but still, I can’t bring myself to slice it over his neck. And I hate myself for being so weak, because that weakness will get me killed.

On a smirk, he shifts and I’m suddenly on my back, caged beneath him. The blade is still at his throat. Blood trickles over his skin where it’s bitten into his flesh.

I try to pull my hand away, but he won’t let me.

“You want to kill me, but you can’t do it.” He pins my hand above my head, sending the razor clattering to the floor.

Tears streak my temples as desperation claws at me.

“Because you’re not like me,” he whispers, then drops his lips to my cheek. His warm breaths fan over my skin before his mouth brushes over the moisture on my skin. A warning disguised as a caress that sends a heady blend of fear and misplaced curiosity careening through me. “Are you, Tor? You’re not anything like me. You’re good and pure…” His calloused fingers trail along my arm toward my neck.

I expect him to strangle me, but instead, he threads his fingers through my hair. I can’t move, can’t fight, and right now, I’m not entirely sure I want to.

It may be wrong and twisted, but I’m entranced by him for a moment.

He shifts on top of me. My breath catches when he presses his knee between my thighs.

“Jude.” His name slips from my lips. I mean it as a warning, but it sounds very much like a plea.

He stares down at me like he’s trying to decide whether to fuck me or kill me, and it has something raw and primal rising to the surface. It feels like I can’t catch a good breath, like I’m drowning in his presence, unable to focus on anything but the friction of his knee between my legs.

“Why are you breathing like that, doll.” His hold on my hair tightens while his lips linger over mine,—a sweet threat I want him to voice. “Scared?”

“Should I be?”

Several of his heavy, whiskey-laced breaths fan over my face before he smirks. “Definitely.”

That silent vow crackles in the air between us, sealed with the drip of his blood on my throat. I’m barely in control of my own body and it’s like there’s an imaginary thread tilting my chin up, pulling my lips to his.

His mouth brushes mine, and I still when he kisses me. Soft yet demanding, and I yield to that demand, parting my lips as though he were oxygen I need to inhale. And survival never felt so good. I can’t help but want more of the toxic lust burning through me.

I crave the kiss of the man who would kill me, and of all the things I have hated since being here, I hate that the most. It’s a dangerous taste of poison that will surely ruin me.

“Not so innocent now, are we?” He fists my hair, grinding against me. God help me, because I shift against him on instinct, seeking something dangerous.

He grips my lip between his teeth on a groan, pressing his hard dick against me like he could fuck me through our clothes.“You have no idea the things I’d do to you…”

For a moment, he’s not a criminal, and I’m not a captive. We’re just animals, driven by something raw and primal. My knees part a little more, hips shifting and inviting his savagery.