None at all.

  Did the masked man with the godlike body even exist? Or was I losing my mind?

  CHAPTER 3

  Jessica

  “Are you there? I can feel you. I know it’s you,” I whispered as I stared into the darkness. There was no light yet I could sense shapes. He was there as he always was, waiting and watching, preparing to take me.

  A slight shift brought a wave of energy into the room, a rush of electricity so significant my breath was caught in my throat.

  Excitement tore through every muscle even as the little voice in the back of my mind reminded me that he was a monster. But I no longer cared. I belonged to him.

  The mixture of feelings was always the same.

  Excitement.

  Longing.

  Rage.

  And the need to surrender.

  To him. Only him.

  I threw back the covers, lowering my feet to the floor. My heart continued to hammer as it had done the first night I’d met him, the night when he’d shown me his true colors.

  And his intense desire.

  I knew I’d been in love with him ever since that fateful meeting.

  As I rose to my full height, I heard only the labored sounds of my breathing. But he was still watching.

  Waiting.

  Challenging me as he enjoyed doing.

  I’d worn a nightgown for him just in case. Now I tugged one strap over my shoulder very slowly, rolling the tips of my fingers across my breastbone to the other. I allowed my fingers to trail behind the second strap, lifting my head only once in search of his eyes.

  Eyes I’d only imagined, envisioning in my sleep.

  The slight noise drew my attention as I allowed my gown to pool around my feet. I was finally able to see the neon glow of the X marks covering his eyes. They were even more illuminated than before, the evil grin that never changed in the dark material keeping me on edge.

  I lowered my thong until I was able to step out and kick the thin lace away. I’d never been so bold before, always feigning sleep when he’d arrived. This time, I held my head high, daring him to step forward.

  To claim me as I knew he craved doing.

  He finally advanced from the darkness, his steps predatory. “Do you remember all the things you asked for, Desdemona?”

  The monster remained just out of reach. But I could hear him, the rapid intake of his breath floating toward me as a beacon of his own needs. “What are you talking about?”

  “The hunger that you couldn’t escape, the intense yearning to break free of the chains you placed yourself in the day you turned eighteen. You long to be set free. To be hunted. And captured. That’s exactly what I’ve done, little lamb.”

  He moved closer and I was suddenly afraid. Not from the stranger who’d awakened my senses, but by the truth in his words. Those were the games I excelled at, thriving in dark worlds where virtuality and reality crashed together in a sea of vibrations. They were games so violent and sexual that few players lasted.

  But I was the best at what I did.

  I was an expert, a woman to be reckoned with.

  He took another step, now so close I gathered a strong whiff of his scent, the aroma so masculine and overpowering that I could become lost in the tingling sensations.

  Reaching out, he gripped my jaw, forcing his thumb into my mouth. “Perfect. Just like I knew you’d be.”

  I sucked his thick digit without being asked, wishing desperately I could look into his eyes.

  Every move he made was calculated and he used his other hand, pushing me down to a sitting position. Every thought, every wish I’d experienced late at night after he’d left had been a dozen versions of how our meeting would go. But nothing had prepared me for the level of hunger or the excitement that had driven me to the edge of a steep cliff.

  My imagination had stripped me of any sense of reality. There was only this man and my raging needs. Nothing else mattered.

  He released his hold, taking a deep breath as he wiggled his wet thumb. As he trailed his fingertips down my face, I was reminded of the first night and how he’d smeared blood from one side of my jaw to the other.

  This wasn’t romance. This also wasn’t forever, but I didn’t care.

  Without saying anything else, he unfastened his dark jeans, releasing his cock. The long shaft was as thick as I’d envisioned and nothing else mattered but bringing him pleasure.

  I shouldn’t want this. I couldn’t need this, but as the moonlight streaming in from the blinds highlighted the size of him, my mind was filled with filthy thoughts.

  “Is this what you want, Desdemona? To be fucked like a little whore?”

  A brief moment of apprehension trickled into my system. He’d know if I was lying. He knew everything about me.

  So I nodded, almost as if my mind had followed my body in acquiescing to the monster.

  Surrendering to his twisted needs.

  “That’s a good girl. Now, open your pretty lips wide.”

  I did as he asked, even as I felt my eyes fill with tears.

  “Aw. You’re afraid of me, my lamb. You should be. I’m going to give you exactly what you want, a taste of blood and a sense of belonging. Wider, little lamb. I need to feel your jaws clamping down on my dick the moment I impale that sweet mouth of yours.”

  As he rubbed the tip of his cock across my lips, I gathered a sweet taste of his pre-cum.

  He thrust his cock inside, shoving the tip against the back of my throat as he dug his fingers into my neck, squeezing until it was impossible to breathe. “That’s perfect, sweet Desdemona. Now suck me dry.”

  A bold and heartless set of claws raked across my chest. I jerked up with a gasp, slapping both hands around my throat, touching my skin, feeling for any scrapes.

  Or blood.

  My instinct screamed for me to run, but there was nowhere to go. I was trapped in my room.

  There was someone there. I could swear I heard a sharp growl, the raspy sound more like an injured animal determined to seek revenge. This couldn’t be happening.

  It was impossible to control the tremors creating a suffocating sense of reality by understanding the dream I’d just experienced had seemed so real.

  You’re safe. Just a dream. Nothing more.

  But I couldn’t be convinced. Images flooded my mind of the horrors I’d experienced only hours before. My God. What had I stumbled into?

  I sucked in air, blinking over and over again until the tears stinging my eyes rolled down both cheeks. Somewhere between memories of the horror from the night before and the ugliness from dreaming about a sick man, the fog disrupting my mind began to clear.

  The monster wasn’t standing in front of me. He wasn’t hovering over my bed, eager to force me to suck his thick cock. I folded my arms, rubbing them ferociously. Something had been here. No, someone.

  I knew it. I felt his presence. And I gathered a lingering scent of his aftershave. Oh, my God. He knew where I lived. As I jerked the covers up to my shoulders, I fought the anger and terror, the combination making me sick. Think. I had to think.

  So many games were competition based, often several players at the same time. Many allowed for communication, the virtual headsets capturing every moan of frustration, every whimper of desire. Who was he? I closed my eyes, reaching out to my memories, trying to narrow down the most avid players.

  And those who became the angriest with their loss.

  There were too many because I didn’t stick to a single game. I played more than a dozen depending on my mood. They were research, my livelihood. Being an active participant in the gaming world also allowed me a feeling of family, something I needed desperately. I was sick inside. Angry for not fighting the monster. Furious for falling into a twisted web he had woven around him like a suit of armor.

  Remember, you’re a good girl.

  I laughed and cinched my eyes shut. Was I trying to convince myself? If I was so damn good, why had I had a horrible dream? About him? A monster?

  I was disgusted with myself for having a sick wet dream about him. What was wrong with me? What secrets had I divulged in the games? That I was an excellent marksman and enjoyed killing enemy soldiers? That I ran into a burning building without hesitation, or I enjoyed walking across flaming hot coals?

  No. It wasn’t about the military or assassin games I enjoyed so much.

  It was about the goddamn Obsidian Society, some secretive organization I’d yet to learn anything about. If it truly existed, no one knew what it entailed. Whispers of its existence had occurred more than once on the dark web. Of course every gaming company had various tiers of their customers whether anyone knew it or not. That was typical in the competitive world. From what I’d heard about the secret society, the games were so real that several players had allowed their real life to be infused with the darkness of the competition.

  The thought excited me more than I should admit.

  However, the men and women of the upper tier within the Blackwell Group were all fucking predators. At least in my opinion. They had a penchant for blood and violence. I’d been caught in the trap of enticement the moment I’d won a preview game, beating not only the odds but bringing the darkness straight into my life. The game had followed me home and I was still entranced by the thought of it.

  I’d found myself needing reminders of why I’d wanted to infiltrate the company in the first place.

  Hate.

  Pure. Utter. Black. Hate.

  The need for revenge was strong yet right now, I was blinded with far too many other emotions.

  I’d continually asked myself about the identity of the man. Since he was obviously from the gaming world, was he vying to be in this fucked-up society?

  Was entrance to the special society worth killing someone for? Was it some kind of perverted hazing? I was certain I felt the savior’s presence even now. Rage pushed my actions and I stretched across the bed, flicking on the small lamp on my nightstand. The golden glow creating a moment of warmth was nothing like the iridescent light of the monster’s mask.

  There was no one standing in the continuing shadows of the room.

  There was no indication he’d been here. But I was certain, so much so I climbed out of bed, checking my bedroom window. The sash was locked just as it should be. That didn’t mean anything. Maybe the front door. Without any regard for safety, I rushed into the front room, flicking on every light as I headed toward the door.

  It too remained locked, the impenetrable padlock clicked into position. I’d been wrong.

  Wrong.

  Another wave of sickness pooled in my stomach and I was forced to rush into the bathroom, dropping to my knees. The nightmare was real. There was no way I was escaping his clutches.

  Not until he had what he wanted.

  CHAPTER 4

  Sinner

  Sin.

  The sheer indulgence of it was often all I needed. There’d never been any emotion to it, just stark, cold hunger that required feeding more often than most. While I’d enjoyed the dozens of methods I’d used to quench my intense cravings, none had provided more than a night’s worth of satisfaction.

  Maybe that’s why I stood outside a small house in the middle of the night, peering across the street at a blind-covered window. I’d felt her needs through the games for weeks, her sadistic tendencies calling to me. I’d enjoyed her style, the way she initiated violence within the virtual world to gain points and ultimately to beat almost every opponent.

  Except for me.

  I’d waited until the time was right, until I’d been certain she could tolerate the kind of man I’d been forged into.

  She’d acted shocked at first, uncertain why I’d killed the man in her presence. I’d done so for her, to protect her against the evil bastard who would have stripped away her dignity, defiling her in the most disgusting ways before ending her life in torture and sorrow.

  The fucker had deserved to die. If we’d been in a more secure location, I would have invited her into the kill, introducing her to my methods. And she’d have enjoyed every moment of learning a craft from a master.

  I’d watched the man casing his next victim inside the theater. I’d smelled his perverted needs from where I’d remained in the dark shadows of the room. What was the saying? It took one predator to recognize another?

  At least my predatory needs weren’t fueled by the need to torture young women. I’d known he’d found his next victim.

  My Desdemona.

  Had he understood she belonged to me already? Evidently not or the bastard was simply a stupid, arrogant fuck.

  I hadn’t intended on breaking the veil of silence on this night, but I’d had no choice. I’d needed to become her savior.

  So I did what had to be done.

  I took the life of a disgusting piece of shit to save her.

  I’d rid the earth of useless scum before and I’d do it again.

  But this time was even more personal than the beginning days of my foray into what some would call madness.

  Yes, I’d tasted her fear, but I’d gathered a whiff of her desire the moment I killed for her.

  I’d felt joyous from hearing the pitter-patter of her heart, savoring the sight of the vein pulsing in her neck. I’d almost become drunk on her perfume and the need for a single taste had become overwhelming.

  Stepping outside the boundaries I’d established had been as much of a surprise to me as it had been to her. If only I’d been able to share with her the moment of disposing of his body. I could still envision what her expression would have been.

  Shock and awe.

  Reverence.

  I took a deep breath of the night air to cleanse my lungs. She’d had a fitful dream, her lithe body thrashing under the covers. She’d murmured in her sleep as well, her lush lips pursing and twisting. Had she been reliving the moment I’d ripped away the chains, exposing her to the truth behind the virtual reality?

  Had she been hungering for me as I’d been for her, surrendering not only her body, but her soul to me as well?

  I chuckled as I thought about our next meeting.

  I’d make her wait for the right time, the right moment before giving her permission to expose another part of the dark needs embroiled in her system. I’d teach her how to use the powerful hold she had on reality to her benefit. I’d create such intense hunger within her that she’d soon beg me to touch her.

  To taste her.

  To fuck her.

  And fuck her I would, covering her voluptuous body with my cum.

  Yet I required her to want it more than anything else in her life. And she would work for it, fighting with everything she had to reach the pinnacle of sheer ecstasy.

  Only then would she truly become mine.

  She was resting now. It was time to allow memories of the night to fade into a safe place.

  A place where monsters only existed in the movies.

  Just like the one she’d seen tonight.

  She believed she’d hidden her true feelings from me, but both her body and her reaction to the kiss had exposed her true feelings.

  Complete and utter desire.

  My cock twitched, slicing against my jeans in a painful way. I’d need relief soon, but I’d wait for her, and the first night I took her would be a glorious moment of true fulfillment.

  I spent another full minute studying her house. While I knew more about her than she realized, very soon I would learn more.

  While the longing remained, furrowing deep inside to the point of agony, I turned away, heading for my Harley.

  Perhaps a nice long ride would do me some good.

  With images of her lush body planted firmly in my mind, I jerked on my helmet and climbed over my bike. The engine roared to life and I envisioned fucking her over the steel beast after we’d experienced an adventure together.

  That would be an excellent day.

  I was a sick man, but tonight, my life had taken a turn for the better.

  All because of my sweet Desdemona.

  CHAPTER 5

  Jessica

  “That dress would look so damn hot on you,” Ashley said absently as she continued flipping through the rack of cheap dresses. We’d taken to thrift shopping every other weekend, eager for precious finds we could brag about for weeks to come. The woman was masterful with putting eclectic pieces of clothing together and making them look as if stripped from a Paris runway.

  I was the master of sweatpants and jeans, rarely wearing a dress. I didn’t need to at my job. My boss encouraged comfort for extra creativity.

  “You know how I feel about dresses,” I told her.

  She thrust the hanger against my chest. “Buy it.”

  “Nope.”

  “For fuck’s sake, it’s ten bucks. What do you have to lose? Plus, if you ever get a hot date, which I’m beginning to doubt, you’ll have the perfect little outfit to wear. I bet I can find clunky bracelets that will go perfectly with it.”

  “Clunky bracelets?”

  Shrugging, she grabbed three items, one after the other, folding them over her arm. “Think of it this way. You could always use them to ward off the evil men chasing you. Blunt force trauma? Oh, that’s right. The men in your world aren’t real.”

  “Very funny.” A shudder slammed down my spine. Since the night before, I’d had the creepy crawlies, constantly looking over my shoulder. It felt as if the monster had me in a cage.

  “But truthfully. When are you going to find yourself a hot man?”

  “Hell, no, and when they’re born.”

  “You’re not getting any younger. Try it on.”

  “You’re a terrible person,” I told her. “Why bother if I’m not going to wear it anytime soon, since you insist I don’t have a life?”

  She pointed toward a leaning full-size mirror that had seen better days. “Ha. Ha. At least go hold that up and look at your reflection. The color is going to bring out those gorgeous eyes of yours. Just do it.”

  “Fine.” I grumbled under my breath as I headed toward the mirror, not noticing until I was standing in front of it the corner was cracked.