Stalking the Dancer || 18+

Part Twelve - Bigger Picture

Why the hell am I kissing him back? 

My mind scrambles for an answer that never comes. His thick, rough hands hold me against him as he stops at the top of the stairs. His kiss is demanding and passionate, rougher than in the past. He seems desperate.

I'd love to know why his emotions are running so raw if this is what his work days typically look like, but I can't ask him with the way his hand holds my head against his. He walks a bit further before setting me on my feet. My knees shake, so he holds me against his hard body to steady me. I've never noticed just how tall he is, towering at least a foot over my head. 

"Gotta lock up," His eyes search my face for a moment before they return to mine, "Stay put for me?" I nod my head without thinking. Should I stay put? I just watched him cut two fingers off of that man and then I made out with him like I didn't. I'm frozen in place like I was sitting on that table downstairs. My limbs are heavy and I don't think I could run if I tried.

He's only gone for a moment before I'm engulfed in his arms once again. "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have brought you here." His words make me wonder why he's so concerned. Perhaps I'm paler than usual, or maybe I've turned green from the sheer horror of it all.

"Why did you? To scare me off?" His eyes are dark and dangerous, just like the rest of him. I can feel the storm inside of him radiating outward. "Are you?" His words are clipped and guarded. I can practically see him putting up walls to shield himself from whatever comes next, maybe that helps with his whole denial thing.

"Yes," 

He lets out a shaky breath at my answer, though I'm nowhere near done with him. "I'm terrified. I'm out of my mind, afraid of myself. How can I see that and kiss you afterward?" My breath is coming faster now. "I'm starting to think I'm just as crazy as you are." My head is spinning. Why am I acting so irrationally?

I should be afraid of the devious smirk that curves his lips. I should hobble away as fast as humanly possible from this man and his crimes. Yet, here I stand, still as a statue. "I thought my little Doe would have nightmares about her big bad wolf, but you're worried about why you aren't." His tone is almost mocking, and it sends a shiver up my spine. He loves toy with me, and it fills me with rage.

"Why did you bring me here? And don't lie this time." 

"Dorothy, let's discuss it at home." His tone is warning as if this is a personal matter that we're disagreeing over in public. I just watched him cut two fingers off of a guy who is hanging from chains downstairs, I don't know why he thinks he retains the power to decide when and where we discuss it. 

"Stop doing that!" 

"Doing what?"

"Changing the subject to get me to do whatever you want, it's not going to work."

His chuckle tells me that I've caught him in his little charade. I see him mulling over his options before sighing and resigning to the truth. 

"I knew you'd never stay if I told you about my work." I can't stop the snarky sound I make at that ridiculous attempt to save face, but he goes on instead of giving up like I wish he would. "Imagine explaining a dance routine to me, would I have a clue of what the dance looked like based on your description?" 

My eyebrows knit together and I consider his question before answering, "Well, no, because you aren't a dancer. You wouldn't understand the terminology enough to visualize the final product." A ghost of a dimple shows on his cheek and I know that I've answered exactly how he expected me to. That pisses me off even more. He notices, though, and does his best to wipe the smirk from his face.