Stalking the Dancer || 18+

Part Eighteen - Never

He looks like he may pounce across the table at me. Minutes passed as I wrung my hands together anxiously, and silence fell over us like a soaking wet blanket. It wasn't until my thoughts cleared enough for me to notice just how angry he is.

Honestly, he looks like taking a good shit would do him wonders, but I'm not about to tell him that.

His deep brown eyes squint at me, and the angles of his face look sharp enough to cut diamonds. His brows are set in a line, and I fight the shudder that tickles my spine as he leans forward, elbows resting on the table between us. "You are not a burden. I will rip the throat out of anyone who's made you feel that way, little Doe."

I don't miss his emphasis on that godforsaken nickname. He's reminding me that I'm small, but more importantly, his. At least, to him, I am. I force out a nervous chuckle as I lean back in my chair, not bothering to pass it off as a casual move. He knows exactly how I feel about his possessive, animalistic tendencies.

That's the part that drove him to kidnap me in the first place. He isn't always like this, though. He can be caring and gentle, almost the exact opposite of this erratic Billy, looking back at me. No one has ever cared this much for me, not even my own mother. But I don't know if I can handle the intensity of his affection. His next words do nothing to ease the storm of confusion raging in my chest.

"You're mine, whether you see it or not. That means you're not alone anymore, so you better get used to it."

I want to fight back. Lean forward and bite his perfect nose off his chiseled face. Scratch out his swirling, dark chocolate eyes. I want to get him out of my face for long enough to catch my breath, but I'm frozen in place. Damn his mesmerizing, psychotic aura that can push past my defenses every time. Instead of maiming him the way I'd like to, I focus my energy on looking as unbothered as possible.

Change the subject.

Yeah, I'll try that.

"You're not eating dinner?" I glance down at the space where his plate should be, and back up again. His fists tighten on top of the table, and I watch the ripple of muscle go up his arms at the tension. His teeth are clenched so tightly they look like they could break. "You're exhausted." His words are harsh.

"What does that have to do with you eating dinner?" I can't help the sarcasm leaking into my tone. He makes it too easy.

A cocky smirk stretches across his face that makes my stomach knot. Dimples dip into his cheeks, and he raises a brow at me. He doesn't have to say a word; I know exactly what he's thinking. Don't ask somethin' you don't want the answer to, Doe. I hear it so clearly, it's like he's inside my head. And I already know the answer; his smile confirms that I've already given myself away.

He's holding out on dinner because he wants to eat me.

But the thought of lying in my bed with him, of sleeping in that bedroom down the hall, hits like a bucket of ice water over my head. Billy must see it eclipse my features, because his brow furrows in concern and he's visibly holding himself in his seat. I have a funny feeling that this is what it looks like when he's respecting my space; letting me decide when I'd like to be touched or comforted instead of acting on his impulses. The scariest part of it all? It feels nice. I missed this.

No, I missed him. Which is why I don't even make him ask before I let the words tumble out. "I don't want to sleep here tonight. But I don't want my mom to be here alone, and I really don't want her finding out that I'm scared of my room because she'll never let it go." My lips seal themselves the second I notice the curve ticking the corner of his mouth, giving me a peek of his dimple.