Chapter 92

The Predator

Her eyes were wide—terrified, confused, furious—and I fucking loved it. The way every flicker of fear, every tremble of uncertainty on my little troublemaker’s face felt like a shot of adrenaline straight to my veins. A personal drug of mine I couldn’t help needing more. Fuck when did it come to this?

The way she looked at me, like I was some untouchable force, something dangerous, something she didn’t understand but couldn’t escape. It was intoxicating.

I stared at her—my little bird. Her hair clung to her skin and the fucking drops of water slid almost tauntingly down the heavenly curves of her body, and for a moment, I lost myself. My mind, always so sharp, so fucking precise, went hazy as I drank her in. The sight of her—bare, soaked, trembling—it did something to me.

God, she was beautiful. More than I could admit.

Not in the way those plastic, made-up women flaunted themselves. No, my ptichka was raw. Real. U