Touch Me If You Dare

[Trigger Warning & Author's Note‼️

This book is an intense dark mafia romance intended strictly for adult audiences (18+). It contains explicit, unfiltered sexual content (SNVL), graphic violence, gore, serial killer themes, and non-traditional/weird kinks, alongside depictions of trauma and abuse.

PLEASE NOTE: This book features highly toxic, possessive, and morally grey characters. As the author, I do not condone, praise, or support the actions, behaviors, or lifestyles depicted in this story. This is entirely a work of fiction written for dramatic and entertainment purposes. Reader discretion is strongly advised, enjoyyy ;).]

CHLOE'S POV;

The friction of my bare thighs against the cold marble of the kitchen counter was the only grounding thing left in my universe.

I was bent backward, my fingers clawing at the polished edge of the stone as Grey knelt between my legs. His mouth was buried aggressively against my skin, his tongue working with a clumsy, heavy hunger that tasted like the cheap cherry vapes and cigarettes he constantly smoked.

"Into You" by Chase Atlantic was vibrating through the floorboards from the downstairs speakers, the heavy bass filling the silence of the empty house. Every loud, desperate breath that escaped my throat was swallowed by the music.

Nineteen years of being my father’s heavily guarded mafia princess meant my actual real-world experience was practically zero. My father, Donald Sterling, kept me locked in a golden cage my entire life. Armed guards at every door, private tutors, curfew at sunset, and zero room to breathe. So when I finally convinced him to let me move into this secluded house in the middle of the woods to prove I could live on my own, the sudden freedom went straight to my head.

Picking Grey as my boyfriend was my first real act of rebellion. He was sloppy, loud, and completely wrong for me, but he was everything my father would hate.

Grey groaned against my skin, the vibration sending a sharp jolt straight up my spine. He gripped my hips hard, his thumbs bruising my flesh as he lifted me slightly, trying to position himself to push his fingers inside me. I arched into him, my unbuttoned shirt hanging completely off my shoulders, exposing my black lace bra.

Then, right next to my head, the counter violently rattled.

A bright screen illuminated the dark kitchen. The caller ID made all the hot heat in my veins instantly turn to ice.

Dad.

“Oh, shit,” I gasped, the sudden spike of adrenaline completely shattering the high. I slammed my hands against Grey’s broad shoulders, trying to push his head away from my thighs. “Grey, stop. Stop right now. I have to answer this.”

Grey grunted, his grip tightening on my waist as he stubbornly tried to press his mouth back against me. “Babe, ignore it. Come on, don't ruin this right now. You’re soaking wet.”

“I can’t!” I yelled, my voice shaking as I forced my legs shut, kicking his chest back until he was forced to stand up. I scrambled off the counter, my bare feet hitting the cold floor as I tried to pull my ruined shirt over my exposed bra. My heart was pounding violently—half lingering lust, half pure terror. “It’s my dad. You don don’t understand, I have to pick up.”

“He’s a grown man, Chloe, he can wait twenty fucking minutes,” Grey snapped, his face flushing with heavy, aggressive irritation as he stood there with his pants pulled down around his thighs. “Just let it ring out. You’re always so fucking tense about him. We were literally seconds away.”

“Because that is my father!” I fired back, my voice dropping into a sharp tone. I snatched the vibrating phone off the marble. “I don't care if the world is ending. I don't care what I am doing. I will never miss his calls. Ever.”

“It’s a control thing, Chloe, and it’s freaking weird,” Grey scoffed, violently pulling his jeans back up and buckling his belt. He glared at me through the dark, his chest heaving. “You moved out to the middle of nowhere to get away from his suffocating rules, but you’re still acting like his little puppet. I’m your boyfriend. I’ve been waiting a week for this, and you’re treating me like a fucking afterthought.”

“You know I always treat you like a priority, but my dad is a non-negotiable!” I screamed back, the frustration turning into pure rage. “If you can’t handle the fact that my family comes first, then get the hell out of my house!”

“Fine! Have fun sleeping with your phone, you psycho!”

Grey snatched his shirt off the floor, shoved his feet into his unlaced shoes, and marched out of the kitchen. A second later, the heavy front door slammed so hard the window frames rattled. The distant, angry roar of his car engine tore through the quiet woods as he sped away down the dirt driveway.

I stood completely alone in the dark kitchen, my chest panting, my skin still flushing from his mouth. I felt completely humiliated, frustrated, and furious.

The phone started vibrating in my hand again.

I swiped the screen aggressively, bringing it to my ear as I walked over to the stereo. Streets by Doja Cat was playing now, the slow melody mocking my current mood. I hit the power button, plunging the entire house into heavy, dead silence.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, forcing my breath to steady. I made my voice sound completely regular, like I hadn't just been screaming at my boyfriend five seconds ago.

“Chloe,” my father’s deep, gravelly voice echoed through the line. There was a subtle edge of suspicion in his tone. “Why didn't you pick up the first time? You know the rules about keeping your line clear.”

“Sorry, Dad. I was playing some music pretty loud while unpacking some boxes downstairs. I didn't hear it ring at first,” I lied smoothly, leaning against the counter and rubbing my temples.

“Are you safe? Has anyone been lingering around the perimeter of the property?”

“No one, Dad. It’s completely quiet out here. I’m perfectly fine, just tired from moving furniture all day.”

“Good. I was just checking up on you. Go to sleep, princess.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

When the call clicked shut, I threw the phone onto the counter. I stomped back upstairs, kicked Grey’s discarded socks out of the way, and grabbed my noise-canceling headphones off the nightstand. I shoved them over my ears, turned on a playlist of loud, ambient thunderstorm sounds, and pulled the heavy duvet over my shoulders, desperately trying to sleep off the chaotic energy hummed through my body.

A few hours later, I stirred awake.

The ambient rain sounds were still drowning out the world in my ears, but my throat felt parched, dry like sandpaper. Worse than the thirst, though, was a bizarre, prickling sensation on the back of my neck.

It was that specific, instinctual feeling of being watched.

My eyes fluttered open in the darkness. I lay completely still for a few seconds, my heart rate spiking as my gaze darted around the shadows of the bedroom.

The door was cracked open an inch.

I froze. I distinctly remembered shutting that door firmly after Grey slammed his way out of the house. I always locked doors. My father had trained that habit into me since I was old enough to walk.

Slowly, I sat up and slid the headphones down around my neck. The silence of the house was absolute. I stood up, creeping over to the hallway, checking the bathroom and the spare guest rooms. Nothing. The hallway was empty. There was no one here.

Shaking my head at my own paranoia, I walked downstairs in my lace underwear and unbuttoned shirt, my bare feet making no sound against the polished marble floors. I walked into the dark kitchen, poured myself a cold glass of water from the fridge, and drank it down in three heavy, desperate gulps.

As I set the glass down on the counter, a faint, rhythmic sound coming from the backyard caught my attention.

Thwack. Shuffle. Thwack.

I froze.

It sounded like metal scraping against hard dirt.

I slowly crept toward the heavy glass backdoor, the cold moonlight pouring through the panes and illuminating the kitchen floor. I pulled back the edge of the dark curtain and peered out into the backyard.

My breath completely left my lungs.

A large, deep trench had been dug right into the center of my manicured lawn, the fresh dirt piled high into dark mounds on either side. Standing right beside the pit was a man.

He was ridiculously tall, broad-shouldered, and shirtless under the silver moonlight. His chest and arms were covered in a dark, glistening smear of thick crimson.

Blood.

It was splattered across his broad collarbone, smeared down his defined abs, and painted across his sharp jawline. But despite the sheer gore covering his body, he was stunning. His features were sharp, carved, and terrifyingly handsome.

As I watched, completely paralyzed by fear, he bent down and effortlessly lifted a massive, heavy black plastic bag with one hand. A pale, blood-drenched human arm spilled out of the top of the plastic, the dead fingers twitching slightly as the man carelessly tossed the bag into the open trench.

My gaze drifted past him, and the horror multiplied tenfold.

Lying in a neat, orderly row on my grass were three more limp, bloodied human bodies. Next to them sat three empty black plastic trash bags. And a few feet away, near the treeline, the crumpled, lifeless shape of a large guard dog lay in a pool of dark fluid.

My stomach violently turned. I smashed both hands over my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut to stifle the piercing scream that was tearing its way up my throat. My knees shook so badly I had to lean my entire weight against the glass door just to remain standing.

A serial killer.

There is a literal serial killer in my backyard, burying bodies on my property.

Before my brain could even register the idea of running back upstairs to grab a weapon, the wet, heavy thud of the last body hitting the dirt pit echoed through the glass.

The man stood up straight, letting out a soft, satisfied sigh. He casually dusted his bloody hands off on his dark sweatpants, entirely unbothered by the absolute massacre around him.

Slowly, without any sudden movement, his head turned toward the house.

The moonlight caught his eyes, and my heart completely stopped.

They were mismatched—one a striking, icy hazel, the other a deep, void-like brown that seemed to swallow the light entirely.

He locked his gaze directly onto the exact spot where I was hiding behind the edge of the curtain.

He didn't look surprised. He didn't look startled. He looked right through the glass, straight into my eyes. He knew I had been watching him the entire time.

A slow, dark sliver of a smile curved his lips.

“Hey there, love,” his voice cut through the glass, a low, smooth, terrifyingly polite drawl that sent a cold shiver straight down my spine. “I really tried to keep it down. Sorry if I woke you.”