His lips move to the corner of her mouth, to her jaw, teeth scraping over the skin as he laughs. It's a low sound, caught deep in his throat. "Those are my favorite kind of little girls."

It's what he likes best about Johanna. What he pities, too.

His knee moves again as he grins darkly down at her. She's desperate and needy and he's the only one who can really give her what she needs. There's something a little possessive about that thought, a little dangerous and disturbing.

"I know."