Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
If I didn’t chain her to the bed, then I’d follow her on her run.
It was what I’d intended as I watched her move around the room, tying up her hair, lacing her shoes. I was greedy to watch her, to drink up every movement her body made.
Though it was physically fucking painful for me, at the last minute, I’d refrained following her on her run. I was mindful of just how quickly I’d become infatuated with her. Obsessed. She was suddenly the reason for my inhales and exhales.
Not just dangerous anymore.
Deadly.
Giving her the run alone in the woods was a punishment for myself. A test. I could not give in to this obsession.
I’d stayed, my hands finding their way through her bag, if only to touch everything that was hers.
When I found it, I’d sat there, holding it, chain-smoking until she emerged from the trees, cheeks flushed and looking so fucking sinful I almost had to tear across the space between us to take her against a tree until bark embedded in her back.
Later, I promised myself.
She smiled when she saw me. Easy. Lighting up her whole face. An expression that paralyzed me, freed me of every coherent thought.
That smile. So vulnerable. So gorgeous.
And it was for me.
It was fucking mine.
I’d somehow found myself with a woman who smiled without fear, without disgust. For me.
Something cracked inside of me with that smile, opening up a well that I was not going to focus on.
“What is this?” I asked, holding up the small drawstring bag.
Her brows knitted together, smile disappearing. “Were you going through my things?” Her tone was saturated with annoyance. I loved it. Her ability to easily get mad at me, show me her anger without fear of retribution. No one in my previous life dared to show me that. Men who killed for a living were scared to act so much as irritated at me.
But her... My woman wearing flowers and hot-pink yoga pants threw her sass easily and without fear.
My previous life.
That’s what it was. If you could’ve called the barren wasteland of blood and corpses a life.
I’d left it behind the second I picked up Piper. I’d never be able to go back to that, not now. Not while blood and oxygen flowed through Piper.
“Yes,” I admitted to going through her things without shame. She was mine. That meant everything she owned was mine too. Not healthy nor normal. I knew that would annoy her, put her off—just how intense and unyielding my ownership would be. But I didn’t care.
She put her hands on her hips. I wanted to slam against her from behind, seat myself inside of her until she screamed. I’d done that hours ago. But I wanted it again, and to take her ass as she’d promised. My cock swelled at the thought of having her in every way I could. It was a greedy, desperate part of me that would never get my fill of her.
“That’s an invasion of privacy.” Her tone wasn’t as sharp, presumably because she’d noted the lasciviousness on my face.
I was sure my tells were small. I’d schooled any and all reactions my entire adult life. It wasn’t something I’d thought I could change, but Piper was changing me. Learning me in a way that no human, not even my brother, had been able to do.
She saw that I was imagining fucking her, and she reacted with a flush to her cheeks, a hitch to her breath, and I would bet, a wetness between her legs I itched to coat my lips with.
“I don’t want you to have privacy,” I replied, not opening the bag. “I want to know all of you. Every inch.”
When she plunged her teeth into her pouty bottom lip, I wanted her to break the skin. I wanted to taste the copper of her blood when I claimed her mouth.
“That’s a little toxic,” she replied finally.
I shrugged in response. What did I give a fuck about toxicity? Me merely breathing, touching her, fucking her was toxic to her.
“And also incredibly romantic,” she added.
“This is not a fucking romance, Petal” I scowled.
My tone was brutal, mimicking my reaction to her words, violent and angry.
She didn’t even flinch.
She fucking smiled, crossing the distance between us to smoothly take the bag from my grasp. The brushing of her fingers against mine sent shockwaves to my dick, even though I’d touched and licked and tasted every inch of her. She was different now. Had new sweat covering her body, more life. I needed that.
“I beg to differ,” she said quietly. “Hold out your hand.”
Though I stiffened at the order—no one ordered me around—I replied on instinct.
She tipped the contents of the bag out, then I stared at what lay in my palm.
Cigarette butts, a bullet, a Tarot card depicting The Devil.