I’m seething, and my thighs are slick with my own arousal as I rush after Zade.
He doesn’t bother turning the movie off. We just slip from the room and quickly make our way back into the ballroom.
It’s like no one even noticed us gone. But I’m sure people have, right? Zade has worked this entire room by now, and as much as I loathe to admit it, the man is unforgettable.
To say the fucking least.
All of two minutes pass before a man approaches us, his black uniform and white vest signaling his position.
“Mr. Forthright, Ms. Reilly, please follow me,” the butler, Marion, instructs.
Just like that, I’m stone-cold sober and the lingering orgasm has been completely eradicated.
Marion leads us through a series of hallways, pointing out certain pictures and historical artifacts Mark managed to get his hands on.
I nod and hum my appraisal, but my mind is drifting back towards Gigi and the potential information I could garner tonight. Mark might choose to give me breadcrumbs and keep me coming back for more, but it’ll be futile.
He’s not getting me back in this house again. I’m not entirely sure if coming here was even worth it yet or not.
At least I got to watch an unreleased movie, even though I didn’t get to see how it ended.
Whatever, I don’t remember much about it anyways. My gaze was sightless when all I could focus on was—
Stop it, Addie.
My stomach drops from the fresh memory, and it takes entering Mark’s study to pull my attention firmly back into the present.
“My two favorite people,” Mark greets loudly, a lit cigar poised between his fingers and a glass of amber liquid in the crystal cup dangling in his other hand.
He looks drunk. His ruddy face is flushed red, and his eyes have begun to glaze over a bit.
“Please, sit,” he directs, pointing to the plush leather couch beside his desk.
Zade and I take a seat, and the two men immediately engage in a conversation about the party. I add my two cents in when required, noting how beautiful the chandeliers are and the fascinating artifacts decorating his house.
He beams at the compliment, a smile stretching across his face.
“All thanks to my wife, of course. She does enjoy spending my money, and if decorating this house is what keeps her happy, then I can live with that,” he jests. His tone is joyful, but the words are condescending and meant to be an attack.
I glance around, my eyes catching on a metal piece of a snake eating its own tail, hung above an old, Victorian gauntlet set on an equally old, wooden table. Somehow, I don’t believe this office has a woman’s touch outside of the gaudy light fixture.
“I’m sure you know how much the ladies love our money, huh, Zack?”
And there’s the cherry on top of his sundae of misogyny. I bet his sundae taste like bruised skin and a bleeding heart.
Zade smiles, the act nearly primal and ripe with danger. “Small price to pay when they give us something so priceless every day. And if you ask me, I’d tell you I’m not worthy of it, but I’m a selfish bastard and will accept it anyways,” he answers cryptically. I don’t know how I know, but I know exactly what he’s speaking of.
Love.
Love is priceless. As Mark’s nefarious dealings have proven, pussy can be bought and is plentiful, whether they’re forcing it or getting consent. And despite all the ways Zade has forced me to my knees for him, the only thing he’s ever really wanted from me is to return his addiction. Because that’s the one thing he can’t take or force.
He can force my body to succumb to him, but he can’t force my heart to beat for him.
And ironically, it seems that’s the one thing he wants most from me.
Mark takes it the direction most men would. He laughs and offers me a wink, as if he knows without a doubt how priceless my pussy might be. But if I had to guess on what type of man Mark is, he’d put a price on me in a heartbeat.
“I know exactly what you mean,” he chortles.
Do you, asshole?
I shrug a shoulder. ‘I think you’re the lucky one, Mark. One look at Claire, and you can see she is a strong, capable woman. Those are the most dangerous.’ I add in a wink, but I know it’s falling on deaf ears. Mark is too comfortable in the patriarchy to consider that Claire might shove a knife through his neck while sleeping one night.
Mark scoffs, but he takes the hint and shuts his mouth. At least he’s not dense enough to feel the plummeting mood.
Zade appears relaxed and collected, but I know that beast in his soul is pacing back and forth, just waiting to be set loose. I can tell by the subtle flexing of his fist, and that way his smile appears threatening and feral. I can just feel the energy radiating off of him despite the serenity he exudes.
Why does Zade wanting to kill a man over a sleazy comment most men would say make me want to repeat the favor he stole from me in my driveway? This time I’d be much more… willing.
I hate him.
“So, Adeline, about your great-grandmother. Gigi was a beautiful woman. Even as a little boy, I remember that clearly,” he continues.
Climbing a mountain would take less energy than what it does to keep my eyes from rolling at his remark.
That would be something Mark latched onto. Gigi was beautiful, but who the fuck cares about personalities, right?
I clear my throat and paste on a smile. “Yes, she was.”
Mark tips his head back, seeming to retreat into a memory. “Yeah, I remember her signature red lips. Don’t think I ever saw her without that lipstick on.”
“Do you remember anything about her murder?” I ask, trying to keep the hope at bay.
“I remember how absolutely devastated John was when he found her. Was in near hysterics, and it took my father hours to calm him down enough to tell him what happened.”
“You said your father thought it was John, but do you think it could’ve been anyone else?” I press. I already know my great-grandfather freaked the hell out. There was a comment in the police report that they threatened to sedate him.
What I really want to know is what his father knew about the case. Maybe he knew something that wasn’t in any of the files.
He shrugs a shoulder. “From what I remember, he thinks that she was sneaking around on John—seeing some man. My father couldn’t seem to find out who it was, though, so it wasn’t something they looked into. But my father was almost certain that was the reason John snapped and killed Gigi.”
I twist my lips, glancing at Zade to find him already staring at me with an unreadable expression.
He’s skimmed through her diaries and knows she had a stalker. But it doesn’t seem that Mark or his father knew that, which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. Gigi’s diaries were in a safe behind a picture. The police would have had no reason to believe she would be hiding something like that.
I contemplate if I should divulge what I know. Maybe Mark would have some type of power to look into the diaries and see what he can find. But the second that thought enters, I boot it right back out.
Mark isn’t a nice guy. And he would only lord those books over my head and lead me on. I’m positive I would never see them again if I handed them over.
Besides, I’m confident Daya has many more ways to get information than Mark ever could. Mark’s father is presumably dead with the way he speaks about him in the past tense, and I’m sure the officers from the case are also dead, or close to it.
Gigi died in the ‘40s, making this case seventy-five years old.
“Why did Frank believe it was John and not the other man then?”
Mark settles back, his glazed eyes look off into the distance. ‘Sera was older than me at the time, by six years. She was a teenager, and I was still a ten-year-old kid who wanted to play. Of course, Sera was an angel and humored me. So, for months leading up to Gigi’s death, I would ask to go over to Parsons Manor and see Sera. And every time, my father would say no. He said John developed a bit of a drinking problem and it was no longer safe for children over there. I whined and cried ‘cause I only wanted to see my friend. And then Gigi was killed, and I still didn’t get it.
‘Now, of course, when my father told me Gigi was gone, I understood death, but not the severity. The last time I had ever asked to go to the manor was a few days after. And my father looked me in the eye and said, ‘You want to die next?” He laughs without humor. ‘I’ll never forget that. My blood ran cold when he said that. Never asked again, and eventually, I let go of Sera.’
I frown, shivers roll down my spine. Nana didn’t talk much about John. She did mention before that he was a wonderful father up until Gigi’s death. He did have a drinking problem, but I think he hid most of his anger from Nana in the beginning. But once Gigi died, all hell must’ve broken loose. Nana never told me how Gigi died, so I had just assumed he declined due to heartbreak.
But I would’ve never thought it’d be for a much darker reason. For the first time, I’m faced with the true possibility that my great-grandfather was the one to murder Gigi.
Clearing my throat, I take a different direction. Gigi had spoken of people breaking into her house in the diary entries due to John’s gambling habits, and Nana had said in passing before that her father liked to gamble.
“My Nana mentioned before that he liked to gamble. Maybe he owed some people money, and when he couldn’t pay up, they went after Gigi?”
Mark nods his head thoughtfully. “John was known to have really bad gambling habits. They almost lost Parsons Manor at one point because of it. The only reason they didn’t was because Gigi came up with the money to pay off the mortgage and property tax,” he explains.
I tighten my lips. According to her diary, Ronaldo paid off their overdue bills, but the excuse Gigi spun was that she borrowed it from one of her girlfriends. John wanted to know who, but she refused to tell and it caused a fight considering John was a typical man back then with pride and an ego.
But from what I gleaned from the entries, I can’t be sure if Ronaldo ever paid off John’s debts. He had mentioned he’d take care of it, but when the righthand man for the mafia says those words, that can mean a number of things.
Maybe he killed the people instead and gained Gigi enemies by doing so.
Jesus, it really is like time repeating itself if that’s the case.
“Then how did he pay off the men he owed?”
Mark finishes off his drink before refilling. “You know, now that I think about it, I remember overhearing a particular conversation. My father told him that he needed to quit with the gambling, and John wasn’t listening. He said one of the men he owed was Angelo Salvatore—who was a pretty notorious crime lord back in the day. But turns out Angelo’s righthand man, Ronaldo, convinced Angelo to hire John instead.”
It takes monumental effort to keep my eyes from blowing wide. John was working for Ronaldo’s boss? There’s no way Gigi knew about it. I imagine that’s something she would’ve mentioned if she had.
“Why would he hire him? Why not just kill him?”
“He almost did,” Mark counters. He then opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a cigar. Lighting the tobacco, Mark leans back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight. A woodsy scent fills the air as he puffs.
“I’ll never forget the way my father ripped into him over it. Calling him names and telling him he could’ve gotten himself killed. John said Angelo had a gun to his head, ready to pull the trigger before Ronaldo stepped in. Said the man asked Angelo to consider hiring John to pay off his debts by working for him instead.” Mark sucks in deeply and then coughs a few times as smoke puffs from his mouth. “Guess it worked.”
So, Ronaldo saved John’s life. I don’t need to have been there to know he only did it for Gigi. But it’s not like he could’ve told Angelo his real reasons for bartering John’s life, which means John had to have been useful in some form—that would’ve been too risky of a move otherwise, and possibly could’ve gotten him killed if John wasn’t valuable.
“Do you know what he did for Angelo?”
Mark’s brows raise, and a small smile curls his lips. Almost as if he finds my question amusing. “John was an accountant back then. Real good with numbers. Pretty sure he helped Angelo launder his money, but that was never proven.”
I blink. “If he was so good with numbers and money, why did he suck so bad with gambling? The man could’ve just counted cards or something.”
Mark bursts out into laughter, his plump stomach shaking. “You’re a funny girl, Addie. You’re right, I think if John was in his right mind when he played, he might’ve won big. But he couldn’t stop with the drinking. Angelo told John he didn’t give a shit what he did in his free time, but if he showed up to work drunk and fucked with his money, he was a dead man.”
I frown. I can’t imagine Angelo would target Gigi if John messed up, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t do something else to piss off the mob boss.
The possibilities are endless on the ways John could’ve gotten Gigi killed.
“Wasn’t this something Frank told the detectives since he believed John was guilty? They didn’t look into this?”
He huffs out a dry laugh. “You ever try to pin a crime on a mob boss? Not that easy, kiddo. They got all kinds of people in their pockets. It was dropped due to a lack of evidence. If you want my opinion, I think John got a taste for the danger, and whether it’s because Gigi was having an affair or because she wanted to leave John, he snapped and killed her.”
Jesus Christ.
The possibility of that sounds… likely. Very likely.
“I just have one last question,” I say, fiddling with my dress. I’m creasing it, but I don’t care. “What made Frank turn on John? They were best friends. So why not give John the benefit of the doubt instead of trying so hard to pin the blame on him?”
He takes a moment to puff on his cigar. “My guess is that he saw John for what he was, and chose to try and bring Gigi justice, even if that meant putting away his best friend. With his drinking, temper, and then getting involved in the mafia, I think it’s safe to say he was becoming a violent man. Would explain why my father was so goddamn torn up over everything after John was proven innocent.”
I frown and can’t help but feel sympathy for Mark’s father. He got caught up in a pretty toxic vortex of cheating, lies, and crime between Gigi and John. I imagine that would’ve taken a toll on anyone.
“Anyway, I think that’s enough of that for tonight. There’s an annual charity we’re hosting in a few weeks. I could always expect to see you there and speak on it more then,” Mark says, his eyes sparkling.
“I’ll check my schedule,” Zade cuts in, relieving me of having to make any commitments. In most cases, I wouldn’t appreciate the implication that he’s the boss, but right now, I’m nothing but grateful for it.
“Of course,” Mark concedes, his smile a tad more strained than before.
Mark drones on about boring work-related stuff for another hour, drinking his alcohol, puffing on his expensive cigar, and increasingly becoming more drunk.
I barely listen, too lost in thought about everything I just learned. And maybe a little heartbroken that Gigi might’ve been murdered by her own husband. Someone she did love and trust, despite her affair.
Even when you’re married to someone for over a decade, it’s possible to never really know them and what they’re capable of.
I glance at Zade. I’m learning exactly what he’s capable of, and it’s fucking terrifying.
Zade is fucking terrifying.
It’s impossible not to consider the possibility that if I ever were to fall in love with him, that he could turn on me too.
For the fourth time, Mark’s phone rings in the middle of the conversation. Every time, his face darkens when he looks to see who’s calling.
‘Everything okay?’ Zade asks, noting his odd behavior.
Mark glances at Zade, forcing a strained smile before attempting to pocket his phone.
Drunkenly, he drops it, and it’s almost painful watching him pick it up. I can hear his bones creaking from here.
As alcohol takes control over his body, all I can focus on is how it seems to age him further.
The liver spots on his balding head and darkened hands, and the bags underneath his eyes have formed a few more wrinkles.
He’s an ugly man. On the inside and out. And it’s a wonder how his depravity has sunk so low when the man has everything most people could want in life. Money, power, influence, and a beautiful wife that might’ve loved him if he weren’t so evil.
“Yeah, a few of my colleagues are freakin’ out over some ssstupid leaked video,” Mark slurs, finally getting the phone in his pocket.
Zade stiffens beside me, though his face stays unreadable.
“Leaked video?”
Mark flaps a hand, attempting to gloss over what he confessed. I glance at Zade, noting the subtle tic in his jaw.
“Yeah, but I keep telling them they don’t have to worry ‘bout it. Our So-ssocciety will take care of it, and no one will be none the wissser.”
I open my mouth, ready to pry, but a quick warning glance from Zade has me snapping my mouth shut.
He must be talking about the videos from the rituals.
“I’m sure they’re taking the necessary steps to make sure the video is handled, alongside whoever leaked it,” Zade assures casually, swirling his drink as if there’s spices resting in the bottom of the cup.
“Are they ever!” Mark bursts out, slapping his hand obnoxiously on his ornate desk. “The video is handled, it’sh finding the pershon who leaked the videos that’s th-the problem. They’ve been interrogating an-and watching our every move for months now!”
I didn’t think it was possible for Mark’s face to turn any redder, but he’s starting to look like the Kool-Aid Man.
“Well, whatever the case, I’m sure it’ll be handled soon.”
Zade is careful with his words and is deliberately refusing to pry and dig out extra information. I’m not sure if whatever Mark is saying is sufficient, or if Zade is in for the long haul.
“Yeah, sure,” Mark mutters. “Guessh the bright shide is that nothing can happen to us. I-If one of us goes misshing and the Society ss-suspects foul play, guess what? They will up and relocate within hourss.” Under his breath he mutters, “We all will know who to blame anyway.” I can’t hear the rest of what he says, but for a second, it sounds like he says Z.
A pregnant pause passes, and it seems like Zade has to collect himself. Mark is too wasted to be mindful of the word vomit spewing from his mouth.
I don’t know what the fuck this Society is, but they obviously can’t trust an inebriated Mark and his big mouth. He’s spilling all kinds of shit, and though I can’t make sense of most of it—Zade clearly can.
“Good thing, wouldn’t want anything to happen to my new friend,” Zade teases smoothly, his face morphing into a relaxed state as he lies to Mark’s face.
Mark believes it, laughing alongside Zade and spending the next ten minutes telling my shadow how grateful he is that they met.
I nearly snort from the irony. Zade is both Mark’s judge and executioner, and he’s too stupid to see it.
Zade sips at the amber liquid in his cup throughout the whole mushy tirade, but by the time we’re rising to leave, it looks like he barely consumed an ounce of it.
“Thank you so much for having me,” I say graciously. Mark cups my hand in both of his, and a cold feeling embeds beneath my flesh, digging deep like a parasite. His hands are sweaty, but all I can feel is ice.
This man… he’s evil. It feels like touching a corpse.
I slide my hand from his, resisting the urge to wipe it against my dress.
I wouldn’t want to ruin such a pretty dress anyway.
Just as I’m walking out, Mark calls out, “I’ll be seeing you, Adeline.”
The second the door closes, Zade growls beneath his breath, “You’ll be dead before that will ever happen.”
I never thought I’d condone murder, but with Mark… maybe I can overlook it just this once.
Another week passes, and Zade continues to haunt my house. My dreams. My goddamn nightmares. And in this moment, with Zade’s hand firmly wrapped around the column of my throat, squeezing until my vision blackens, it feels less like a nightmare and more like Hell.
For the tenth time, I freeze and can’t seem to coerce my limbs to move. Heat lashes at my insides, and the raw look in his eyes—the unrelenting pleasure he takes out of draining the life from me—it does nothing but stoke the single flame burning in my core.
He lets go with a click of his tongue and a sidelong look. As if he knows precisely how twisted up my organs are.
Fuck him.
I’m sweating profusely and becoming increasingly irritated beyond belief. He keeps calling me little mouse, but mice don’t look like drowned sewer rats last time I checked.
“You’re ten times larger than me, you expect me to break a chokehold?” I snap, more so out of embarrassment for my continued failure.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Zade says patiently, a tiny smirk lifting his lips. I’m going to punch him.
“I’ve tried several times,” I point out. “And failed.”
“Because you’re not listening. You’re hardly even moving.”
I scoff and argue, “I am too.”
He cocks a brow, unimpressed. “Every time I choke you, you just get flustered and try to knee me in the dick. You’re not doing the movements I’ve taught you to do.”
Blood rises to my cheeks, and I just know that I look like a bright red cherry.
“That’s a lie,” I shoot back. He just smirks and grabs my throat in a tight grip, pushing me back against the wall behind me. My eyes round, and if I had any sense, I’d do the movements he’s been walking me through for the past hour.
But all I can do is stare.
“Break the hold, Addie,” he says quietly, his deep voice sending delicious shivers down my spine.
I go to clear my throat but then remember it’s being crushed by Zade’s rather large hand.
You can do this Addie. You’re only hot because you forgot to open the window.
Lifting my arm, I twist forward and bring it over his extended arm, and jerk down with all my strength. His arm stays tight and his body twists with mine, counteracting my escape.
“You can’t do that!” I shout, my fist bounding off his steel muscles when I go to land a punch on his chest.
He releases me.
“Do you really think an attacker is going to do what you want them to do? If you’re attempting escape, they’re going to do everything in their power to make sure you don’t succeed.”
I huff, out of breath and ready to go back to kneeing him in the balls, or attempting to, at least. Maybe I’ll just drop kick them instead. Even if my toe merely grazes the hairs on his balls, I’ll feel more accomplished than I do now.
“You’re too slow. I can see your intent from a mile away. You need to be quicker, catch me off guard from the swiftness and strength of your attack.”
He goes through the movements with me several more times, keeping his hands loose as he guides my arms.
We’ve been doing this all week. Now that Mark has set his eyes on me, Zade is paranoid that I will go missing in the dead of night.
I’ve seen his eyes crease with worry when he explains the possible threat looming over my head. A threat far more serious than Max and his cronies.
Zade’s men have been lingering outside my place, and I get the feeling they’ve been there since the moment I walked out of Mark’s house. I hadn’t noticed them until a few days ago, and my lack of awareness did knock some sense into me.
The frustration of my situation mounts as I fail once more at breaking free of Zade’s chokehold. I wouldn’t need to know any of this shit if Zade would’ve just left me alone. Let me live my life in peace and blissful ignorance of the terrors of the world surrounding me.
I was happy. Bored, but happy.
And now my very own stalker is teaching me self-defense moves. Not against himself, but his enemies. The irony is not lost on me, unlike my success in not getting choked to death.
“This is all your fault, you know,” I hiss, a bead of sweat dripping into my eye. The burn is minuscule compared to the fire raging in my chest.
Zade stills, and his eyes study me closely. “Is it?” he counters.
“You pretend like you care about me, or whatever you convince yourself that you feel for me, but I’ve been in danger because of you. You do know that, right? Max would’ve never came aft—”
He steps into me, and my mouth involuntarily snaps shut. His presence is powerful and invokes my will to bend to him. Whether I want it to or not.
“Don’t pretend like fucking Archie would’ve been the end of it. The man would’ve dragged you into a life full of pain and suffering, and Max and the rest of them would’ve stood idly by while Archie destroyed you from the inside out. I saved you from that life.”
I snarl. ‘But he wouldn’t have come after me if you didn’t kill Arch.’
‘You’re right, and that was my mistake to not take out Max when I took down the rest of Archie’s family. But I’m not going to apologize for what I did. Had I left you and Archie alone, you would’ve been hurt and traumatized, and I would’ve ended up killing him anyway. If I hadn’t killed him for touching what’s mine, I would’ve for hurting you instead. Archie’s fate was sealed the moment he led you up those stairs.’
‘You traumatized me.’
He leans down and snips, ‘A gun in your pussy certainly is traumatizing, little mouse, but only because I used it to make you come, not to make you bleed.’
I snarl, refusing to acknowledge that. “And Mark? I would’ve never been on his radar.”
“False,” he snaps. “Mark didn’t show up at Bailey’s because of me, Adeline. And he wasn’t seated where he could get a perfect view of you because of me. I brought no attention to you whatsoever and did my best to keep him distracted, but I can’t control a man’s wandering eye. Even if you’re a decade older than his normal taste.”
I balk, disgust curling deep at his implication.
“You knew I was at Bailey’s,” I guess. “And you knew he was heading there? So why not redirect him somewhere else?”
His spine straightens. “Do you think I possess magic and can influence a man to do everything I say? I regret to inform you that I can’t.”
I tighten my lips at the condescension in his tone. “I tried to, but Mark was insistent on going to Bailey’s, and trying to force him to go elsewhere would have only aroused suspicion.” He takes another step into me, crowding me against my bedroom wall. “And that’s the last thing I need when Mark’s trust in me means saving lives. Because you know what I can do, little mouse? I can protect you. And I can teach you to protect yourself. But those children and girls that are being held captive? They don’t get that privilege right now.”
My eyes drop to my toes, and all I can manage to feel is shame. He tips my chin up with his finger, and I’m too lost in thought to fight.
“You’re allowed to be angry and frustrated with your situation. You’re even allowed to be angry with my stalking you. Life strips you of power often, but what you can control is pointing the blame in the right direction. Don’t misplace Max’s and Mark’s ill intentions onto me when I’ve been doing my best to keep you safe from them. What we’ve been doing all week is to keep you safe. So, you can either redirect all the effort you’ve been putting into acting like a brat and apply it towards something useful, or you can continue to be powerless in the situations life throws you in. You choose, baby, because I’m not going to keep making these decisions for you.”
I had forgotten what it felt like to truly be scolded like a child. My mother does it often, but considering that’s all she’s ever done, it felt less like being scolded and more just like a normal conversation with her.
But now? I feel nothing but small and bent out of shape, like a piece of paper wadded up in Zade’s fist. Pride bucks against that feeling, and I want nothing more than to snap something clever back and hold on to my dignity.
I’d only be proving him right, though. He’d look at me with superiority, and I’d only shrink further beneath him.
“Okay,” I relent. “Fine. I’ll just be mad at you for being a creep then.” I pause, hating the words but knowing they need to be said. “I’m sorry for misplacing blame, but I’m not sorry for the ass beating you’re about to get.”
He suppresses a smile, but he can’t contain the emotion in his yin-yang eyes. Pride. Amusement. Something deeper and far scarier than Zade’s hand wrapping around my throat.
I don’t give myself time to panic, nor do I hand myself over to the heat he invokes, I just let my body take over. I jerk to the left, bringing my elbow down on his outstretched arm before he can blink.
His grip loosens. And I seize the moment, pouring all my frustration into my limbs. I may not be able to hate him for Max’s misplaced blame for Arch’s death or Mark’s wandering eyes, but I can use that against him in a different way. In a way that matters.
I curl my fist and swing it back into his face and then crush my elbow directly into his nose.
His head jerks back just in time, my elbow striking true but hardly enough to be gifted with a bloody nose.
He lets go and it feels like I can finally breathe. Not because he was squeezing hard enough to genuinely choke me, but because I finally succeeded.
He chuckles, deep and low, as he steps away from me. The bastard doesn’t look the least bit ruffled, but I choose not to dwell on that. If I focus on everything I didn’t do, then I’ll only be stripping myself of power.
“There you go. That was really good, baby.”
“Don’t call me that,” I mutter, but really, I feel a tinge of pride swelling deep in my chest cavity.
“Or what?” he challenges. I sigh, not having the mental capacity to spar with Zade right now. I need a hot shower and then a long soak in the bath. I refuse to bathe without washing the dirt and grime off first. I don’t like to spend hours pruning in my own dirty bath water.
He goes through the motions with me for another hour, forcing me to perform the move over and over until I’m panting, and he has a bruise forming under his eye.
Somehow, it just makes him look sexier, and I want to punch him in the face for the tenth time all over again for it.
“That’s enough for today,” he announces, smiling despite the fact that I just nailed him in the face again with my elbow.
“Good, because I need to take a shower, and you need to leave because you’re definitely not coming within six feet of that bathroom,” I grouse, planting my hands on my hips.
A smile curls his lips, slowly and salaciously, until flames lick at my cheeks again.
Bastard of a man.
“Who said I even need to be in the same house in order to watch you bathe?”
My eyes narrow into thin slits. “There are no cameras in the bathroom.”
He chuckles with the same sinful undertones. He seizes my neck in his hand once more, but my body refuses to go through the motions again. His intention is dangerous, but not directed towards my life.
But rather my vagina.
Traitorous, useless thing, you are.
“That you know of,” he taunts in a low, husky whisper before placing a soft kiss on my lips and effectively silencing me. It’s short and anything but sweet. His hand flexes, and my pussy pulses in tandem. “Just don’t forget to scream my name when you’re holding that showerhead to your pussy. You can come knowing that I’ll be shouting yours, too.”
He releases me, slips a rose in my hand, and strides out of the bedroom, shooting me one last heated glance before clicking the door shut behind him.
I look down at the rose, twirling it in my hand as the world around me blurs. I’m not even capable of considering where he was hiding it this entire time. My heart is firmly lodged in my throat while I try to process his words. They’re currently wading through the animalistic arousal convoluting my body and struggling to make their way to my brain.
Was he just fucking with me? Or am I really about to tear apart my entire bathroom instead of taking a well-deserved bath? Because I did have plans with that showerhead, and Zade’s name tends to break free of my tongue when I make myself come.
I don’t want him to witness that.
I rock on my toes, deciding if I should just go kick his ass again instead.
But my bones are weary, sweat is trickling into places that only my loofah should be touching, and I’m well and truly horny now. Kicking his ass will somehow turn into him gaining entrance to mine, and I’m too tired to put myself in that situation.
Whatever. He can look just this once, but at least the dickhead can’t touch me from behind his stupid screen.
