But when I’m here, that life fades, and I can be Caleb Taylor.
I expected my duchess to bitch and moan about everything. Instead, she hasn’t complained once. Not one damn time. Not even over having to take quick showers because the water heater is small. Without Wi-Fi, we don’t have internet, which means picking movies from the collection of old DVDs. Also, I’m teaching her to play Dungeons & Dragons. It’s something no one knows I play. My friends would give me shit about it—not that I care. But it’s not something I want to defend. D&D, and its community, got me through some of my darkest years.
It helps keep me from losing what little sanity I have left.
I didn’t intend to share this secret part of myself with Kerri, but I did, and she’s asked about a zillion questions, took notes, and wants to join an upcoming campaign.
She also cooks, cleans, and respects boundaries.
But it’s her voice.Christ. Her voice kills me. I never enjoyed someone’s voice. But hers? I can listen to her talk all day, every day, about everything and nothing without growing tired of hearing her beautiful fucking voice.
And that’s a problem because this, what we’re doing? This here is temporary. A game of playing house. Soon as we return to civilization, the bubble will burst, and it’ll be business as usual. I’ll return to doing bad things in Mayhem, and she’ll go back to her gilded kingdom in Brighton.
But for now, she’s mine.
And that means I can look at her all I want—and she’s fucking adorable with that hoodie pulled up as she hustles her cute ass over to me like I’m her gravity and points to an axe protruding from the tree stump. “Need help?”
I lift a brow at the offer. “Thanks, but I got this.” I nod at the side of the cabin. “How about you go look over there.”
She purses her full lips, and I never wanted someone’s taste in my mouth so badly in my life. Never wanted to put my hand around someone’s throat and feel the throb of their pulse against my palm. I want to consume her. Have those nails rake down my back. Tear at my skin—
“Why, what’s over there?”
“Just go.” Because if she doesn’t walk away, she’ll get an eyeful of me readjusting my cock before it cracks in half inside my jeans.
I appreciate the view when she spins on her heel and walks away. Maybe a little too much. Even buried beneath baggy clothes, she’s the personification of grace. She’s got a gentle swing to her hips and a mighty fine ass. And those legs. Fuck. Every time I close my eyes, I imagine them wrapped around my waist.
Or my shoulders.
Either will do.
Just the thought of my tongue on her pussy has me craving to drive deep into her. I bite back a groan as pressure builds at the base of my spine. It moves around to my shaft, right to the tip of my dick when the wind blows the hood off her head and her golden hair spills down her back. Her gasp carries over to me a second before she swings back around, eyes wide with wonder.
“Havoc.”
Her breathy whisper drifts over to me, and before I realize I’m doing it, I’m already halfway toward her.
The Death Star sits on a peak that overlooks the Blue Ridge Mountains. The range runs from southern Pennsylvania to Georgia, extending to Tennessee. It’s a sight to see, especially this time of year, with the sun making everything look like it’s on fire.
“Now, will you stop questioning everything I tell you and trust me?”
“I do trust you.” Her quick admission tightens the uncomfortable knot in my stomach. “It’s stunning.” Her gaze drifts over the canyon that spans the horizon, a dreamy grin lingering on her full, pink lips.
“There’s nothing more beautiful.” But I’m not admiring the view. I’ve seen it a hundred times. I’m staring at Kerri, lit by the sun. Never have I seen anything more beautiful than this woman. This moment tattoos itself on my brain, same as I marked Unholy across my chest.
Absently, she reaches for my hand. I let her twine her fingers around mine. We stand there, palm to palm as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As if we’ve done this a million times, and we’ll do this a million more. “I understand why you love this place.”
“Yeah.” I tap my head with my free hand. “When the noise gets too loud, I come here to find the quiet.”
She nods, still looking out over the mountain range. “People think living in Brighton is a privilege.” When she rips her gaze from the view to look at me, I fall into her blue eyes. “But they’re wrong.”
“Most people don’t know shit about shit,” I tell her.
Her laughter is music that echoes on this crisp morning. “Eloquently said.” But then she turns solemn again. “Life in Brighton is a prison.”
I lift a brow and pull a sardonic expression. “Most people would take your fancy prison over their own lives in a heartbeat. Trust me on this, Duchess.”
“You wouldn’t.”
