No thanks.
I thought I’d be fine being celibate for the rest of my life, but this naked woman in my bed is tempting me in the worst possible way. Before I do anything I’ll regret, I pull the sheets up to cover her.
Look at her face, not her body, I tell myself. That’s not helpful because she’s actually rather pretty. Long, wavy brown hair. Tan skin, either naturally or from being out in the sun delivering pizza. She has a scattering of freckles across her nose. It’s her lips, though, that make my dick stand up straight for the second time in two minutes. Her lips are a wet dream come to life. Fucking voluptuous, rose-colored, full, and pouty. The kind designed to be wrapped around my cock, sucking me down. I could drown in those lips, die with them pressed to mine.
Fuck!
Why can’tshe be ugly?
She hates you,I remind myself. Can’t stand your rotten guts with very good reason. You think she wants to make out with a killer? Have sex with a murderer? Fall in love with her captor?
Better to have her hate me, better for both of us, I decide. Then those lips will never touch mine, and all my plans can go forward like they’re supposed to. Just like they would have if she’d never stumbled into my life.
Chapter six
Laurel
I’m nudged awake by a knuckle pressed into my shoulder. Before I open my eyes, all the torrid events of last night come flooding back. I bolt upright, clasping the blankets to my naked body, insanely grateful they didn’t slip down in the middle of the night.
The devil himself sits on the edge of the bed by my hip, gazing at me dispassionately, like I hold no more importance than a fly, which I guess is exactly what I am.
A fly in his ointment.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, his voice deep and low. His smell is around me again—warm, woodsy, unfairly alluring.
I pull the sheets higher to my chin, like they can protect me, and declare, “I’d rather die.”
“Good,” Carrson nods. “I feel the same way.”
Those words should make me feel relieved, and they definitely do…but some tiny part of me is offended. I know I’m not the most beautiful woman in the world, but his utter disdain is insulting.
“W—well, good. That’s great,” I sputter. “Glad to know we’re on the same page.”
He leans closer, bracing himself with one hand next to my other hip. Hovering over me, his eyes narrow. “Here’s the deal, Laurel Ann Turner of 1824 East Clemont Street.”
I suck in a breath, terror striking deep in my heart. “How do you know that?” If he knows where I live, he can hurt my dad.
An evil grin, nothing good in it. “Oh, I knowallabout you. Every deep dark secret.”
More terror.He can’t know about senior year, can he? Please God, no. He can’t know. He can’t. If he does, if he even suspects, I won’t survive it. I’ll unravel, right here in front of him.
“I have a deal to make with you.” Carrson’s eyes are glued to my face, drinking in every microexpression like he’s a fucking emotional vampire.
“Wh—what?” I ask with trepidation.
“I have thingsyouwant, and you have thingsIwant. I’m prepared to offer a trade.”
What on earth could I possibly have that this man needs? He lives in a mansion, commands everyone around him, and is that a vintage Rolex gleaming on his wrist?
Yes. Yes, it is.
I’m so screwed.
My body wants to tremble, but I won’t let it. I grit my teeth and refuse to look away from him. I spit out, “I don’t wantanythingfrom you.”
“Oh, really?” His hand slides to my hip. I watch with mounting horror as he walks his fingers up my stomach and to the middle of my chest, right over my heart, which beats so hard I’m sure he can feel it.
Sure enough, he grins, a skeleton’s smile.
