“Louder. Don’t hold back. I want everyone to know whose pussy this is,” he rasps before sucking hard on my clit.
I throw my head back and moan. The pleasure is so intense, I can barely breathe.
“You like that?” he snarls. “You like me ruining you on the table?”
My mouth opens and closes, but I make no sound. My toes curl, my eyes roll to the back of my head. I grip his hair so tight I swear I hear him groan.
“That’s right, my pretty little pet. I want to feast on you all night. Drink every sound. Savor every tremble. Make you come until dawn. But first, I need you to make a mess all over my face.”
He doesn’t ease off. His mouth stays relentless, keeping me pinned. Every lick, every suck, every flick of his tongue makes me writhe beneath him. When I come, it’s gentle. Safe. Warm. Nothing like that brutal explosion. His hands tighten around my hips as I tremble, and he keeps licking until I’ve given him everything.
When the pleasure fades, and my breathing slows, I loosen my grip on Rowland’s hair. He lifts his head from between my legs, his beard glistening with my arousal. His eyes catch mine, still shining with reverence and hunger. Then he licks his lips as if he’s just enjoyed a feast.
“Look at you. Utter perfection.”
“R-Rowland,” I say with a gasp.
“Do you like baked Alaska?” he asks with a playful grin.
I blink at him, still fuzzy from the orgasm, wondering what he’s talking about. “What?”
“I made you a dessert. Are you ready for it?”
When I give him an eager nod, he helps me down from the table, straightens my skirt, and settles me back into my chair. My breath shallows. No man ever made me dinner, let alone dessert.
“I’ll be right back.” he says with a kiss to my temple and strides toward the house.
I sit back in my seat, marveling at his confident strut. The man who was terrified of being called a monster just hours ago now moves like he owns the world. As he disappears into the house, I release a happy sigh. Everything looks hopeful. Rowland is determined to get rid of Rochester, and his impersonation was impeccable.
If we stick together, we can make this work.
Chuckling, I rise off the seat and pick up the plates, glasses, and silverware that fell on the floor. Some of them smashed on the way down, and I’m careful not to cut my fingers. I set right a bottle of wine that’s lost half its contents and drink the dregs.
After several minutes, a breeze blows through the gazebo making the candles flicker. I twist around in my seat and look across the lawn toward the lit kitchen. What’s taking him so long?
Worry gnaws at my stomach. Maybe the dessert is more complicated than he thought. Maybe he’s having trouble finding something in the kitchen. Maybe he’s just searching for a tray.
But the silence feels wrong.
My survival instincts are pinging. After everything that’s happened, I can’t just sit here and wait.
I rise off my seat, cross the lawn, and head toward the house. Even from this distance, I can't see movement from behind the kitchen window. The back door stands open, spilling light onto the gravel. I quicken my pace, squaring my shoulders, readying myself for the worst. Then I step through the doorway into chaos.
The kitchen chairs are overturned. Pots and pans litter the counters. A knife glints on the floor, its blade smeared with something wetand dark.
“Rowland?” I call out, my voice echoing in the empty kitchen.
No answer.
Just silence.
And the metallic tang of blood.
FORTY
Edward Rochester is back.
There’s no other explanation. Rowland is missing and there’s blood all over the floor. I race through the manor, clutching a kitchen knife. That sick fuck must have returned early and taken him.
