His lips tilted.
“Come, Rich Girl.”
No.
Don’t do it.
But I stood up, my legs moving involuntarily, until I was between his legs. His gaze never strayed from mine. I was too open right now. Too vulnerable.
But I couldn’t look away.
Our breaths were one.
He tilted his head, peering into me. Goose bumps shivered along my arms and legs and spine.
“I should go,” I said. “I need to leave. If I leave things will get better.”
“You don’t want to belong to me,mi locura?”
I do. Isodo.
“No.”
One side of his lips tilted up, like he’d read my lie. But he said nothing, running his open palm up the back of my thigh, curving over my ass to the small of my back.
Again I felt like a thing. A very precious thing. That belonged to Grim. And I was weak with it.
I can’t be the reason your life falls apart.
“You were never supposed to kill them.” I shoved him, and he gripped my wrists with both hands, keeping me close.
“So I should have let you die?” he growled.
“Yes!” I struggled in his grip, but it was iron. “Let me go. I’m not good for you. I’ll ruin you. I’ll ruin your life. I’ll destroy everything.”
“And?” he demanded. “Since when do you care about that, Rich Girl? Why do you care what happens to me?”
I tried to turn away, but he gripped my chin, dragging me back.
“Do you love me or something?” His eyes searched mine.
Love?
Love was too shallow a word for what I felt. Grim consumed me. My blood. My marrow. He was rooted so deep inside my soul I could feel the tangled roots.
His palms slid into place on either side of my face, caging me. His eyes sharpened, like he was reading my mind.
Then he crushed his mouth against mine. His thumbs dug into my cheekbones, pulling me closer to him. The kiss was rough and commanding—I couldn’t move under his grip—and over too soon.
“I will never let you go,” he said, pulling back to snarl against my lips. “Never.”
He didn’t let me go, grip still bruising my face. Under a lock of black hair, his eyes were black, fathomless pools. The words Wraith had said to me weeks ago reflected back in the hungry, visceral emotions shimmering in their depths.
If Grim is your reaper, then you’re his fucking reckoning. He knows you’re going to kill him, and he refuses to let go.
FORTY-FOUR
GEMMA
