We can’t.
She has to die.
The videos.
Remember the videos.
The photos.
Of what she has done.
She has done so many horrid things; she was in on Sutton’s network, she?—
I cannot be triggered again.
Everything zones out.
It takes me all my willpower to sign quickly, breathing away what had just happened.
Her hand wanders over mine. She has cold hands, and yet, warmth radiates through my body as a longing overwhelms me. Stupid and reckless.
My gaze wanders from our hands up to her eyes, and I don’t know who I am right now. I can’t be Ella because I am me. And I can’t be me.
Everything is so far away.
“Come,” she says, and I let myself be pulled by her.
What am I doing here?
We walk past Hannigan, step outside the bar, and I only have this moment. But then Lilian pulls me close, pushes me into the wall behind me, and her lips find mine.
Her firm yet unbelievably soft lips demand mine, and I can only give in. Lilian's cold fingers grasp my neck, and her nails dig into my skin.
Suddenly, the world is so real. I feel myself and her, experiencing myself as a being, not as an issue. I am here. Just here. With that sensation in my chest, radiating heat through my body.
A soft moan comes over my lips as I can’t stop myself from giving in to the desire that comes with it. I open my mouth slightly, and our tongues explore each other in a small fight of carnal desire.
Lilian presses her body against mine. I want to touch her, explore her, consume her. All of her. She pushes up my chin and nibbles down my throat to that sweet spot right above the collarbone.
I want to get lost in her.
But I can’t.
I have to kill her.
She needs to die.
I can’t have her touch me, while all I want is for her to do exactly that.
I try to focus on what I have on her, what she did with Sutton, the pain, the loss, the horrid things, but all I feel is longing.
For her, Lilian Anne Knightley. Control freak. Billionaire. Sociopath. Probably Psychopath. With lethal secrets. Secrets that are worth being killed for. Secrets that included abusing girls. Like me.
I need to stop it.
It needs to end.
“I thought no public affections,” I breathe out with a forced smirk. “Clause 4.1.”
