Something’s eating her, and I don’t want to give a fuck about whatever it is.
But I do.
“You want to be punished? It’s your prerogative, I guess.”
Standing, she locks eyes with me. She slowly removes her panties and then her shirt, tossing both aside on the floor.
Her standing nude before me, her gaze pinned to mine, does something to me.
If she intended to throw me off-kilter, she’s done a damn fine job.
“Happy?” she asks.
My hand finds my hardness that hasn’t relented, tugging. “As a fucking clam.”
She rolls her spiteful eyes, getting into bed and sliding beneath the covers. “That’s all that matters, I guess.”
What the fuck does that mean?
I remind myself that we don’t care what her charged words meant. She’s our hostage, and her feelings don’t fucking matter.
I shut off the light and get into bed beside her, thankful I’d put on briefs. The urge to roll between her thighs and sink inside her tight pussy is strong.
The briefs won’t stop me from such a feat, but they remind me of the barrier between us.
Her body is something I can’t resist, even when she’s unconscious, and it’s something she could use to gain the upper hand in this house.
I have to be careful with her.
I have to remain alert and in control.
“You had blood on you earlier,” she says, it’s nearly a whisper.
“Be careful. There are boundaries between us, Greer. Some things, you shouldn’t know. You can’t.”
Her swallow is audible through the room before she turns toward me. “Why? It’s not like I can go anywhere or tell anyone.”
“For your safety.”
“My safety? I’m sleeping beside a serial killer. Naked.”
“You’re not sleeping. You’re questioning me. Which isn’t wise.”
“It’s not against the rules.”
“I’ll add it tomorrow.”
“You’re exhausting.” She huffs as she lies down on her pillow. She’s so close I can feel her exhale on my shoulder.
Turning toward her, my eyes travel over where the blanket falls over her side. Her breasts are full and free, her nipples hard.
Her eyes are closed, but her breathing says she’s anything but. Her breath is laced with alcohol, too much alcohol.
She’d been busy while I was on task.
“You drank too much.”
“You’re bossy,” she snaps back, her eyes still closed.
