I stride to the living room and turn onSupernatural. I try to watch the show, but it’s no use. All I can think about is what happened back at the library.
Lilac
I’ve been snooping through Irvin’s office while he’s away at class, trying to find hard proof that he’s the killer on campus. I’ve searched all five of his vehicles, the garage, and even the safe. I’ve gone through every inch of the mansion, anything to gather more information on him.
I still haven’t found anything more incriminating than that crappy video they showed in the auditorium. Maybe the person who showed me the video is fucking with my mind. But the killings always take place when we’re not together. And sometimes he comes home late at night with blood on his hands.
I glance out the closet window as the sun sinks beneath the horizon. Panic spikes. I rush to put all of his belongings back where they were, making sure every drawer looks untouched so he won’t suspect I was searching for anything.
He’ll be home soon.
I shower quickly and slip into a silk red tank top with matching shorts. I need to play it cool. I know he’s onto me. Hethinks someone spooked me, but he doesn’t know thathe’sthe one who did it.
I sit on the edge of the bedroom nook with a paranormal romance novel open on my lap. When he walks in, I sigh and set it aside.
Without a word, he strides straight to me, cups my face, and kisses me softly. I hate that I keep coming back to a man who is no good for me. I hate how easily my body responds to him.
He yanks my hair and kisses me rougher, then lifts me and carries me to the bed. That’s when I see it—blood splattered across his shirt.
“What happened?” I ask.
He strips off the shirt and his bloody jeans, tossing them into the hamper. He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. I had an assignment.”
I study his perfect face, trying to read him. I can’t.
I don’t believe him.
He’s under investigation by the American Billionaire Club. Why would they keep giving him assignments if they suspect he’s killing their own people? I don’t know how the board members operate, but it sounds illogical. Still, I can’t question him. He knows that I knowsomething. And while I don’t think he’d kill me for discovering his secret, he would make sure I never leave this mansion—and I can’t let that happen.
He flips me onto my stomach and lifts my ass into the air. I try to crawl away. He holds me in place.
“No, princess. You don’t get to run from me.”
His words make me melt.
He slides down my silk shorts. Cool air kisses my bare skin before I feel him inside me—hard, slow, raw—like he needs me. I clutch a cotton pillow and hug it to my chest as his nails dig into my hips. And I moan.
Moonlight spills through the dusty rose curtains, illuminating my face. I love it when he fucks me slowly.
He fucks me like he’s had a hard day. Like he needs me. A few nights ago, he used me like a blow-up doll. Now he’s touching me like he can’t live without me.
I’m still mad about it, but I can’t say anything. If I do, he’ll know. He’ll spiral. He’ll twist it into something dangerous.
He comes inside me. When he lies back, I slide on top of him. He’s so big it almost hurts—but I don’t care.
I’m making up for the other night—when he used my mouth and left me aching.
He stares into my eyes. “What happens if someone tries to take you away from me, my princess? What would you do?”
Lately, he’s been asking questions like this. Always during sex. It’s getting annoying.
I ride him slowly, my shoulders stiff. “Elaborate.”
His hand slides over my breast, thumb brushing my nipple. “If someone tried to kidnap you—take you away from me—what would you do?”
Panic flares in my chest. My skin feels too tight. My heart stutters.
He’s the one who tricked me into marriage. I’ve admitted that I want him, but my emotions? I don’t know. I hate that I crave his touch. Most days, I think about him. Some days, I ache for his nearness.
