I frown as I thump my finger against the smooth table.
“Technically, I was diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder with psychopathic traits when I was a teenager. I’m not a full-blown psychopath. Who told you that?”
She continues to munch on her food. “A girl from my class.”
Another lie. Snow must have told Lyrical, and Lyrical told her. I should deny her an orgasm for lying to my face.
“A random girl didn’t tell you that. Lyrical ran her big mouth.”
She shakes her head. “Why would she gossip about you?”
“Because you’re asking about me. You want me. Just admit it, princess.” I smirk.
“You have a good dick, but that’s all I could want from you.” She bites into her curly fries next. “H-how did you get diagnosed with having ASPD?”
I dip my wings into creamy ranch before I bite into the juicy meat. “I was fourteen years old. My mother was in a terrible car accident, hit by a drunk driver. Instead of letting the board members handle her death, I took matters into my own hands.”
People get weirded out when they learn my diagnosis, but I don’t give a fuck. You either accept me or you don’t.
“I found the guy, and I slipped six pills of antidepressants into his bottle of tequila and told him to drink it while I held a gun to his head.”
Her eyes widen, and her cheeks flush. “Oh. Did you enjoy hurting him?”
“Yes,” I answer honestly. “I did. I often volunteer to do assignments so I can hurt people. I confessed to my father, and he took me to Jameson’s mother. She’s a psychiatrist for the American Billionaire Club, and she diagnosed me with it.”
I hated Jameson’s mother. She molested me, then lied and told everyone that I wanted to fuck her. We had a long affair up until my sophomore year in college, and I threatened her to leave me alone or that I’d put a bullet through her head. The only reason I didn’t kill her is because I somewhat care about Jameson.
I rest my hands over her palms. “But I’ll never do anything to hurt you, Lilac.”
Her cheeks pinken, and she swallows thickly. Fear colors her gray orbs.
It’s good she fears me. That way, I can keep her close to me.
“Do you want to skate now?”
She nods. “Yes.” She stands up, leaning on the table. “Thank you for being honest with me. It’s nice to know you’re not killing people out of the blue.”
“You don’t seem scared. A normal person would be scared.”
Tears glisten in her eyes, and she shakes her head.
“I don’t want to deal with another person who kills just to kill.”
“What do you mean by ‘another’?”
“The crowd is dying down on the rink. Let’s go,” she quickly changes the subject.
We head to the rink, and the whole time she skates ahead of me.
I catch up to her, curl my hand around her waist, and yank her to me.
She skates like a gorgeous fallen angel. I hold her hand and twirl her around. My eyelids are heavy, and blood rushes down south, getting my dick hard just from staring at her.
Once we’re done with the date, I drive her back to her apartment in silence.
I want to fuck every inch of her body, but I have to have self-control because I want to wait until our wedding night to have her again, until she’s completely mine.
I type in the code to her apartment and nudge the door open.
