Why was my blood rushing through my veins in dizzying waves?
31
ZAGHAN
She was a fucking witch.
“You stink.”
I inhaled the spot between her ear, the strange scents clinging to her skin making my jaw tense.
The little witch, ever defiant, glared at me, rage flickering in her eyes like a dying candlelight.
“You fucking reek of other men, Elizabeth.” My lips brushed against the sensitive shell of her ear, earning me a tiny gasp.
I closed my fingers around her jaw, my thumb dragging across the red of her lips–smearing, tainting, marking. She jerked in resistance, trying to shake free of my grip. She was always trying to push me away, always trying to fight me. But every time, every damn time, her will collapsed and she would surrender, bend so quickly to my command. She had no idea yet.But that darkness inside her worked like a magnet, pulling her to me the harder she tried to pull away.
Her body was stiff, muscles fighting against my captivity, but her pupils had already dilated, her breath quickening. She would soften soon, in a little while. She always did.
I inhaled her skin again and my nose flared. Beneath the layered scent of men’s cologne, her arousal thickened in the air, suffocating me with its truth.
“You know I have to fix that, right?” My hands slipped from her jaw to wrap around her neck. Perfect, as always. Like she was made to fit into my palm. It was as though, whoever created her, placed her life in my hands and told me to do whatever I wanted with it.
“Fix what?” Her voice came out smaller than she intended, thick with need, despite the rage in her eyes.
My fingers flexed around her throat, thumb stroking the delicate line of her artery.
“Fix the fact that you stink of other men.”
I had been choking on those scents since I picked her up from school. The sharp mix of at least ten different brands of men’s cologne clinging to her skin. One might belong to that little friend of hers. But the rest was a fucking provocative mess.
Heat licked beneath my skin, tilting something dangerous in my head. The thought of those boys, their hands on her made my fingers twitch with the urge to snap her neck. Fucking end Julian Bourdet’s bloodline and have an impressive number of people call me a hero. A lot would love to know that the serial killer who took their loved ones’ lives had incurred a loss, too–his precious daughter.
But that would be a waste. There were just too many things I could make her do. Killing her now wouldn’t change anything.
“What are you doing?” she demanded when my hands knotted in her curls, dragging her across the room.
She screeched, her skinny arms flying over her head to claw off my hands, but I was already shoving her onto the open kitchen counter.
Her bare chest hit the polished surface with a dull thud, her nipple brushing over the cool wood.
“Who were they?” I demanded, her naked ass brushing against my straining cock, and my vision pulsed black at the edges.
She was wet. Fucking soaked. The sight of her slick thighs caused my restraint to fray by the second.
I hated how every fucking second, chipped away at my urgent desire to kill her. I needed this girl gone. I had to end her as soon as possible. But when she produced those little sexy sounds, when her body molded into my arms like that, when she arched into me and reeked of arousal that I had caused, what the hell was a man supposed to do?
She was a fucking temptation. And it was clear from the beginning that she wanted do to me, whatever she’d done to my brother–wrap me tight, pull me under, drown me in whatever spells she had spun.
But I knew better. I would never let her inside my head, my system. I would never let her take anything away from me.
I would break her first.
“Who?” A whimper settled in her heaving chest, her cheek pressed into the counter.
I tugged her head back, forcing another sound from her throat. “Don’t fucking play stupid,” I growled, the sound of my belt’s buckle hissing through the air before the zipper of my pants was yanked open.
“Who the fuck touched you at school today?” My voice carried the lethality of poison. “Your string of boyfriends? Is the one you were whispering sweet nothings to earlier part of them?”
