Bitterness coats my tongue, and resentment churns in my chest, replacing the heart her father broke almost fourteen years ago.
It keeps me awake, even as Reverie’s breaths even out after a few minutes. The storm inside my head muddles anything coherent, so when an idea flits across my mind, I don’t stop to consider what I’m doing. I roll to my side and press my chest against her back as I reach for my phone again. Then I take one more picture of us that’s sure to piss her off. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it yet or if I’ll ever even use it, but I like having it just in case.
For the second time, I set my phone back on the nightstand and settle in. Despite the anger simmering in my blood, it doesn’t take long for me to drift off, floating somewhere between awareness and unconsciousness. At some point, I’m vaguely aware of her body warming against mine and her shivering ceasing completely. As if my consciousness was holding on until that moment, I pass out afterward. I don’t remember a single thing past her languid form melting into mine.
CHAPTER 4
REVERIE
I’m in hell.
Whatever I did in my past life, it must’ve been fucking atrocious to deserve this one.
Because being trapped in Dread’s arms is one hundred percent hell, even if his amber and sandalwood scent is a little intoxicating. He’s like a sauna radiating enough heat to rival the ass end of a space rocket, and while it’s better than the bone-chilling cold from last night, it’s not very welcoming, either.
Mainly because, of all people, it’s Dreadful fucking Sharpe molded into my back, sleeping soundly with his hard dick firmly tucked in the crevice of my ass and his hand clutching my boob like it’s his childhood teddy bear.
Jesus, is this how all his one-night stands wake up? This is some hardcore snuggling, so I can see why it'd make them feel special.
I, however, feel the complete opposite.
I hate it here. Oh my God, I hate ithereso much.
His phone lies on the corner of the nightstand, so I carefully flip it up and tap the screen. The time reads a few minutes before six o’clock in the morning. It's still pitch-black outside, just as dark as it was when my eyes fell shut.
I’ve no idea how early he needs to be up today, but I’m not sticking around to find out.
Carefully, I set his phone down, face up, offering me a dim glow, then grab his wrist and gently remove it from my breast. I attempt to slyly maneuver out from his hold, moving my legs toward the edge of the bed before slowly sliding out the rest of my body. I’m halfway to success when he groans, his arm snapping around me like a steel band and dragging me back against his chest. Instantly, his hand returns straight to my boob, squeezing it for extra measure.
Jesus fucking Christ.
With tightened lips, I close my eyes and exhale through my nose, working to gather the patience and serenity to get myself out of this situation without waking the beast.
If I can get out of this bed and dress as quickly and quietly as possible, then maybe I can escape Dread’s presence unscathed.
Truly, that’s all I want for my birthday this year.
Well—that, and for Lionel to never be released from prison, but I digress.
He came so close to breaking me this time.Too close. After last night and the initial turmoil, thinking my father had killed someone, to believing I was being framed for his crime and actually getting arrested, to being left out in a goddamn blizzard then ending up in Dread’s bed—all I want to do is crawl into my own bed and sob for about thirty solid minutes. After that, I want to take the hottest shower known to man and scrub off the dates he stained onto my skin, as if they weren't already carved into my brain.
I’ve never experienced a whiplash of emotional and physical torture within such a short span. There was no time for relief when I realized it was only Dread playing another cruel prank on me, no time to calm myself before being thrust into a deep cold that sunk its way into my bones and wrapped around me with a strength that was quite literally breathtaking. There sure as fuck was no time to prepare for him stripping me naked and bringing me back from the brink of death.
And ithurt. The feeling slowly creeping back into my extremitiesset my entire body on fire. Every single movement was agony. Every twitch, every brush of skin, set my nerves ablaze.
To be so numb yet drowning in agony is a torment I never want to experience again. And, of course, the cause of that torment is wrapped around me like a fucking python.
God, I hate him.
I hate him so fucking much, it brings tears to my eyes, even now.
I hold on to that loathing as I carefully grab his wrist and, once again, lift it away from my tit to slide out from beneath it.
This time, I’m successful, and I sigh a soft breath of relief—only to choke on it when he shifts behind me. I freeze, every one of my muscles locked tight as adrenaline floods my system.
Heart pounding, I wait for him to say something, but as seconds tick by in silence, I risk glancing over my shoulder.
He’s still sleeping, but he’s lying on his back now, his head turned away from me.
