“You cheated,” I state tonelessly, though my voice is hoarse.
He smirks, amusement warming his features, and my heart stutters.
“You said to keep my hands on the wheel while you sucked my cock. I listened.”
Oh my God, why does healwayshave to argue?
“You took them off,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Only when I made you stop. I decided I wanted your pussy to suck it instead.”
My hands fly out as I exclaim, “That’s cheating!”
He laughs, and my expression slackens as my chest fills with awe, like I’m actively watching Jesus descend to Earth to bless all the lowly humans with his presence. The deep wrinkles curving down from his dancing eyes, the distinct dimples on his upper cheeks, his straight white teeth, and the sound emitting from his throat…
Oh my fuck, I’m so in love with him.
I knew Dread was capable of almost anything, but not this. Never did I think he could make me fall for him this fucking hard.
I don’t know what he sees on my face—probably a shit ton of panic—but his laughter fades, though the warmth in his gaze remains.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he says quietly, his stare tracing over my every feature affectionately.
“How am I looking at you?” I ask, sounding as distracted as I am. Except as soon as the question is out of my mouth, I wish I could take it back. I don’t actually want to know the answer.
His eyes flick down to my lips before sliding back up again, adoration and something far more wicked gleaming in his predatory gaze. “Like you’re in love with me.”
My stomach flips.
I knew I didn’t want to know.
Heart pounding, I chew on how to respond for a beat, not nearly ready to admit to it outright but also incapable of denying it completely. He would know it’s not the truth, anyway. As he’s already made clear, I’m a terrible liar.
“I don’t know how else to look at you,” I whisper.
A wide smile cracks his face in half, once again blinding me with a tragically beautiful sight.
“And I’ll make sure you never learn, darling.”
CHAPTER 33
REVERIE
Dreadful Sharpe told me he’s in love with me.
And now, he’s pissed.Again.
He made a point to state he’s not mad atme, just the situation. Yet, he’s seething like I’m the culprit, and I’m sitting here wondering what the hell he expects me to do about it.
It’s Sunday morning, and I’ve only been awake for approximately two hours. I spent one of those hours on all fours getting absolutely railed, and I refuse to be ashamed of how many times I tried to run. Alas, I kept getting dragged back to hell by the demon intent on turning me into a spit roast with his dick.
Turns out, he was taking out all his anger on my vagina, and I’m pretty sure I’m missing a goddamn vertebra or three.
Now, he fumes at me from across the room, standing with his arms crossed and jaw set. His carry-on suitcase is next to him, and I’m pretty sure if he had an ounce less of maturity, he’d kick it just to make a point.
Meanwhile, I sit on the edge of his bed so I’m facing him, mildlyannoyed. The only reason I’m not more frustrated is the damn backward hat on his head. I’m convinced he knows how much of my weakness it is.
He and Rogue have to fly out to Florida today for the D1 National Championship for their college swim team, meaning he’ll be gone for the next three days, and he’s having a total meltdown over it. Technically, he’s been having a meltdown since he came home from practice yesterday, having been reminded of it. We got back from the cottage two days ago, and I guess, with everything going on and him perpetually sticking his dick inside me, he’d gotten the dates mixed up in his head and thought he wasn’t flying out for another week.
