She’d sent a photo.
Fully naked from the top up.
I dragged a hand down my jaw, working the muscles on either side. Her nipples were edible, like raspberries on a tart. She had a small freckle next to her left one that I wanted to fucking bite.
Fuck.
I was toast.
I pressed my cock hard against the counter, trying to wrangle back a thought—any thought—beyond how fucking gorgeous she was and how painfully hard she made me.
Finally, I managed to send:
Didn’t think that was a hard question, Maniac.
Maybe I just wanted you to see it.
The levity from before shattered. I stood in the fractured pieces, too aware of why this couldn’t happen.
Go to bed, Shay.
No.
I told you, I’m not a good person.
And? Maybe I want bad. Maybe I want a criminal. Maybe there’s something enticing about a bad boy who wears it proudly, versus a good boy who hides his venom until it’s too late.
Rage burned my bones black.
Rage forher.
That someone out there could have hurt her so badly that someone like me was a better option. Someone who stalked her. Hacked her. Who broke people’s bones.
Before I could respond, Shay sent another message.
If you don’t want to meet, whatever. I’ll find some other criminal who doesn’t have such an annoying moral code.
I massaged my jaw with one hand, an icy certainty sliding through my blood at her words.
Here’s how this is going to work, little Maniac. First, you’re going to delete your fucking profile.
Because you don’t want me to match with anyone else?
Because I know the kind of men out there, and the fact that you haven’t blocked me or called the police lets me know you’re looking for trouble. And I’ll only let you find it with me.
One night, and she’ll get it out of her system. She’ll realize she needs someone normal.
And maybe after one night with her, I could get her out of my veins.
Delete your profile, and I’ll give you one night. Then you never do this shit again.
chapter
eleven
SHAY
Present
