Page 88 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

A different woman would already be out the door.

I crawl toward him.

“Rue,” he gasps, holding out his hands to stop me. “No, baby. Don’t⁠—”

I toss away my knife, throw myself into his arms, and slam my mouth against his.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Hugo

Our first kiss is sloppy and desperate, all teeth and tongues and shuddery breaths.

It’s perfect.

“Rue,” I pant as I crush her against my chest, trembling with shock, relief, and adrenaline. “Fuck. I’m so fucking sorry. That response was… disproportionate. But I thought he was going to⁠—”

A tremor rolls through me as I picture Rue with the gun to her head, Rue taunting the man who tried to take her away from me.

I hold her at arm’s length to confirm that she’s whole. To see how much I’ve terrified her with my actions.

What I see instead is the other half of me.

“You lost yourself,” she says gently. “But you came back. I knew you would.”

My eyes flutter shut in gratitude. She understands. Not only does she understand, she uses her sleeve to wipe away the blood on my face.

“I’ll always come back to you.” My eyes fly open. “And you know I’d never hurt you, not for⁠—”

“I know.” Her words are immediate, but I can’t focus on the elation this should bring, not when there’s a mark across her throat from his arm. Not when she has scrapes on her cheeks and nose from dropping through the leash.

I brush my thumb over the spot on her temple where he pressed the gun. I could’ve lost her after only just finding her. I could’ve lost her.

I clutch her against me again.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “I’m okay. So are you.”

Her fingers grip my shoulders, telling me she’s still here.

It’s not enough. I sink my fingers into her hair and pull her lips back to mine, too starved for her to care about the blood that covers us.

She kisses me back, thank Christ, stroking my tongue with hers and moaning into my mouth as her hand moves to grip my cock through my pants.

“Rue.” I tear myself away and grab her wrist, unsure if I’m trying to stop her or help her. “You saw how out of control I was. W-we shouldn’t do this now.”

“Hugo.” She does a frowny imitation of my concerned tone. Then she grins. She’s so fucking beautiful smeared in blood, her hair a tangled golden cloud around her face and black makeup smudged around her eyes. “You’re Gomez. I’m Morticia. Of course we should do this now.”

Help her. I’m definitely helping her.

She gives a breathy gasp as I tumble her onto her back and search for the knife she dropped in the struggle. Once it’s in my hands, I wipe it clean on my pants and kneel over her, relishing her small to my large, her fierceness giving way to soft and languid.

“Yes or no?” I drag her shirt up her stomach with the handle of her knife, my dick pulsing with each inch of soft, pale skin I reveal. But it doesn’t take a PhD in psychology to spot the problem with using a weapon to ask for consent, especially after what she just saw me do.

I pull back, letting her shirt fall, and I’m about to toss the knife to the side when her voice stops me.

“Yes.”

Her burning eyes are fixed on the blade in my hands.