He’s off doing something dangerous tonight—some dinner party. I know he's there to save a little girl, but there's still that selfish part of me that wishes he were here.
My instinct is to hate myself for it. Part of me still does. I don't know how long it's going to take before I fully accept the fact that I've started to fall for him. That I'm accepting him into my life.
How long has he been stalking me for? Three months? Not very long at all. In fact, that's such an insignificant amount of time, it almost makes me sick. There's still so much I don't know about him. What's his favorite color? Does he have allergies? I hope he's allergic to all my favorite foods so I don't have to share. Or, at least I hope he doesn't like them. More for me.
And I hope I don't like his favorite foods because if I do, I'll probably eat off his plate, too.
He probably wouldn't mind. And that softens my heart into a pile of mush. Because somehow a man that wouldn't care if I ate his food fell in love with me. That's so fucking cute.
I flop onto my bed and groan. Daya left an hour ago. We spent the rest of the day working on our respective work. She let me be for the most part while I stewed over the revelations. And after she left, I kept drinking until I stopped thinking about it.
Tomorrow, I'll regret it. I'm not even halfway through the next installment in my series, and I have a lot of readers pushing for it. The pressure always starts getting heavy when several months pass between releases.
Whatever. Maybe Zade will stop by and magically cure my hangover since he's good at making me feel things that should be physically impossible. Especially when he arches his brow and that wicked grin graces his lips.
I clench my thighs, a flood of arousal stirring between my thighs. My breathing escalates, just with the memory of one look, and I'm melting. How is that possible?
I kick off my leggings, a burning sensation in my stomach spreading until it feels like I'm drowning in a pit of flames. A flush is already forming on my chest, and I know pretty soon it'll start creeping up my neck.
Next, I rip my t-shirt over my head, leaving me in only my matching bra and panty set. It's white and silky, and that insane part of me wishes Zade was here to see it. He'd probably think I look so innocent. An angel and a demon. Forbidden but drawn to each other anyways.
That could be a book... based on the attraction between two opposite souls.
Biting my lip, I snake my hand down the front of my underwear, the tip of my finger scarcely brushing across my clit. The contact is so light but yet has electricity zipping through my veins. I close my eyes, releasing a shaky breath. And I pretend that Zade is kneeling before me. Ordering me to touch myself for him. To show him what I do when he's not here.
My heart pounds heavily in my chest, like a basketball on a court. I slip my fingers further down, dipping the tip into the pool of wetness that has gathered. I'm embarrassingly wet.
Licking my lips, I plunge my two fingers inside, a moan falling from my lips as my body seizes with pleasure.
Zade's deep, bottomless voice whispers in my mind of all the dirty things he's growled in my ear. All the words that have stopped my heart in my chest.
My redemption will become your salvation.
I was convinced he would be my damnation. But at this moment, it feels like I've walked into paradise.
Nirvana.
Just like he said when his tongue was plunged deep inside of me, like my fingers are now.
I moan louder, the crescendo building as the image flickers to Zade sitting behind me in my car, feasting on me—no, drinking from me like a dying man deprived of water.
The pleasure builds as I swirl my sopping fingers up to my clit and rub the sensitive bud in tight circles. My head kicks back as my spine curves. Panting out breathless moans, I circle my clit faster and harder until I'm nearly chasing the orgasm.
And finally, I tip over the edge. I yelp loudly, calling out Zade’s name as the orgasm crashes through me quickly and without remorse. It's over before I'm able to regain my breath.
Slumping, I heave out a sigh, the corners of my lips pulling into a frown. My body is languid and boneless, but my chest—it's tight still. That orgasm was only a temporary reprieve. And I realize that the weight isn't going to go anywhere.
Tonight, I'm just... sad.
Chapter 39
The Shadow
“Y
ou eat meat raw?” I question, the deep note of my tone traveling across the table. Everyone quietens.
“Well, of course not!” Daniel booms, laughing at what he probably considers a stupid question.
“A sacrifice must be made first. Then we drink the blood and take her—”
“We don’t get to have fun with her first?” I interrupt, my voice deepening with disappointment. “That’s half the fun, brother.”
Eyes shift, glancing at each other, waiting for Daniel’s response to my demands. He stares at me, a slight smile on his face. I cock a brow, waiting for my answer.
When I do, Daniel laughs, a pleasant surprise radiating from his face. My own is serious, eyes never straying from Daniel’s.
He breaks eye contact first, looking over to where the servant is holding the scared little girl.
“Bring her here.”
I rest back in my chair, my movements languid and relaxed. On the inside, there’s a war raging—the battlefield in my gut bloody and vicious. I want to tear this entire house down, shredding every sick individual in here with only my hands and teeth.
I’ll show them what it feels like to be eaten by a monster.
The servant hurdles the girl forward, consistently shoving the girl forward due to her digging her little heels in. She knows something bad is coming.
But what she doesn’t know is I will do everything in my power to stop that from happening.
When the girl reaches us, my hand snaps out, gripping the girl’s tiny wrist in my hand. Her wide eyes jerk to mine, and what I see in them nearly breaks my heart. Her eyes are swirling with sorrow and fear. It’s an expression no child should ever wear on their face.
“What’s your name?”
Dan scoffs, but I ignore him. “S-Sarah,” she says quietly, her voice mousy. I want to hurl her into my chest and run out of here, but I think we both know that’s not possible.
“Sit on my lap, Sarah,” I order firmly.
Reluctantly, she listens. Her eyes drop as she climbs on my lap, but I don’t miss the tears welling in her eyes beforehand.
The sick feeling grows more potent as I help her up, keeping her body at my knees with one hand high on her back and my other on her knee. Areas that are not sexual but will be perceived as dominating to the others. I’d prefer not to touch her at all—she’s viewing this as something predatory—but I feel safest with her close when there’s a bunch of adults eyeing her like she’s their next meal.
Literally.