“But there is also always some reason in madness. Isn’t that what the man with the motorcycle said to you the night he saved you from me?”
She looks like she’s about to cry. “How did you know that?”
I chuckle. “Don’t worry, darling, you’re not crazy. You just tripped and hurt your head. It explains a lot, like how the hell he hasn’t shown up yet. You’ve been screaming for him, and he’s been calling out to you for so long. He should have found you by now.” I lean closer and rest my head on her shoulder. “But you don’t want him to. You wantmehere now, the man who would sacrifice everything for you, who sees you beneath all the masks you wear for the world, and I know why.”
“Why?” That shaky whisper isn’t a question. It’s more of a necessary evil.
“One, you want to send me a message, remember? And it’s not about postponing your husband’s demise. What you really want me to do is kill BlakeandShane.” I tilt my head to meet her gaze. “And you’re absolutely right. Putting him behind bars for life isn’t enough. I heard you, my queen. Loud and clear. He, too, must die.”
“You’d do that?”
“Of course. I made you a promise. I always protect what’s mine.”
“What’s two?”
“Huh?”
“You said, ‘one I want to send you a message.’ What’s two?”
I lift my head and pull up the mask just enough to let her see my smile. “Two is…you’re a horny little slut, and you want me to make you come again. This time, here in the woods, and maybe not just with my fingers… Why else would you lie beneath me, like a little bunny about to be devoured by a big bad wolf?”
“What? No. No!” She squirms.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, little butterfly.” I slide my thumb over her lips. “I’ve been missing you so much, too. I know I still have to earn you, but since that night, I can’t stop myself from wanting more.”
Her breath trembles and crashes on my skin. “Get off of me now. Tristan!”
I wrap my fingers around her neck and pin her head down to the ground. “He’s not here, darling, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me from taking what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours.”
Her eyes, her breath, every fiber of her being, betray her lips. Her resistance is a performance, a compulsory pretense when the truth is too dark to bear.
“It’s just us now,” I murmur, my lips brushing against her ear, my hardness digging into her pelvis. “No one to perform for. No one to pretend for.”
“This isn’t real,” she whispers, but her body arches beneath mine—an involuntary confession.
“Isn’t it?” I challenge, my fingers still wrapped around her throat, applying just enough pressure to remind her of who really owns her. “Your mind creates what you truly desire, little butterfly. And here I am.”
A tear escapes the corner of her eye, mingling with the raindrops on her cheek. Beautiful consummation. “I hate you,” she says, but there’s no conviction behind it.
“No,” I trace the tear’s path with my thumb. “You hate that you want this. You hate that after everything,” I tear open her shirt, and our gasps collide. I bite on my lip as I marvel in the beauty of her skin, the shape of her tits, her waist, her belly, “I’m the one who understands the darkness inside you, the one who obsesses and worships it as much as he obsesses and worships your body.” I can’t help myself. My palm takes its time exploring how it feels to touch her without a barrier. I study every curve, every bone, every sensation that shatters the edges of sanity and paste it all to memory.
Thunder rumbles overhead, vibrating through the ground beneath us. Her bodyguard’s voice has faded, lost to the storm or distance. Or perhaps he never was here at all. Perhaps it’s always been just us, predator and prey, locked in this eternal dance.
“Tell me what you really want,” I command, leaning until our foreheads touch, and my lips are a breath away from kissing hers. “No more lies. Not between us.”
“I want—” Her lips part, words forming and dissolving before they can take shape.
“Louder,” I demand, tightening my grip on her throat, her pulse racing beneath my fingers.
“I want you to stop.”
Desire and rage twist together inside me, a blend that leads to pain and mayhem. How dare she lie to me, even now? How dare she deny what burns so obviously between us?
“Even here, in the darkness of your own desires?” I shake my head slowly. “I thought we were past that, Reagan.”
My free hand trails down her exposed skin, savoring the goosebumps that rise in its wake. Her skin is feverish despite the cold rain, burning with the same fire that consumes me. “If you can’t be honest with me, then you don’t deserve what you truly want.”