Page 56 of Pretty Little Threats

The thought sobers me. Even if the sex is good, I have to remember how I got here. My original plan was to use what little information I had against Dare so that I could finally be the one in control of my life. But now, with the tables turned, I’ve lost that opportunity.

A scowl settles over my face. This is my dad’s fault. If he had kept his promise, then none of this would have had tohappen, but then again, am I really that surprised? The business has always come first.

I guess the little girl that made Dad swear to never force me into marriage still had faith. My eyes burn. I’m not used to resenting my dad, and I don’t like the unease churning in my gut.

Even Dad marrying my mom was all about the company.

What would she think of everything he’s done?

Would she support Dad, or would she fight for my right to pick my own partner?

Was she miserable or was she happy?

Did my dad try to control her, too?

Shaking the turbulent thoughts from my head, I stretch again. This bed is so comfortable. The silky sheets are smooth against my skin, and another soft breath slips past my lips. My hand hits a hard body. I freeze and slowly turn my head. Dare is watching me with narrowed eyes and irritation creasing his brow.

The look raises my hackles. “What?” I snap, slipping into the familiar ice queen mask. So much for feeling relaxed. Turns out, my fears of sex making me stupid for him were unfounded. He still bugs the shit out of me.

Dare pushes up on one arm and leans over me, studying my face as I press into the mattress. He isverynaked, and so am I beneath the sheet.

“What are you doing?”

He arches his scarred eyebrow. “Trying to figure you out.”

“Why?”

Somehow, his hand finds its way around my throat, a pretty, tattooed necklace that has my heart skipping a beat. Dare smirks, like he knows exactly what his touch does tome. Hovering his face inches from mine, he bumps my nose with his.

“Tell me why you’re looking at me like you hate me this morning, when, last night, you begged for my cock,wife.”

I scoff. “If you think fucking me is going to make me like you, you’re mistaken.”

He smirks and climbs on top of me, planting his free hand by my head and settling his hips on mine, rubbing his erection over my center as he uses the hand around my throat to keep me in place. “No, but maybe I can fuck the attitude out of you.”

Desire pools in my core. He may be a monster, but he knows how to keep a woman happy. The question is: why does he want to have sex withme? This man could arguably have any woman he wants. Plenty of married men go outside of their marriage. Last night was about him winning, but this morning is different. This morning, with light filtering in through the curtains, the room brightening, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement, is not about bringing me to heel.

The sex was amazing. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who thinks so, but it’s too soon to give in to him again.

“Careful, Dare, or I might start to believe you like me.”

Rearing back, like he finds the possibility as horrific as I do, he flexes his fingers. “Always a Miller,” he mutters before releasing me and getting off the bed. He scoops up a pair of sweatpants from the floor and tugs them on.

“Where are you going?” I ask, face scrunching. I don’t know why it bothers me that he’s leaving.

He glances back at me, shakes his head, and heads into the en suite bathroom. In the time it takes him in there, I slip out of bed and search for clothes. Mine are nowhere to be found. The dress from last night is somewhere on thelower level. Whatever. Marching into his closet, I yank one of his white T-shirts off the hanger and pull it on. The fabric barely covers my ass.

I reach for a drawer of his dresser to search for boxer briefs, but a sharp, “Don’t” has my hand pausing on the pull. My gaze cuts to Dare, standing in the entryway of the walk-in closet, eyeing me like I might be his next meal.

“You might be my husband,” I say, voice carefully controlled as I tug the drawer open. “But you have no right to tell me what to do.” Snatching the boxer briefs, I tug them on and glare at Dare.

He’s clenching his fists at his side. Aw. Is the beasty mad I’m not listening to him?

Too bad, so sad. His clothes fit me a little too well. I frown and ignore the surge of self-doubt. I’ve never been super skinny, and Dare, while bulky, is super fit. His middle is solid and mine is soft.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

I glare at the bane of my existence. “Sorry, I was plotting your murder.”

---