Page 140 of Hide and Keep

“I’ll call my limo and—”

Crue literally rips me out of Mallory’s hold, putting his body between ours as he guides me in the direction of the house.

“Miss Munreaux’s is already out front. After you, miss.”

Crue doesn’t wait for any sort of a response from me or Mallory, only shoves me toward the back door, through it, then down a hall that illuminates as we go, the lights triggered by our presence as opposed to motion like the ones Munreaux Manor has.

“Goddess, it’s that bad?”

“Worse,” comes from behind me in that same no-nonsense tone, making real fear enter my bloodstream. What the hell happened?

“Crue, what—”

I’m forced into a bathroom, the door slamming shut with just the two of us inside, me at one end, Crue at the other.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?What’s wrong?You were about to fuck that privileged prick.”

Of course it’s my fault. Of course! I didn’t even want Mallory’s hands on me, much less any other part of him, but no, it’s always me. I’m always dick hunting. If dick is in the vicinity, I’ll find it, chase it, and ride it. Hell, I don’t even require a full team. I’m the one who deserves the five buttons. Me, the Huntswoman of the century!

Except I’m not. Not really. Hickeys are not proof of a fuck. It’s proof of someone sucking on my neck. That’s it. Some of them come from sex but not all of them. Even if they were, it’s mybody, my choice, my fucking life. I had six months to live it my way. Six measly months. Only five down and my father ruined that plan, too. He ruins everything.

“You know what? Fuck you!” I yell, expecting Crue to scream right back at me, wanting him to so I can forget this asphyxia for one fucking second. That’s why I let guys suck on my neck so much—so I can focus on something other than the ever-present noose around my throat because it isalwayshere, choking me, and I can’t escape it. I won’t. It will suffocate me.

It already is.

Ticktock.

My inhales become shallower and shallower, my lungs aching from the effort it’s taking to pull in the slightest bit of air.

Breathe.Breathe!

I can’t breathe.

Through the whooshing, I somehow hear a gritted, “Fine.”

My chest about to cave in, I gasp out, “What?” What’s fine? Certainly not me. I think I’m dying.

I kinda wish I was.

“You want off, I’ll do it myself,” Crue practically spits.

A hysterical sort of sound leaves me. Off? Does he mean…

Suddenly Crue’s in motion until he’s crowding me, my back against the wall as he plants his feet outside of mine, shortening himself by several inches.

He means off-off, as in orgasm. Is this the grovel?

I’m still not going to make it easy on him.

I shove at him, my limbs weak and numb and not making a difference. Nothing I do ever does.

Catching my hands easily, he looks between my eyes and says, “You want me to, don’t you?”

Yes.

I make my head rotate side to side.

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