Page 67 of Pretty Poison

“When,” she whispers with a shaky voice. “Fucking when!”

As a deep groan slips free from my lips, her shriek sounds around the room and her body convulses beneath me. She’s a weak, crumbling mess with tears trickling down the side of her face. It’s a sight that spurs me on further, but I can’t hold back.

With one more deep, hard thrust I release but don’t relent in my pace. Her legs shake under my touch and whimpers continue to pass her lips.

“R-Rio,”—she hesitates briefly, gathering her thoughts and taking another deep, shaky breath—“I-I can’t—”

I shush her, bringing her foot to my lips to place a soft kiss on it. “Just a little longer, little one. Hold out for me, darling.”

She nods and swallows to get some sort of moisture in her mouth.

I soften my pace and thrusts, her body quivering harder. As I pull out, a shiver rocks through her, and she jolts.

My cock is still throbbing, itching to feel her warmth again, but I resist the urge and find my way to the bathroom to clean up. I grab a soft flannel and run it under the warm water while I wipe myself before heading back to the room to help Liana. She’s still where I left her, her breathing gradually returning to its usual pace.

I stride over to her and settle myself between her thighs. As the warm cloth touches her skin, she jumps and props herselfup onto her elbows to watch me. Her eyes meet mine and her shoulders relax as I lift the damp cloth for her to see.

“I’m cleaning you up, little one. I know you’re tired, but give me a minute and we can go to sleep, okay?” She nods, but says nothing, her eyes watching every single move I make.

Delicately, I wipe at her thighs, pussy and ass; planting a kiss between every swipe as if to ease her shakiness.

“All done,” I say, returning to the bathroom to put the cloth in the laundry basket. Walking back into the room, I walk over to her side of the bed and lift her up. With a soft kiss to her forehead, I place her in her rightful spot and walk over to my side, pulling the comforter up over the both of us.

“I texted Anabel,” Liana says, moving closer.

“That’s good, baby,” I tell her, pulling her into me.

“She wants to meet at noon tomorrow for lunch.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll be back within the hour, though. Your mother, Kat and I have plans to pick out furniture for both nurseries.”

“That sounds great. Did you need a lift or to be picked up?” I ask, brushing the hair from her face.

“No,” she slurs as sleep overtakes her. “I was thinking of driving into the city myself.”

“Take the SUV then; it’s the only one we have on stand-by.”

“Okay.” Her voice is a mere whisper.

Within seconds, she’s asleep, her head buried in my neck and her soft breaths having now taken on a calm rhythm.

She’s way too innocent for a man like me, but she’s mine, and that’ll never change. In every sense of the word, she’s mine.Every inch of her belongs to me, and if another man so much as looks at her, it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Whether she realises it or not, she’s awakened something in me, something possessive that has made me absolutely obsessed with her.

Thirty

LIANA

For some reason, my entire body quivers; my nerves on edge. It feels as though I haven’t seen Anabel in years, but only a few weeks have passed. She seemed so understanding in her messages, but will she hold a grudge against me for being MIA with her?

As I pull into the parking space outside of the small bar and grill, I take a long look at the exterior. It’s such a pretty little place that I’ve been wanting to visit for a while. The pictures I’ve seen in their advertisements don’t do it justice. It’s a completely black brick building with a red neon sign and tinted windows. Anyone else would consider it bland, but I’ve grown fond of the simplicity in the world, making it a picturesque place for me.

Turning the engine off, I take the keys out of the ignition and step out. The chilly autumn air nips at my skin, and I instinctively rub my arms to warm them. I should’ve listened to Dario when he told me to wear a jacket, but I was persistent in my stubbornness. I should’ve known he was right in his assumption of the abrupt weather change.

A light laugh leaves my lips as I sprint to the building’s entrance, catching my reflection in the black tinted doors. The atmosphere is much warmer inside and the sudden burst of heat sends a wave of tingly discomfort through my body.

The inside is much different than the exterior led me to believe. I pictured the interior matching the blandness of the outside of the building, but that’s not what I find. The black and red colour scheme remains, but each piece of furniture is luxurious. The walls feature artistic posters and beautiful drawings. It resembles an art studio; someone’s poured their heart and soul into these sketches.

As I continue further inside, I walk towards the small stand at the front. “Do you have a reservation?” the middle-aged woman asks, her eyes never leaving her computer screen.

“Uh, yes,” I reply. “I believe it’s under Anabel Cartier.”

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