Page 31 of Unhinged Love

“Less than three weeks.” Mom can’t stop gushing about the wedding as we walk into the house, where she winds her arms around Paul’s neck as soon as the door is closed. “And the whole town will be with us to celebrate. I hope I do you proud.”

“Of course you will. There’s not a doubt in my mind.” And the thing is, it sounds like he means it. He is really not a bad guy at all. I hope she’s careful with him, for his sake. All I know about his past is that his first wife left a long time ago. Mom never gave me any reason—maybe Paul didn’t tell her. Maybe Carter’s mom never gave him a reason in the first place.

If I gave birth to the antichrist, I would want to get far away from him, too.

I’m not sure how much of this lovey-dovey stuff I can handle, so I quietly excuse myself after thanking Paul for dinner, then slowly make my way up the stairs. Every step I climb makes myheart a little heavier. Where is he? And what kind of mood is he in?Please, don’t let him take it out on me.At this rate, I’m pretty sure that’s a pointless prayer. I’m pretty sure he looks for reasons to be mad at me.

His bedroom door is closed, the light is still out. There’s no sound coming from under the door.

And there’s a simple reason for that, one which I discover as soon as I’ve opened my bedroom door.

“Took you long enough to get home,” he murmurs, sitting on my bed with his back against the headboard, shoes off, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Like he belongs here.

Which he definitely does not. “Please, I’m not in the mood for this,” I whisper, remembering where I left our parents. “And they are right downstairs, so you might want to be quiet.”

“Thanks for the advice, but I think I can handle myself.” We have very different opinions on that. I’m smart enough to hold my tongue.

Once I’ve closed the door and flipped on a light besides the one on the nightstand, I take off my trainers. “Why did you leave when you did?”

“You honestly have to ask that question? Come on,” he groans, shaking his head while wearing a knowing smirk. “You know why. Don’t make me say it out loud.”

“No, please. Now I’m interested.”

“Because your mother is an embarrassment.” He flashes a grin. “There. Happy?”

“If you think that’s going to hurt my feelings, you’ve wasted your breath.”

“Oh, no. I don’t think that’ll hurt your feelings at all. I see the way you react to her. Somebody needs to set her straight.” I have to force myself to look at him, and when I do, it’s in time to watch his jaw go tight.

“Don’t go thinking it has to be you,” I warn. “Yes, she’s embarrassing, but she’s my mom and she’s your dad’s wife,” I add. There’s something too satisfying about the way he shudders. What a baby.

“I know you’re not giving me advice right now. I know that’s not what’s happening.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed, and I can tell I’m in trouble. When am I going to learn to just keep my mouth shut in front of him? I can think anything I want, but I can’t say it out loud. Wasn’t I just thinking about keeping him in a good mood, or at least not pushing him into a bad one? Yet there I go, running my mouth—and for what? To defend Mom?

“Now that you mention it,” he continues, looking me up and down. “I did miss dinner, and I am hungry.”

“You should’ve made something when you got home. You had plenty of time.” Something inside tells me he’s not really thinking about food. Not when there’s a wicked light in his eyes.

“I would rather eat you, Elliana.” He drags out each syllable, letting them roll over his tongue. “What do you think about that?”

What do I think? I think I should run screaming from the room. I think he needs to have his head examined.

I think he’s going to do it whether I want him to or not.

“Why do you have to do this?” I ask anyway, because I have to at least try to get through to him.

“Because I want to,” he replies, lifting a shoulder. Like it’s the most obvious thing ever. “And because you don’t have a choice unless you want the whole school to see your bare tits. Among other things.” He chuckles at the way my face goes hot with humiliation.

“Listen,” he grunts, his chuckles dying all at once. “You might be the only living, breathing woman to get offended at somebodywanting to eat them out. I like the way you smell. I like the way you tasted on my fingers.”

Despite my horror, his simple statement sets fire to my pussy. I go blazing hot down there, hotter than the flush covering my face, hotter than anything has ever made me feel.

“Now get on the bed,” he concludes, staring me down while my skin crawls and my pulse picks up speed. “And take off your jeans. Let’s see how quiet you can be once I get to work. There’s no party to drown you out this time.”

When I don’t move fast enough, he’s off the bed, taking me by the arm and dragging me over before shoving me backward hard enough to make me bounce. “Quit wasting time,” he grunts, unbuttoning my jeans.

How is it always like this? How does he manage to get the upper hand every time? I don’t have a prayer of winning. I shouldn’t bother trying.

If I let him do what he wants, he’ll go away. I lift my hips so he can pull my jeans down until they fall past my feet onto the floor. “There it is,” he whispers, sounding almost reverential as he lowers himself to his knees in front of me. “There’s that pussy. Take off your panties,” he demands, already breathing harder than before. Is this all it takes? I can’t understand it.

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