Page 218 of Poison Aches

“Judging by the arousal mixed with embarrassment in your eyes, Angel, I assume you just recalled how you practically spread your legs and begged me to fuck you last night.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Not a teasing one either. In fact, Emmett doesn’t look amused.

“That bastard gave you a fucked-up date drug that made you fucking out of your mind, but last night you were in rare form.”

In rare form.

Then is that why there’s wetness in between my legs? Is that my own arousal? If that was hours ago, then why am I still so, so wet.

“You were even moaning in your sleep, but that’s not new.”

OH. MY. GOD.

Can the earth open up and swallow me right now, please?

“What?” I croak like a broken record.

“Nothing,” he says dismissively. “Are the only recollections in your mind focused only on your R-rated proposition to suck my cock and have said cock rock your world by taking your virginity?”

I proposed to suck his dick.

I quickly sink back in bed, hoping that these fucking hundred-thousand thread count sheets bury me alive, but no such luck.

I reach up to wipe the sheen of sweat off my brow only to find that my hair is wrapped in a silk bonnet.

Did Emmett also do that?

Oh God.

“What’s going on in your head?” Emmett demands.

“I’m thinking,” I whisper in a high-pitched tone.

Do I address that? Or should I just go whack my head against a?—

Whack.

A loud sound rips through my ears.

For a moment, I think the sound just came from the room, so I jerk upright again, but Emmett is still calmly seated, watching me.

There’s still nothing but silence in the large master bedroom.

That sound…

That’s when half-formed images start flashing in my head.

Emmett.

With a spiked, steel baseball bat.

He beat the shit out of Jackson… until blood splattered everywhere.

On my dress.

On the walls of my apartment. On Emmett’s face.

Horror slams into me.

---