Page 153 of Velvet Corruption

My grin was slow. Dark. Delighted.

“Fuck, you’re hot when you lie.”

Her nostrils flared. She hated me. But hate was a close cousin to want, and I could see it in her eyes—that glint of something darker. A hunger. A question.

She hated that she wanted to believe me. Hated that some part of her didn’t want to pull the trigger. Hated that she knew if she let me touch her, she’d melt.

The gun pressed harder into my chest. She was trying to scare me. She didn’t know she was tempting me instead.

“Do it,” I murmured. “Come on, baby. Show me you’ve got the guts. Blow a hole through me. Or let me ruin you all over again.”

“God, I hate you,” she whispered.

“But you remember what I feel like,” I said, softer now. “You remember what it was like to let me take care of you. You remember how safe it felt.”

Her finger hovered on the trigger.

I leaned in, slow and shameless, until the barrel pushed against bone. Until I could smell her skin. Until I was sure she was breathing me in, too.

“If you’re gonna kill me,” I said, voice low and wicked, “look me in the eyes while you do it.”

Her gaze snapped to mine. Locked. Lit.

And I knew—whether she killed me or kissed me—it would be a glorious way to die.

“I’m not going to kill you,” she said. “You’re going to do it yourself.”

But before I could figure out what she meant, the doorbell rang.

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