Page 78 of Desperate Crimes
Chapter Twenty-Leanna
The last forty-eight hours feel like a fever dream.
Dark. Dirty. Salacious.
My body is still sore in that decadent way, muscles heavy and used, skin tingling with phantom touches.
I wake up alone, sunlight cutting through the curtains in slanted gold streaks.
For a split second, I wonder if I imagined it all.
The house. Him.
How he took me—in every way possible.
But this is still his bedroom. His house.
It really happened.
And I don’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified.
I turn my head to see my phone and purse sitting neatly on the bedside table—exactly where I didn’t leave them.
Curious, I grab my phone and swipe it open.
The last message from my mother is time-stamped yesterday morning.
Mom
Where’d you disappear to? I thought we were going to go over the plan for Dad’s surprise birthday party next weekend?
I blink. Then I see the response underneath. From me.
Only I didn’t send it.
Me
Sorry, I guess I just needed sleep. Call you tomorrow.
My brows shoot up.
“Oh my God,” I mutter, stunned. “He texted my mother?”
I should be angry.
I should be climbing the walls, demanding boundaries and calling every lawyer or detective in a ten-mile radius.
But instead, I just sigh.
Because of course he did.
I shake my head, torn between disbelief and reluctant admiration.
The man doesn’t just blur boundaries—he bulldozes through them like they’re suggestions on a napkin.
And what’s worse?
It doesn’t bother me.
