Page 19 of Endgame
A gasp. A blank, confused stare.
The slowest pulse I’ve ever felt beneath my palm.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.” Revenge is motherfucking sweet. “Your. Husband.”
“Husband? You want me to marry you?” Aurora blinks, realization flashing behind her eyes. “Oh, hell no. You’re delusional. I would never marry you.”
I move my hand to the side, offering myself access to her neck. I run my lips along her exposed skin. She shivers when my teeth graze her.
I tell myself my actions, my touch, are driven by revenge.
That tasting Aurora, grinding my knee against her pussy, and forcing more shameful moans out of her, are acts of cruelty.
“Prison it is, then.” I run my tongue over her jaw one last time. And tear myself off her to watch her crumble.
Her hands are shivering as she flattens them against the wall.
Her neat bun has gone askew. Creases have formed on her pristine suit.
Tears line her pretty eyes.
She’s a mess. I wrecked her.
“Why, Everett?”
Because torture doesn’t come in the form of touch alone. It also comes in the form of taking it away.
“As I said.” I right myself, adjusting my painful hard-on. Willing my beating heart to slow the fuck down. “You have two choices. One, to accept your sentence. A life sentence, if I so choose. The other option?—”
“And I asked you why?” Shock makes her sound younger than she is.
“Because.” I walk back to my desk, perching on the edge. “That’s what you deserve.”
“I can’t do life in prison.”
Her half-demand, half-plea goes right over my head. I shrug.
“I won’t make it. You can’t do this to me.”
I cross my legs at the ankles, folding my arms over my chest.
Both my eyebrows raise as I feign boredom. This one isn’t easy to pull off. No red-blooded creature could ever be bored by this panicked, flushed version of Aurora.
I’m no different.
But that’s none of her goddamn business.
“Hence your second option.” I’m talking purposefully slow. To ridicule her. To get more of those pouty lips and unsheathed rage. More of my revenge. “Marrying me.”
“Neither.” She flinches into the wall, pressing her legs tightly together. Poor thing has no idea if she’s offended or turned on. “My parents won’t let you go through with it.”
My enemies.
She’s your enemy too.
“Fuck. Your. Parents.” I enunciate the words slower than before. “They can’t help you.”
