Page 157 of The Perfect Wrong

Fuck, I’m going to break her, shatter myself in the process, and leave a smoking pile of debris behind us.

God Almighty.

I should just forget the heart-to-heart. Walk the hell out of this house forever while I still can.

If only ghosting or sending her a limpdick letter didn’t feel so much worse.

All my options are hideous.

Toxic.

Wrong.

Everything,everything,including what she feels for me.

But I can taste Delia on my lips. I see her mahogany eyes shimmering with an innocence I wish I could keep intact.

Ma may be right in her own sadistic way about how fucked up I am—after all, she made me that way—but she doesn’t have a clue.

I won’t cut the last chord of my humanity and walk away without a word.

I’ll just sever the accidental thread tying my fate to a woman who’ll always be too pure for my tarnished soul.

* * *

She looksup in surprise when I barge into her room.

For a second, I’m just punch-drunk.

There she is.

The perfect portrait of brains and beauty and sensitivity, hunched over her easel, a brush in her hand that’s been hard at work bringing a field of brilliant violet-blue flowers to life.

“Chris?”

I sweep toward her without waiting for a second word, haul her out of her chair, and pin her against the wall.

My lips find hers, starving, silencing her questions and smothering every sane thing I came here to do.

What the hell are you doing, idiot?I ask myself.

But she knows better than I do.

Delia must feel the heat in my lips and the frustration in my blood.

My dick finds the softness of her belly, her pussy, and I grind hard, reliving our first liaison on the beach.

I tear my lips away before I fuck her with the door still open, where anyone can hear or look in. I lead her to my room instead and kick the door shut, then walk her to the end of the bed.

“Why are you here? Can’t you just use your words?” she mutters.

“No need for manners, babe. They won’t help us now. Everything I want to do to you right now is as uncivil as it gets. Put your hands on the bed.”

I barely sound human, growling these words, a prisoner to my own insane urges.

“Can we stop with the head games andtalk?” Her big brown eyes twinkle as she shakes her head. “I don’t know if I can take this. This hot and cold, on-again, off-again crap.”

I frown.

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