Vini > Books: cute-kids‎ (24)

I wave a hand dismissively. “The girl has a horrible concussion, and someone just tried to drown her.”
“Could that someone be you, maybe?”
“Well, not all proposals are done with flowers, Sam. My point is, she’s going to need some rest over the next few days before she plans anything.”

“This is kidnapping.”
His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open as he gasps before bringing a hand to cover it.
“No? Oh my god, no. Call the police.” With a dramatic shudder, his face goes blank again. “Kidnapping? Do you think that’s the worst thing I’ve ever done? Stop wasting my time, will you?”

“How long, Nate? How long are you going to make me pay?”
“How long was I in prison?”
“Practically four years,” I huff. We both know that. He didn’t need to make me repeat it.
“I guess we’ll start with four years, then. Who knows, you might be the one who decides to stay after that. Stockholm syndrome is a wonderfully complicated thing.”
I try to be discreet, but I don’t control my small step back.
“It’s okay,” he says softly. “You won’t realize it. All you’ll feel is happy and in love, and you won’t believe anyone who tells you otherwise.”

“I do understand,” I say flatly. “Drying tears, snot, the redness of your cheeks. Your pulse is beating so hard that the skin at your throat is moving along with it. Your hands are shaking, your shoulders hunched, your leg bouncing. You’re terrified.”
I turn to Sam, proudly showing him how good I am at this.
He rolls his eyes.

“You want to mark me, Nate?” I hiss in his face. “I’ll mark you back.”
He blinks up at me, and a smile spreads on his lips. “That hurt, little sunflower.”
He can’t move his left arm, the pain in his shoulder probably too intense. But his right hand snatches my wrist, holding the knife closer against his skin, pressing, dragging red liquid to the surface. He bucks his hips, pushing into my core.
The motherfucker is hard.
“You’re fucking sick.”
“It turns me on to know you can fight back. It’s like you’re begging me to go harder on you next time.”
I shove my knees into his ribs. “There is no next time. Let me out of this fucking house.”
“But baby, look at us. We’re so compatible.”

I’ll recognize her tone of voice and the features on her face. It’ll make it simple to read her.
She names it, and I can study it. She names it, and I can remember what it looks like on her. I can’t emphasize and feel bad or ever share her joy. I can only attempt to learn. Sometimes, I can link it to something I’ve been through, but that is a lot of work because I hardly ever feel much. But if I learn what everything looks like on her face, in her body, in her breathing. If I learn all her emotions by heart, there will be nothing she can hide from me.
Utter control.
What a fun game to play.

“My dear wife,” I murmur against her mouth. “Will you cook me an omelet for breakfast? I’ve been craving one.”
She doesn’t answer, but she takes a step back and walks to the counter. Pointing at different cupboards, she asks, “Pans?”
I nod when she points at the right one, then go back to my phone. I could get used to this. My wife making me an omelet before I head to my first meeting of the day.
“Nate?”
“Mhm?”
My thoughts still focused on how to help with night terrors, I turn toward her voice. I barely catch her shadow when the pan hits me right in the side of the face.
The sharp pain drags a grunt out of me as I fall to the floor.
I notice her towering over me, pan in hand. She looks down at my lying form, a beautiful, sick smile spreading on her lips.
“How’s your omelet, darling?”

You and I, Kayla, we could rule the world. I will worship every fucking thing you touch. I will burn down your enemies, I will bury anyone who ever made you feel like you weren’t enough, like all you could do was stay in your shitty town and rule your shitty gang. You were made for the greatest things that ever existed. You were made to build your own path, and I want you to be with me when that happens. I want to see you sit on your throne and watch everyone else bow to the goddess you are.”

Kayla is becoming a passion. Something I want to see everywhere. I want her to be the subject of every conversation I have with everyone. I want to go to rallies in her name. I want to find someone who understands me so we can discuss her for hours like fangirls do about their favorite band.
Oh, it’s bad.
It’s bad, but it’s not love. Because love feels like…like…
“What does love feel like?” I blurt out.

“I don’t want someone who kills for me. I don’t want someone who dies for me.” Swallowing the emotion, she raises both palms and clasps my face. “I just want someone who will live for me.”

Ash walked past her to stare down Chase face-to-face. “You deserve to know what a worthless scoundrel he is, Alex.”
“Yes!” Chase exclaimed. He reached for Ashbury’s hand and pumped it in a vigorous greeting. “Thank you. I’ve been trying to tell her myself, but she won’t listen.”
Ashbury looked more than a bit thrown by Chase’s invitation. He gave Alex a what-the-devil-is-he-on-about look.

“You know, you two have so much in common. You ought to be friends.”
“We are nothing alike,” Ash sputtered.
“No one could possibly confuse us,” Chase agreed.
“Of course not,” Ash continued. “One of us is a repulsive monster, and the other was scarred at Waterloo.”
She spoke over their protests. “You should see yourselves. You’re giving me identical scowls right this moment.”
“I am not scowling,” the two men said.
In unison.
While scowling.

Before departing, Ash addressed Chase. “If you hurt her, in even the slightest way, I will eviscerate you.”
“Understood.”
“I mean it, Reynaud. In fact, gutting would be too good for you. I will subject you to my cat.”
“Your cat?” Chase laughed. “To mewl at me, I suppose.”
“Trust me. We’re not speaking of the average cat.”
Alexandra spoke up. “I can attest to this.”
“I’ll strip you bare, tie your hands behind your back, smear salmon on your manly bits, and lock the two of you in a wardrobe. Once he’s clawed your ballocks to shreds, I’ll crush whatever remains of you to a bloody, formless pulp.”
“Good Lord.”Chase sounded a little awed. “That’s remarkably vivid. Did you plan all this out just for me, or do you keep a list of gruesome threats to use as the occasion arises?”

"I think the world is spinning.”
“The world is always spinning.”
He exhaled in a soft groan. “Well, that’s the truth. It’s spinning all the time.” “How about this. What if I say that you’re my world. You’re not spinning.”
“But I am. We all are. We’re on the earth, and it’s spinning, so we’re spinning, too.”
“You are ruining all my sweet nothings.”

"Have you ever seen those girls so happy?”
“Of course they’re happy,” he replied, sounding markedly less enthusiastic about it. “Daisy is surrounded by death, mummies stacked three to a case, and even Rosamund couldn’t dream of this much plundered gold.”

“Disease!” Daisy cheered. “Which ones?”
“Very, very boring ones,” he said. “And don’t cheer. It was misery. Now if all that wasn’t bad enough, once you were convicted in court?” He drew a finger across his neck in a throat-slicing gesture.
“Beheading,” Daisy awed

“You had better leave a detailed note for the great-great-grandchildren,” Ash said.
“That would require them to have children first,” Emma pointed out.
“Excellent observation. We’ll get on that right away.” Chase clapped his hands together. “On that note, good night and good-bye. All of you.”

“You are the last person I want to see.”
“Well, you are the last person I want to see, too.”
She gestured in exasperation. “Then why are you—”
“You are the last person I want to see before I fall asleep at night. Every night. The last woman I want to kiss for the remainder of my life. And your lovely face is the very last thing I want to see before I die. Because I love you, Alexandra.”

“Tell me a sin, Aurora.”

“Tell me a sin, Aurora.”

“And anyone who’s a complete cunt?” I recoil at the sound of that word. He glances sideways and smirks. “I mean, anyone who’s a complete…” He waves a hand around. “Canada goose?”
“I would have gone with “cuckoo” myself.”

my hand shoots out and grabs a fistful of his suit jacket. He stops in his tracks. His eyes skid down to my fist and then they harden, like he can’t believe I have the nerve to touch him.
But he doesn’t bark, nor does he bite. Instead, he does something so small and stupid that it has no right to snatch the oxygen from my lungs.
He puts his hand over mine and lifts it to his face. Grazes his lips over it. “Stay in the car, Aurora,” he murmurs into my knuckles, making every nerve ending in my body buzz.

My uncle’s twenty-one-year-old fiancée emerging from the sea in a tiny black bikini is temptation personified. But her telling me she fingered herself while watching me on the shore?

A death sentence.

I slide my hands into the pockets of my slacks and tilt my chin up to the clear sky. Birds circle overhead: little blue ones with an annoying chirp.
I bet Aurora would know exactly what fucking bird it was. She probably uses its name as a curse word.
“What are you smiling about?” Rafe snaps next to me.

“So, uh. Where were you on Wednesday?”
“Why? Did you miss me?”
“Yes.” Her answer comes quick and thick. It’s followed by the most adorable little laugh.
Coming to a halt to meet the gate, I drop my head against the backrest and close my eyes.

Under the heat of her bewildered stare, I shrug off my jacket and slip it around her shoulders. She pauses, wide-eyed, then pulls it tighter around herself, hiding a small smile in the fabric of the lapel. Fuck.
Without a word, I sink down next to her and pull the cigarette carton from my pocket. I slide one out and slip it between Rory’s parted lips. As my knuckle grazes over her chin, I fight against the instinct to grip her there. The flame of my Zippo casts a soft shadow over her face, and when I light the tip, she draws a slow sensual inhale that goes straight to my cock.
“Tell me a sin, Aurora.”

Christ. I have a Wasabi-flavored Kit-Kat melting in my glove box. It’s left over from my trip to Tokyo a few weeks back, and when I found it tucked into the seam of my luggage, my first thought was her. I’d smiled to myself, fucking smiled, picturing the adorable expression on her face when she bit into it and recoiled at the heat

Her hand finds my wrist, and she wraps it over my watch strap and leans her face into my palm, her eyes fluttering shut. Fuck. I hate how such a simple movement floods my stomach with warmth, but at the same time, I’d give my left nut to have her do that again.

“I trust you,” I whisper.
His eyes flutter shut but if I’d blinked, I’d have missed it. “Rory?” His thumb pad carves a trail over my jawline. It stops at the corner of my mouth, but I turn my head to catch it between my lips. He lets out a soft moan, watching me, eyes half-lidded with lust, as I slowly lick it.
“Yes?”
Danger sparking in his eyes, he pushes his thumb further into my mouth, and with wetness pooling between my thighs, I open my mouth wider to take him all in.
“Out of all my sins, you’re my favorite.”

His gaze flashes. “I’m old enough to be your father. How does that make you feel?”
Heart thumping, I feign boredom. Look up at him through my lashes. “Does that mean I can call you daddy now?”
Dark amusement graces his features. He gives a small shake of his head. “Come here.”

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmurs in fascination, brushing a stray curl away from my cheek. He cocks his head, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Starting a war with my family was worth that alone.”

I know how much she misses confessing her petty little sins, but from now on, that’s all they’ll ever be—petty. Because any real sin she wants to commit, I’ll do it for her.