Justine giggles when Roman rolls his eyes like a child. I really wish she wouldn’t. I’m on the verge of killing him, and I’d rather do that without an erection. I’ve been called many things, but a deranged psycho will never be one of them.
Well, not tonight, anyway.
Justine’s laughter shifts to a groan when I lift her off the counter then nudge my head to the door still swinging from Roman’s brutal push. “Time for bed.”
For someone disappointed the fun is over, she follows my command remarkably quick.
I guess I didn’t say she was going to bed alone, so she has no reason to fret.
Roman doesn’t utter a syllable when I walk past him with a stumbling Justine in my arms. He doesn’t need to. His worldly eyes convey the entire story, not to mention the file he’s clutching like I want to do to his neck. It’s stamped with the Wallens Ridge State Prison seal, and the stack of papers inside are missing the thick black lines Maddox’s last file had, proving his time away from Justine’s apartment has served me well.
“I’ll meet you on the balcony.” Although the tightness of my jaw chops up my words, Roman has no issues hearing them. He dips his chin before following my exit of the kitchen, snickering like his tendons aren’t close to being sliced.
Even with Justine’s apartment being the smallest I’ve stayed in, our walk from the kitchen to her bedroom seems longer than a marathon. She’s takes more steps backward than she does forward, but since I can’t trust myself to touch her and stop, I guide her steps instead of forcing them.
She uses our closeness to her advantage. After pivoting around to face me head-on, she assesses my face as I plan to do her body when she’s not drunk.
Just like her, my face is free from the scars of my childhood. It hides my stories well.
A massive surge of cockiness pelts into me when she slurs, “You’resooopretty.”
Her voice is the same cock-thickening one she generally uses, but it has an edge of playfulness to it, making me convinced it’s been a long time since she let go of the reigns. Almost as long as the last time she was fucked.
“I wish I had your lashes. They’resooolong they could reach the stars.”
Once she’s in the safety of her room, she breaks away from my side. “Woo!” she squeals as she dives onto the mattress.
With a laugh, I kick her door closed before pivoting around to face her. My cock knocks at my zipper when she commences removing her clothes. She drags her shorts down her milky-white thighs before fisting her long sleeve shirt. When it joins her shorts on the floor a few seconds later, I ball my hands into fists, fighting like fuck not to touch her.
Her beautiful body ensures one taste will never be suffice. It will have me craving another, and another, and another, until we both end up in a ditch. I can protect her, but only if I remember the killer I was raised to be.
My beeline for the door slows when Justine murmurs, “Don’t go. Please.” My nails dig into my palm as painfully as my cock headbutted my zipper when she undressed when murmurs, “Stay with me. I don’t want to be alone. I’m sick of being alone.”
Her whispered words tug at my chest. They pull me into a dark place. A solemn hole. They hit me harder than any fist, whip, or chain has. A man like me has rules for a reason, but she has me wanting to break every one of them.
The thought pisses me off as much as it is excites me.
When I shift on my feet to face Justine, I work my jaw side to side. She’s lying on top of the bedding, looking as ravishing as she does innocent. “Climb under the sheets. There is no fucking way I can lie next to you looking like that and not touch you.” My husky words reveal my wavering constraint. They are as hot and as temperamental as Justine’s sinful body. “And considering I won’t take anything not willingly given, you need to get your fine ass under the sheets.”
Mistaking the yearning in my voice as repulsion, Justine’s lower lip drops into a pout before she slips under the sheets as requested. The cloudy haze dampening her eyes softens when I move to the opposite side of her bed to remove my boots and jeans. My boxers are incapable of hiding the response of my body. I’m thick and hard, and the crown of my cock is peeking out the top of the stretchy black material. Although the removal of my jeans doubles my fight, it sliced Justine’s in half.
The instant my head hits the pillow, she scoots across the mattress until we meet eye to eye. “A perfect fit.”
I thought being almost beaten to death would be the worst punishment I’d endure in my life. I was fucking wrong. Justine flattening her breasts against my chest is by far more taunting, and don’t even attempt to get me to mention the heat of her cunt scorching my dick or I’ll kill you.
“See? Other than your extra-long legs, we’re a perfect match.”
A breathy chuckle rumbles in my chest when she murmurs a few seconds later, “Is the bed moving?” She looks like she wants to punch me in the stomach when she hears my laughter, but since that means she’d have to remove her tits from my chest, she’s not willing to do that. “I swear, my head is more foggy now than it was on my eighteenth birthday. I guess that’s what I get for not drinking in almost a decade.” When I arch my brow, she rolls her eyes. “My brothers were worse than my father. I would have had more freedom in a convent than my childhood home.”
After snuggling into my chest, she tells me how her brothers had planned her eighteenth birthday celebration on the belief there’d be no alcohol involved. Excluding the part about her friend leaving with an abusive douchebag, it sounds like a typical eighteenth.
Well, I assume. I’ve never celebrated my birthday, much less had a party.
No one rejoices the devil’s resurrection.
The gleam in Justine’s eyes hardens when she says, “I’d give anything to go back to the days where my biggest worry was beating Maddox into the Jack-and-Jill bathroom we shared. He was such a free spirit, Nikolai. He wouldn’t have harmed a fly.”
I dip my chin, acknowledging I heard her, but I don’t utter a sound. I don’t want to rock the boat by pointing out that she said ‘wouldn’t have’ as if Maddox’s favorable traits are past tense. She has enough guilt in her eyes without me highlighting that she’s secretly skeptical about her brother’s innocence.
