She doesn’t answer, but the relief on her face is immediate.
I dig out a t-shirt from my chest of drawers and a pair of boxer briefs. Putting them on the bed, I look back at her. She’s wrapped herself even tighter in my coat. “These are probably too big, but they’ll be okay to sleep in.”
She nods, her eyes huge in her pale face.
I grab a pair of sweats for myself and take one of the pillows from the bed. As I head downstairs, I hear her closing the bathroom door behind her. A second later, the water run through the pipes and I steel myself against the images of her naked in my multi-head shower that rise in my mind.
Tonight she sleeps alone.
But soon, I’ll make her mine. Completely.
My mind has already rewritten my earlier questions.
What will she do when I grip those hips and pull her against my hard cock?
What sound will she make when I press my mouth to her cleavage, to her pussy?
How wet will she get when I whisper what I want, what I will do to her?
4
LIZA
The first thing I notice is the ceiling. The water stain in the left corner is gone and instead of the dingy white-turned-gray I expect, it’s a rich cream color. And it’s high, so high, with moldings covered in that same glossy cream paint. This ceiling is not mine.
Neither are the soft sheets tangled around my legs, nor the heavy warm comforter. And even the faint sunlight sneaking around the curtains shouldn’t be there because on the other side of my apartment window is a tall brick building, too close to mine to allow light to reach.
I stretch, my body soaking in the luxury of the high-thread-count sheets and the way warmth lingers in the fabric. But then my brain finally reboots and with that comes the memories from the night before.
I’m in Danyl Kedrov’s bed.
My eyes widen. My pulse jumps. I bolt upright.
But the other half of the bed is empty. Neatly empty with sheets smooth like he never even tried to lie down.
He didn’t touch me.
Something tight and knotted inside me loosens by a fraction.
More memories assault my mind. The fear, the blade, the blood. And then the courthouse, where the vows we exchanged were more like a deal between two people than promises of devotion.
I press a palm to my forehead.
I’m married. To a man I barely know.
To a man whose family terrifies half the city.
He’s the only witness to me killing a man.
Bile rise in my mind when I think of the dead body, but I refuse to feel guilty for protecting myself. Instead, my mind spins with implications. Danyl could turn me into the police. Just because a spouse can’t be forced to witness against their partner, doesn’t mean they won’t do it.
He could do anything to me, and nobody would know. I don’t have any family other than my dad. Months can go by between our talks. Usually he contacts me when he needs something. My friendships are more like acquaintanceships. It’s hard to bond with someone when you’re always working and never can afford to go out.
And with that thought, a scent hits me, making my stomach growl.
Food. Real food.
Not coffee and toast, but something warm and savory, a scent I haven’t woken up to in years.
