Page 20 of I’m The Worst

The roads are already shit—ice, snowdrifts, visibility gone to hell—and every storm that rolls in slows us even more. The Nightshades are moving while the weather does half their job for them. Every detour adds hours. Every hour turns into another problem. Another route. Another delay. Another chance for them to close in.

Six days turn into eight.

Eight turns into fuck knows how long.

And the longer we’re out here, the worse this gets.

“We’re not gonna be able to stay here much longer, Wolff. They’re searching the surrounding areas.”

“We’ll leave in a few days,” I grit out.

“And if she’s not strong enough?”

“Then we deal with it.”

He nods, watching as I step outside.

The chilling wind slams into me. I stride through the snow, climb onto the snowmobile, and fire it up. The engine roars, headlights cutting through the black. I gun it hard, tearing away from the cabin, snow spraying behind me as I cut across the frozen landscape.

Distance.

I need fucking distance.

Ibolt awake, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. I twist my body back and forth, grappling for something to anchor myself to reality. My fingers wrap around the edge of the bed, gripping so tight the wood creaks.

The room comes into focus. The peeling walls, the cracked window, the full food tray on the floor.

I’m in the safehouse. Not in the basement. Not in a cage. Not chained to the wall, or the floor, or a table.

I’m in a bed with sheets, pillows, and a mattress.

The nightmare still clings to my mind, tendrils of horror wrapped around my throat, squeezing. I choke back a sob, the pain tightening around my chest like a vise. I can’t stay in this fucking room.

I slide off the bed, dragging a blanket with me. My legs are weak, shaking with every step as I stumble out the door.

The hallway is cold, the dim glow from a fire at the end of the hallway, the only light source. I hug the blanket tighter around me and step into a living room.

Wolff is asleep on the couch, his face relaxed in the flickering light. He looks different. Younger and less dangerous. I take a hesitant step closer, drawn to the warmth of the fire. I can’t stop staring.

His brow creases, his breathing changing. I freeze, but he doesn’t wake up. He shifts, his shirt rising. The glow from the fire highlights his muscled torso, the ridges of his abs casting shadows. When he shifts again, he moans, my name a low murmur, and he’s…hard, the outline of his huge cock visible through the fabric of his sweats.

Heat flashes through me, pooling deep in my stomach. My breath catches. I should turn around and walk away. But I can’t stop staring, my eyes tracing the shape of him. My thighs press together, the ache intensifying.

I lick my lips, my hand sliding under the blanket and between my legs, my fingers pressing against myself through the fabric of my leggings. I bite my lip, a small moan escaping. He moans again, and his hips shift.

I need more.

Sneaking my hand inside my panties, my fingers slip against the wetness there. The ache inside me grows, the pressure building as I rub small circles over my clit.

I drop to my knees, leaning against the couch, my hand never stopping. I’m so wet, the sound of my fingers against my pussy loud in the quiet room. The bastard tried to pretend he didn’t want me. I wanted him. I wanted him to take me. I was desperate for it.

Now he’s the one who’s desperate, his body responding to his dream of me. His hips rock slightly, his cock twitching, and I can’t stop staring, my mouth watering, my core aching.

I slide closer to him, my fingers moving faster, my breaths coming in shallow pants. I can’t stop. I need more. I need to taste him.

Licking my lips, my eyes flick up to his face. His jaw is clenched, his brow furrowed. I can’t wait another second as my free hand slides up his thigh.

He’s a Sovereign, and all Sovereigns want the same thing.