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“Do you think they’ll come tonight?”
He holds up his gun. “I hope they fucking do. I’d like to end this right now.”
“You aren’t a ruthless killer,” I say as my heart skips at the idea of him doing something so violent as to kill another human being. I know he wanted Papa Rich to burn in Hallelujah Junction, but setting a fire and running away is a far cry different than staring a man straight in the eye and then pulling the trigger.
“Just like Holly and Violet, I’ll do whatever it takes to survive and to protect you.”
My eyes go to the gun, to his dark eyes and tight jaw, and then back to the gun. “This wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t leave. I put us in danger. It’s all my fault.”
He clicks the safety on the gun, puts it on the table, and takes me into his arms. “Let’s focus on the future and stop beating ourselves up for what we did or didn’t do in the past. There’s no need to keep punishing ourselves.” He kisses the top of my head. “I think we’ve both gone through enough for one lifetime. This will all be a distant memory soon enough. When we leave here, it will just be you and me. We’ll block out all the bad, all the resistance, and anything and anyone who is trying to keep us apart. I promise you, Ember. It’ll be better. I swear.”
I pull away just enough so that I can kiss him. I need his affection more than I’ve ever needed anything. I need his taste. I need his smell. I need him.
“I should have trusted in your love for me,” I whisper through our kiss.
“Yes, you should have,” he says and then kisses me deeper.
We should wait. We shouldn’t be doing this here. Not here.
We have an entire life to do this.
A new home to create, where we can be together over and over again, in the privacy of our own space, but I just can’t get enough of this man. And with how much he’s constantly touching me, kissing me, and giving me the hungry look that makes my knees nearly melt… he can’t get enough of me either.
We try to be discreet, but the sisters know.
And I feel guilty for it. Maybe because I’m getting happiness and love when they aren’t.
Or maybe…
As sick as it sounds, I may feel guilty because deep down I worry they are judging me for committing adultery on Scarecrow. Maybe they don’t understand that Christopher is my husband in all ways that matter and always has been. Maybe they think what I’m doing is wrong. Dirty. Sinful.
Yes, I fear the sisters think I’m a sinner.
And I do care what they think. I desperately want them to approve of me and Christopher. I want them to see in him what I see. I want them to trust him when he tells them he will keep them safe. I want them to believe when he says he will help them start over and have a better life. I want them to have faith that all will be well, and we can all be a family… in our own demented way.
But I don’t think they do.
They watch. They’re quiet. They go about the hours that pass in a silence that makes me uneasy. Violet seems hurt. Almost as if I’ve betrayed her by allowing Christopher to reach out and hold my hand.
I wish I could make it all better.
I wish I could make them better.
I also wish I could resist Christopher right now… but I can’t.
He doesn’t hesitate, and I’m thankful when he guides us to my private nook, shedding me of my dress as he does. If the sisters enter, at least we won’t be in plain sight, but I still hope they stew outside in the barn for a little longer.
He lowers me to our poor excuse of a bed, but I’ve never been happier to make contact with the rough wool.
I know what’s coming next.
Christopher sucks my breast, then moves to the other to give it equal attention. Lowering his hand to my mound, damp with fresh arousal, he dips a finger to my clit and applies pressure as he rouses an overwhelming longing that has me gasping for air.
Moving from my clit, he presses his fingers past my silky folds and pushes one, then two digits into my sex. I force my hips up to drive them inside my pussy even deeper.
They aren’t enough.
I want to feel the small bite of pain as his cock stretches me while he claims what is now his. I want to feel him so badly that the hunger changes who I am.
I’m not Ember—the timid, scared, and broken woman.
I’m an animal.
Primal.
I’m a stalker in search of its victim.
