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I feel the tantalizing brush of his lips against mine, but before it can become anything more, he uses his hold on the back of my head to pull me back.
“I can’t let you do that, Angel.”
I don’t understand why, but a feral glint has entered his eye, making me realize I’m walking a precarious line. Wilder’s barely holding himself together; if I push too far, he’ll unleash upon me. An inner instinct warns that I’m not ready for that yet. So, I hold back despite how desperately I want to give myself over to him.
"Just come for me one more time. Please." His voice cracks and shadows rise up to blot out the color in his irises. "Let me bask in your light once more."
His words are lost on me, but my body is tuned to his demands, and she gives herself over willingly. For Wilder, I completely let myself go. I give myself over to my inhibitions and lose myself in the overwhelming pleasure that spreads outward from my center, racing toward my fingers and toes, obliterating my brain cells and any common sense.
Wrapped around Wilder, I cling to him as if he were my life raft in the middle of a turbulent ocean—which is precisely what it feels like as I’m ripped apart. The onslaught of my orgasm shreds my body, my soul, my very essence.
When I finally blink back into reality, everything looks different yet the same. It takes me a moment to realize it’s not the world around me. It’sme.I’mdifferent. While Wilder had to watch me fall apart in order to find himself, I had to give myself over to him—completely and wholeheartedly.
Searching in the depths of Wilder’s gaze, I find a stability there that I haven’t seen since my return. I’m not sure what he sees in my returning gaze, but I know I’m different. Stronger. More complete. I’ve regained a vital part of myself that I lost the second Wilder walked away from me on that dance floor four years ago.
“Wil—”
“Shh.” He presses a finger to my lips. “That’s enough for tonight.”
Removing the vibrator, he grabs my pajamas and panties before tightening his arm around me. I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder as he stands and carries me up the stairs. By the time we reach my room, I’m half asleep, barely capable of cracking open an eye as he tucks me beneath the covers and brushes a strand of hair from my face before leaving without saying a word.
Chapter15
WILDER
The black sedan pulls off the main road, stopping at a set of towering iron gates. We’ve been driving for about thirty minutes and left the city limits behind a while ago. Skyscrapers and bustling streets gave way to tall trees, green hedges, and sprawling mansions, which only grew in size the further out of the city we traveled.
A partition has been up between the driver and me since I climbed in, removing any opportunity for discussion and leaving me with nothing except my thoughts and the lingering feel of Emilia pressed against me last night.
I wouldn’t have minded, except for the hard-on it’s brought to life, which I’m struggling to talk down. I seriously don’t want to have to meet my grandfather for the first time with tented pants. Nor do I want to spend the rest of the day uncomfortable and debating whether to excuse myself to the bathroom to jack off.
I don’t know what the hell I was thinking last night.
No, that’s a lie. Iwasn’tthinking.
When I snuck into her room to watch her sleep and maybe leave her with another reminder that I was stalking her nightmares, and found her bed empty… The fear that flooded my system was indescribable. It was the same level of dread I felt that day on campus when Hawk told me she was missing.
The kind of terror that stuns and paralyzes most people but stabs at the dark, black hole in my chest and sends me lurching into action, ready to tear apart the entire house, the entire city, to find her. My thoughts were downright murderous at the notion that Mel had gotten her psychotic little claws on my girl again.
I might not know what the hell I’m doing with Emilia anymore, but I do know she’s mine. I didn’t survive the flames licking at my skin and crawl my way out of the inferno that ate its way through that house just so some deranged bitch could steal my girl before I’ve even finished with her. Emilia is my toy. I’m nowhere near done playing with her, and I absolutely don’t share. Not with a psychotic whack job who thinks Emilia is hers simply for smiling at her in the wrong way.
Emilia ismine.She has been since she first saw my scars and said they were beautiful, then built a pillow wall when I crashed in her room for the night and point-blank refused to sleep on the floor.
Maybe even before that night, though it was then that I knew for sure. The way she looked at me... No one has ever had that reaction before. I don’t exactly make a theme of drawing attention to the burns that lay waste to the left side of my torso. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because I don’t need the probing questions or the swirling storm of memories accompanying them.
I’m used to people's noses wrinkling in disgust or giving me sympathetic stares. Hell, even the odd kinky chick who thinks fucking a guy with scars and the associated emotional trauma is hot. But Emilia wore none of that. There was no disgust, no sympathy. Okay, so there was maybe a little bit of heat in her eyes. I knew I’d stunned her when she saw me in that towel, especially since she stopped talking mid-sentence.
However, it was what was beneath the desire that drew me in. The awe. Most people see the ugliness in this world and turn their noses up, but not Emilia. She sees beauty in the imperfect. Artistry in the damaged. She understands what it is not to crumble beneath unbearable pressure. She might not know what it means to fight for your life, to battle for every inhale, but she does know what it is to struggle. To fight. To strive for more.
It wasn’t even a quality I appreciated about her back then. I just fell into her unquestioning acceptance of who I was and allowed myself to be blinded by the light that radiated from her.
However, no matter how accepting she was of my physical scars, she would never have—and never will—truly accept me. For a while, I deluded myself into believing she would. But who could ever love a murderer?
I’m pulled out of my thoughts as the car rolls to a stop outside an extravagant red-brick, Georgian-style mansion. I grew up with money. Have been surrounded by it my entire life, although this is insane. It makes the house I grew up in look like a tiny cottage in comparison. Hell, the brownstone I share with Hawk would probably fit in the foyer of this monstrosity.
Despite the beauty of the place, with its sprawling lawns, manicured hedges, and pristine flowerbeds, I feel unsettled as I climb out of the car before the driver can open the door. He looks surprised, but I don’t pay him much attention. Perhaps the Clearwaters he’s used to dealing with want their doors opened for them, but I don’t play by the same rules.
Which is why I’m not wearing the suit Robbie suggested. I’ve already jumped through enough hoops to get here. I gave up a part of myself by betraying Hawk, and who knows what the fuck I’ve sold to the devil in those vows I made last week. I’m not giving up any more of myself. No more sacrifices will be made until I deem my flesh and blood worthy.
