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“Cruel, but okay.”
I narrow my eyes. “Really?”
“You want me to disagree with your condition?”
“No, but I expected you to demand it.”
“I have no interest in your reluctance, little muse. When I fuck you again, you’ll be begging for it.” A smirk tilts his lips. “Now that we got that out of the way, are we doing this?”
“You’re on.”
His wolfish grin makes an appearance again and I regret agreeing to the bet.
I’m being lured into his den again.
The worst part is, maybe I don’t want to resist it anymore.
27
MIA
Iexpected many demands from Landon, including trying to trick me into having sex, forcing his way into my life, or suggesting we get back together.
Surprisingly, he does none of the above.
In fact, he merely asks me to go on a date with him.
A date.
No kidding.
Landon King, who would be elected as the leader of psychopaths if given the chance, actually wants to do something as normal as a date.
Not only that, but he invited me over to the Elites’ mansion, where he set up an extravagant setting on the open terrace on the roof.
Dim yellow lights hang above the table like a halo.
Two blue candles sit on the aesthetically pleasing tablecloth, casting a soft edge on the otherwise sharp atmosphere. A few dishes lie on the table and I lick my lips at the mouthwatering smell.
Lentil soup, Mediterranean salad, pasta with meatballs, and a delicious-looking lamb tagine. Landon definitely picked up on my favorites and the fact that I love eating everything at the same time without the common order of appetizers, a main course, and a second course.
A large hand lands on the small of my back and the smell of intoxicating male cologne fills my nostrils as Landon leads me to one of the chairs.
He pulls it out and helps push me forward once I’m seated, like he’s some sort of chivalrous prick. He looks the part, too, dressed in a casual black sports jacket and pants with an off-white shirt.
He sits opposite me with infinite elegance and pours me a glass of cola and himself a glass of wine.
He often offered me that, but alcohol and I don’t vibe very well, so he learned to get me cola whenever I came over to the haunted house.
I can’t help studying his face in search of a sign of deceit. Considering he’s possibly the definition of the word, it’s strange that I find no trace of it.
My gaze skims over his outwardly peaceful expression. His usually dangerous lips are set in a neutral line, and even the mole beneath his right eye that usually looks menacing is now just a welcoming beauty mark.
“What’s with all of this?” I sign.
“I told you.” He swirls the red liquid in his glass with the elegance of a demon lord. “A date.”
“Why here and not in a restaurant?”
