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In my sleep, no less.
Haven even turned the damn bedside lamp on to watch my ultimate demise.
And I’m so fucking hard for her right now; it’s not even funny.
Her legs begin to vigorously thrash around as a closed fist crashes against my cheek. My head goes slightly to the side, but it doesn’t stop my body from reacting to how she’s got a killer streak in her.
How she may have laid next to me and thought about how she was going to do it.
That she planned it at all.
While this may be annoying and exasperating to some, I can’t help but be slightly impressed by yet, another attempt to take me out.
I know that Haven has spoken words of leaving, sneaking out, and getting away from me, but that’s done nothing for me.
There is no way out.
There is no getting away from me.
And the more I have to say it, the more I begin to lose the course I’m trying to stay on.
I’ve seen men lose their shit over women. I’ve also experienced them getting killed, too, over them. Their heads so bottled with rage and lust for their other half that they go off the deep end and start making mistakes.
That’s not going to be me.
There’s no universe where I will start developing feelings for this woman over my need to fuck or scare her. She’s a means to an end, and I knew that coming into it.
So, even though I’d love to think with my dick, I’m not capable of reading the bottom line here.
Haven Kincaid is my enemy, plain and simple.
Her soft body underneath mine begins to send my blood sprinting through my body on an adrenaline rush, however.
Everything about this is perfect.
Everything about this, the way she fights against me and tries to throw me off, is enough to fuck with me in every way that doesn’t for anyone else.
I’m actually gettingharderfor this woman because she’s rubbing against me like a wounded animal, and I’m the crazy fucker that’s going to go in for the kill.
Grabbing her wrists, Haven yanks with all her strength to free herself, but it’s futile.
My little bird won’t be flying away from me tonight.
She won’t ever be fucking free of me.
“Letgoof me!”
The curl of my lips is immediate as I position her arms over her head and lean in. Jasmine and honey fill my nostrils, and I can’t help but press my stubble cheek into hers.
“Was this my wedding gift? Do you think it was poetic to kill me the night of our wedding day?”
“Killing you on any day is a gift,” she leers back, still thrashing around aimlessly. “It’d free the world of your torment.”
“But I only want to give that to you, wife.” My lips lightly graze her skin, and she immediately freezes. “You should’ve grabbed one of the knives in the drawer of the bedside table. It would’ve been more efficient if you’d cut my throat.”
Haven lets out a frustrated growl and goes back to flailing around like a trapped little animal.
She is.
