herself, blocking my view of her tits.
“You wanna know what he did to me, baby?” I ask her, my voice as low as hers. As full of venom. “Before you start regretting what I just did to you,” I dip my eyes to her belly, covered by her shirt, “you wanna know what he fucking did?”
She stiffens, a muscle in her jaw jumping, her eyes wide as she stares at me.
Yeah. She hasn’t wanted to think about that shit.
Neither have I, for that matter, but with the alcohol in my veins, the way my hand is trembling noticeably against my thigh—although she’s too busy making sure she only stares at my face to notice—I figure tonight is the night we go down that fucking dark and dirty road. We can’t just fuck it out.
If I want this to be real—and I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything in in my life—we have to deal with the dark, too.
“You know what happened to me.”
She shakes her head. “Jeremiah—”
“Don’t interrupt me when I’m fucking talking.” It feels good to say that. To put her back in her place. I gave her the illusion of power these few weeks, and I love her to death, but she can’t just treat me and talk to me however the fuck she wants. She can’t just let me fuck her, then go back to pining after him.
That’s not how things are going to go here.
I squeeze my fingers together, entwined through one another, trying to stop the fucking tremor. I forgot this was a side effect of alcohol. Another reason I hate to drink. I want my mind sharp, I need to know who the fuck wants to kill me at any given time, but right now, I just want my hand to stop shaking before I can get the story out myself.
She glares at me, stepping closer. I wonder if she wants to slap me. I kind of hope she does. I’d love to fucking fight her right now.
I have to look up at her, as close as she is. I can smell her, too. Lavender and sweat from when we fucked. Her arms are still crossed, and I want to fucking pin her down and fuck her again until she screams my name.
But I resist.
I want her to choose me in every way, and I want her to know why she’s doing it. Because she loves me, and because Lucifer Malikov isn’t shit.
“When I was in that cage, I only ever saw three people. Three real people,” I clarify, because I saw dozens that only existed in my mind. Depending on how long I’d been in there, I could see twelve in a single fucking day.
I see her swallow again.
She doesn’t reach for me, although she could touch me, if she wanted.
I wonder if after she hears this, she’ll hate me. She’ll think I’m too fucked up. Too wrong. She’ll understand just how much of a sociopath I really am.
I don’t care.
If she loves me even just a fraction as much as I love her, she’ll accept this part of me. After all, I accept all the ways she’s been a little fucking whore while I’ve waited for her.
“Three people, one was my foster dad.” Even saying those last two words causes my ears to ring, anger coiling in my gut as I think of him. Of how he tried to erase Sid’s memory from my mind, from the first day I woke up in his fucking office. Telling me I didn’t have that sister anymore. “One was another sister of mine.”
I see Sid’s eyes narrow, jealousy in her gaze, in the way her jaw tightens.
I offer her a small smile. “Don’t worry, baby. I didn’t fuck her like I just fucked you,” I add, and she shifts on her feet in front of me, clearly uncomfortable. It’s kind of a lie. I did fuck her. But definitely not like what I did with Sid, although there was blood, then, too. “But you know the third person that came to see me?”
I snake an arm out this time, unable to hold back from touching her. I pull her close, my forearm against her back, my fingers digging into her waist, slipping under her shirt.
Her breath catches as she drops her arms, my head level with her navel. With my name, just under her shirt. I stare up at her, and one of her hands comes to my hair. She runs her fingers