Laikyn
I could not believe I was standing in the living room at almost five o’clock in the morning, having a conversation about paying someone to dispose of bodies.
This could not be my life. It couldn’t.
Of course, being slightly warped and twisted, my thoughts had shifted elsewhere momentarily. Namely on the devastatingly handsome man who had saved me from captivity and was now the one planning the route those dead bodies would take.
But Jesus Christ, this man was so fucking hot, it was difficult to remember he was a criminal. I wasn’t merely talking about the dark hair and eyes, the beard covering his jaw. Not about his stature—at least a few inches over six feet, deliciously muscled—or his domineering air. No, it was the combination of it all. Rule was so darkly handsome that the legality of it was highly suspect. Seriously. Someone should check into that because no one was that physically perfect. I would know. I’d been around some of the most perfect people in the world, all enhanced by skilled hands. Not even the best plastic surgeons in Hollywood could make a face as spectacular as this man’s.
Yes, fine. That was me waxing poetic about a man who got rid of dead bodies for a living. Whatever. He’d saved me at one point, so there had to be some good in him. Maybe. Okay, probably not. More than likely, he was earning his one-million-a-pop fee, and pulling me out of a hole in the ground was all in a day’s work.
And we certainly weren’t going to delve too deeply into why I was regarding him in such a manner when there were dead bodies in the house. That was for therapy.
I forced myself to look at my mother while I waited for her to tell him how she was going to come up with the money. It was evident from her expression that she didn’t have three million lying around. But who did?
“What if we go to the bank first thing,” I suggested when they continued to stare at each other.
My mother’s eyes snapped to my face. It was then I realized she’d covered the marks on her face, fixed her mascara, and styled her hair into some purposely disheveled knot on her head. And at some point, she’d put on a clean nightgown, a matching robe, and a fucking pearl necklace.
Yeah, therapy was going to be a requirement after all this.
“It’s not that simple,” Monica said softly.
“Sure it is.”
She shook her head slowly, and tears formed on her lashes. I prepared myself for some sort of sob story. She was really good at that. There was a reason she was an A-list actress.
“I don’t have it, Laiky. I don’t. I wish I did.”
I cringed at the nickname. She might as well announce that she was gearing up to manipulate me because that was how it always began.
“Meaning what?” I prompted. “You don’t have three million tucked in a sock drawer? Or you don’t have the money at all?”
More tears formed, but they hadn’t spilled over yet. She was holding them back, timing them perfectly.
“We’re done here, Rhyan,” Rule told the woman wearing blood-covered latex gloves.
“Gotcha, boss.” She turned and strolled out as though being woken up in the middle of the night for a never mind wasn’t a big deal.
And just like that, the Monica Quinn Waterworks began, tears streaming down her face as she stared at me helplessly. Soon, the sobs came, and my mother crumpled onto the settee, curling into a ball as she always did when things got too difficult for her to deal with.
I refused to console her. I refused to even feel sorry for her. This was a mess she’d gotten herself into all on her own. If she would only go to the police, she could get herself out of it with a simple explanation.
Oh, hell, who was I kidding? I knew the justice system didn’t work like that. It would be national news if Monica Quinn were accused of a double murder, and some glory-driven detective would latch onto this as a highlight of their career. I could hear the reports now, “Monica Quinn kills two in a jealous rage. More at six.” Unlike OJ, who got away with murder, Monica would probably go down for something she didn’t do.
If she didn’t do it.
While I loved my mother, I didn’t know exactly what she was capable of, and I wouldn’t deny that the scene upstairs looked a little too clean for me. Too simple, even. In my mind, the woman on the bed overdosed, and the husband flew into a crazed rage when he realized she was dead before going on the attack. Monica grabbed the nearest object to protect herself with. Just happened to be a five-inch Wusthof cheese knife with a curved blade and forked tip—translated to: the perfect murder weapon.
Maybe it really was that simple, but there was no doubt in my mind someone could pick it apart and find a dozen other scenarios that would suit the gruesome scene.
I glanced at Rule and noticed he was watching me. It wasn’t the first time. His gaze had lingered on me more than once since he arrived. Like those other times, I couldn’t make out what he was thinking, but that warped and twisted part of me hoped it consisted of the two of us getting naked and dirty together.
“I suggest you call the cops soon,” he said, nodding before he turned on his heel and headed for the door.
“No. Wait!” I rushed to catch him before he slipped out into the night, and I never saw him again.
He stopped and peered at me, his hand on the doorknob. Yes, it was wrong of me to be thinking that he had really, really nice hands. The kind that could probably play a woman’s body like a finely tuned instrument.
“Take me,” I blurted before I could think better of it.
He released the doorknob and turned to face me fully. “Excuse me.”
“Take me. Make it look like a kidnapping.” I glanced back at the parlor where my mother was weeping. “She has kidnap and ransom insurance on me. They’ll pay three million easy.”
Rule’s dark eyebrows narrowed. “You know that’s not how it works.”
“Yes, it is. She told me.”
Rule peered past me at the room my mother was in. “They don’t pay the ransom. They pay it back.”
No, he was wrong. My mother specifically told me the insurance company had been putting together the ransom when she found Rule, who said he could get me back faster and for less than what the kidnappers were asking for. Since she was desperate to get me home, Monica chose him.
“Tell me you know this, Laikyn,” Rule said softly, his dark eyes hard.
I figured now wasn’t the time to argue because he was practically out the door, and I did not look forward to spending the rest of the night explaining to the police that I had nothing to do with the horror show upstairs. Not that they would believe me. That glory-seeking detective would likely toss me into his fictional story, claiming mother and daughter dreamed up the perfect murder only for it to go awry.
Rule glanced toward the stairs. I followed his gaze and saw the woman he referred to as Rhyan standing at the top, staring down at him. She had a leather bag in her hand and a questioning expression.
“I’ll remind you I’ve got two redheads waiting in my bed,” she told Rule. “Shall I go home? Or do you want me to finish up?”
I met his stare once more, trying to read his thoughts. The man was too guarded, too mysterious. He could’ve been thinking about petting puppies or cutting eyeballs out of doll heads. It was impossible to tell.
“Tell one of those redheads to scope their house, then finish up,” he finally said, his eyes never leaving me.
“Calling now,” Rhyan shouted back before disappearing again.
“So you’ll do it?” I asked, lowering my voice so my mother didn’t hear. “Fake my kidnapping?”
Rule took a step closer, then another, until I swore I could feel the heat of his body. I fought the urge to move back because I was the one who’d instigated this with my request. It really was simple. He could stash me away somewhere and have someone demand a fake ransom. Once the insurance company paid the money, he could have it, and I could go back to living in a world where my mother called fixers when her sexcapades went awry.
That was something I would tuck away in the mental box marked CRAZY SHIT so I could pull it out and deal with later.
I gasped when Rule put a finger under my chin and tilted my head back. I held his stare, noticing for the first time a glitter of gold in his dark eyes. Like stardust sprinkled in coffee. His lips … those perfectly shaped lips were close enough it would only take one misstep for them to be on mine, for him to rock my world with a kiss.
He remained motionless for a moment, holding my stare. He was so close I could smell the faintest hint of … I don’t know. It was familiar. While I waited for him to say something—or yes, kiss me—I focused on the smell until I placed it. It only took a few seconds before I realized it was Yves Saint Laurent Libre perfume. He wasn’t wearing it, but it was on him.
Was that where he came from? Some woman in his bed?
Was he married? He wasn’t wearing a ring, but that didn’t mean anything.
Was I over here fantasizing about a married man?
“K and R insurance doesn’t work like that,” he said smoothly. Too smoothly. “Your mother knows this because it backfired on her once already.”
I frowned, trying to decipher his meaning and get the scent of his girlfriend’s perfume out of my nostrils.
His eyes bounced over my face as though he was waiting for something to click for me. It didn’t. That didn’t make sense.
“Just ask her what happened when the guys she hired to kidnap you the last time learned they weren’t getting paid because she didn’t get the money she thought she would.”
I backed up a step but had nowhere to go. I was trapped between his big body and the wall.
No.
No, no, no.
He was wrong. There was no way my mother would’ve done that.
“She wouldn’t,” I whispered, even as I realized that was exactly something Monica Quinn would do.
“She did.”
There was nothing in his expression to say he was lying. Why would he? Why would he tell me something like that when I was trying to solve his problem? He wanted his fee, and my mother needed it to make this go away. Fake kidnapping plus fake ransom equals three million dollars. Easy peasy.
Or maybe not because the glint in his eyes said he knew what he was talking about.
The thought that Monica had hired someone to hold me captive in a dark, dank basement, refusing me everything but the bare basics to survive for two weeks, made my stomach turn. She was capable of plenty, but turning on her own daughter? That was a new low. Had she told Diggy to torment me? Was she the reason a cold chill ran down my spine when I heard a loud noise?
My stomach lurched, but I choked down the bile rising in my throat.
“Take me anyway,” I said, my jaw hardening. “Do whatever you want with me. I can work it off.”
His eyes glittered with amusement, but his expression didn’t change. “Work off three million?”
“Yes.”
“What is it you do that’ll earn you three mil?”
I shrugged. I was an artist, and while my paintings were good, I wasn’t Salvador Dali or Claude Monet, and I never would be. I’d sold every piece I had ever created and even had a few commissioned by a local gallery. Of course, if you asked my mother, she would tell you it wasn’t because I had talent—which I did, thank you very much—but because I was her daughter. People wanted a piece of her, and my art was by proxy. But I wasn’t going to devalue myself entirely. I was capable of earning money. I could do what Rhyan was doing upstairs if I had to.
Yeah, sure you can. If you’re so brazen, why does the thought of cleaning up a crime scene send your stomach into an alligator death roll?
I ignored the stupid voice and focused on Rule’s question.
“Whatever you want me to do,” I whispered, refusing to back down. If I did, I would probably fall apart, and while my mother was a good actress, I wasn’t. It was going to get messy, but I was tired of being the fucking pawn on the chessboard, used and discarded for someone else’s gain.
“You’re willing to sell yourself to clear your mother’s debt?”
“Yes.”
I held his stare, refusing to acknowledge the butterflies that had erupted in my belly. I wasn’t scared of this man. He wasn’t going to hurt me. He had no reason to.
The question was: would he help?
I saw the moment something clicked for him. “Under one condition.”
“Anything.”
“We have to get married.”
Well, the good news was he wasn’t married. That or he didn’t realize bigamy was a crime.
The bad news was he was batshit crazy.
I stared, waiting for the punchline because surely I didn’t hear him correctly. Why in the world would he want me to marry him? I didn’t understand what that would possibly gain either of us.
“Why?”
“That way, you can’t back out.”
Why he thought I might, I didn’t know. Plus, marriage didn’t mean forever and ever, amen. Not in the world I grew up in. Didn’t he know divorces were all the rage in California? For every marriage, weren’t there like five divorces? It seemed like a reasonable guesstimate, at the very least.
“This was my idea,” I countered. “I won’t back out.”
“I know. Because you’ll be my wife.”
“I don’t even know you.” I wondered if he heard the rhythmic thump of my heart. It was so loud, banging against my ear drums with every breath, and it had nothing to do with fear. This man was basically manipulating me the way everyone in my life had, but for some stupid reason, I was okay with it. Something told me I shouldn’t be, but being left behind to deal with a woman who paid someone to kidnap her own daughter was the worst kind of hell I could imagine at the moment.
Kinda sad since … you know, dead bodies and all.
“You’ll get to know me,” Rule said. “We have time. Do we have a deal?”
I pretended I was giving this serious consideration, but there was no way I could. People didn’t do this. They didn’t barter and trade themselves to pay debts or as an excuse to escape a shitty situation. Or maybe they did, and I was as sheltered and clueless as the media portrayed me to be.
“Couldn’t we maybe start slow? As friends?” I asked, still not sure what the marriage angle did for either of us because his excuse was flimsy at best. Divorce was always an option.
“No,” he said firmly, standing tall.
His dark eyes were determined, as was the set of his jaw. I knew this wasn’t a negotiation, and if I didn’t give him the answer he wanted in the next five seconds, he was going to walk out that door and leave me to clean up my mother’s mess and risk beating my mother to a pulp for what she’d done to me. An image of both of us in orange jumpsuits came to mind.
“Fine,” I said because I didn’t look good in orange. And because I could tell he was expecting me to refuse.
I swear his eyes softened, and the hint of a smile pulled at his mouth. “Good girl.”
That alligator death roll my belly had been doing stopped suddenly and reversed, sending my heart rate into hyperdrive. Though manipulative and misplaced, his praise filled my chest with helium and momentarily lifted my feet off the ground. Sad, I know. But I couldn’t remember a time anyone had praised me for anything. Unless you considered my mother telling me she was proud I’d watched my calorie intake while imprisoned in some lunatics basement. Not exactly the same thing.
Before I could ask him what I was supposed to do to prepare for the upcoming nuptials, Rule took my wrist firmly in his hand and led me back to the living room, where my mother was still weeping while she peeked through slitted eyes to see if anyone was watching. Sure enough, as soon as we walked in, the sobs became more intense.
“The fee’s been taken care of,” Rule told her.
My mother sat up, her expression instantly smoothed. “What? How?”
“Your daughter took care of it for you.”
Monica’s eyes widened. “You have money?”
I shook my head. “Not three mil, no. But it’s fine.”
My mother launched to her feet, the skin on her face tightening. “What did you do?”
I thought the question was for me, but her glare was pinned on Rule.
He didn’t answer, something I realized he was ridiculously good at.
“Go upstairs and pack a bag,” he instructed me. “You’re leaving with me.”
“I need more than a bag,” I countered. I had canvases and paints that needed to be packed up. I would rather take those than clothes.
“I’ll send someone for the rest when it’s daylight.”
“What did you do?” my mother shouted more insistently this time.
“Go,” Rule snapped, urging me toward the door.
I stumbled a few steps, but this time, I did as he said. I hurried upstairs to grab clothes, pretending I didn’t hear the raised voices that followed.
It was easier to tell myself that my mother was heartbroken that I was leaving, but I knew Monica Quinn. She didn’t do heartbreak. She didn’t have it in her.
* * *
Rule
“You don’t get to do this,” Monica hissed, glaring at me when Laikyn left the room.
“It’s not up to you.”
Monica’s blue eyes burned like a gas flame as she moved toward me, daring to get in my face. “You will get nothing.”
“Actually, I’ll get what I’m due. And remember, before you get high and mighty, you’re the one who called me. This is me solving your problem.”
“No, this is you trying to get your hands on money that doesn’t belong to you,” she seethed.
“And that’s different from what you’ve done, how?”
Monica gasped, her eyes narrowed.
“Don’t think about it,” I growled softly when she pulled her hand back as though to strike me. “It won’t end well for you.”
“It won’t end well for you!” she snapped.
“Don’t forget, I know your secrets, Mon. There’s only one thing that matters, as far as I’m concerned. Me. I protect my own ass first. Always.” I took one step closer. “And if you even think about telling her, I’ll take what I have directly to the FBI. What will your creditors think then? I know. They’ll think you’re spilling your guts to save your ass. And they, too, are into self-preservation.”
That got through to her because Monica took a step back.
I could tell she was trying to devise a way out of this, but there wasn’t one. I was much better at playing this game than she was. It was the reason I’d been biding my time, looking the other way when I’d wanted to drop that little bomb on Laikyn for a long time. Ever since I learned of Monica’s scam to rip off the insurance company, I’d wanted nothing more than to fuck up Monica’s life. Not because I gave two shits about the money.
No, this was about betrayal. Monica Quinn had betrayed her daughter in the worst possible way. She had used Laikyn as a fucking pawn to get what she wanted. It wasn’t my fault she hadn’t read the fine print before she took out the policy on her daughter. The insurance only covered the ransom after it was paid, ensuring the policyholder wasn’t out the money. Monica hadn’t known that when she purposely put her daughter in danger to save herself. It had backfired in a big way.
And though I was a man who didn’t feel much of anything—not hate or like—I wouldn’t deny I fucking hated Monica Quinn for what she’d done to her daughter.
“She’ll hate you when she finds out what you’re after,” Monica said when I turned toward the door.
“Maybe. But it sure as shit beats her hating you for the same thing.”
A very unladylike snort sounded behind me, making me smile.
I reached the front door at the same time Laikyn was coming down the stairs. She had changed into jeans and a chest-hugging T-shirt and pulled her long hair back into a ponytail. She had a large duffel bag on one shoulder and an even larger portfolio case dangling from her other hand.
I reached for the case to relieve her of the weight, then took the duffel bag. “Say goodbye to your mother. I’ll be in the car.”
I walked out to put the bags in the trunk, wondering what Monica intended to tell Laikyn. I doubted it would be the truth because then she would have to cop to a lot of other things. Things her daughter likely wouldn’t forgive her for. And everyone knew Monica Quinn didn’t do well when people didn’t like her.
Twenty minutes later, with Laikyn sitting in the passenger seat of my Challenger, I was driving west on Sunset Blvd toward my house. It was just under six miles from one house to the other, and due to the early hour, the traffic was light.
“Nice car,” she said, skimming the interior. “Is it new?”
I cocked an eyebrow, amused that she was trying to make small talk.
“Smells new. Better than the perfume you’re wearing.”
“I’m not wearing perfume.”
“Tell that to your neck.”
Fuck. That chick had been heavy-handed with the scent, but I’d thought nothing of it.
“This afternoon, we’ll get it done,” I told her when we were a few minutes from my front door.
“It?” She looked at me. “I assume you mean the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Has anyone ever told you how romantic you are?”
I fought the urge to grin because there wasn’t any fear in this woman’s voice. She was giving me shit while coming to terms with her circumstances. I admired that about her. Hell, I admired a lot of things about this woman, things I would never lay claim to.
She didn’t look at me when she asked, “Do you know a judge or something?”
“Or something.”
“What about the marriage license?”
“He’ll take care of that, too.”
I flipped the blinker to turn into my neighborhood while Laikyn looked out the window. I could tell she was curious about where I lived, but she didn’t ask questions. Not when I pulled into the short driveway and up to my house. Not when the garage door opened so I could pull the car inside. She looked around, silently observing.
“Is that a Harley Softail?”
“It is.”
“Nice.”
Two minutes later, the garage door was closing behind us. I turned off the engine and got out, grabbing her things from the trunk.
“Where do I sleep?”
“Pick a room.”
“What if I want to sleep in your room?”
That nearly tripped me up, but I countered smoothly. “Then I’ll pick a room.”
“Do you live here by yourself?”
“No.”
Before I reached the door, she grabbed my arm. “Seriously? Please don’t tell me you have a girlfriend in there?”
I grinned. “No girlfriend, I assure you.”
“So your powers of persuasion didn’t work on Perfume Girl?”
“What?”
Laikyn waved a hand at my chest. “I just call it like I smell it.”
I didn’t bother explaining because it didn’t matter. After the ceremony this afternoon, she would never have to worry about that again. At least not while I was married to her. It was the least I could do, considering what I was after.
I opened the door to the house and stepped back so she could go in first.
“To the left,” I instructed, then followed her down the short hall to the open living room and deposited her things on one of the couches.
A sharp bark sounded from down the hall, and a second later, it was followed by nails clicking on the hardwood floors.
“Sit,” I commanded gruffly.
A sad whimper sounded at the same time Waldo’s butt met the floor.
“Oh, my God.” Laikyn’s eyes lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “You have a dog?”
I didn’t answer because it seemed obvious to me.
“Boy or girl?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the chocolate lab currently thumping the floor with his tail.
“Boy.”
“Name?”
“Waldo.”
“Is he friendly?”
“He’s a marshmallow,” I said, then signaled Waldo to get up.
As soon as I did, he launched himself at Laikyn, practically taking her to the floor as he tried to lick the skin off her face.
Laikyn giggled and dropped to a crouch so she could let Waldo bowl her over and attempt to cuddle like he’d been left here alone for a year. Within seconds, she had Waldo draped over her legs, his head against her belly as he curled into her warmth.
“You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, smoothing her hand over his dark brown fur. “Thank goodness you don’t smell like perfume.”
I sat on the arm of the sofa and watched, waiting until she was finished showering Waldo with attention and making more digs at me. I wouldn’t acknowledge the envy I felt at that moment. I wanted to be that damn dog. It was stupid and juvenile.
When she finally looked up, it was to peer around at the open space. “Wow. This is … well, the house is nice, but did you have to take decorating tips from That ’70s Show?”
I should’ve expected that.
“It’s home,” I told her, not at all offended that she didn’t care for the decor. I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t care for it either, but I didn’t have the time or the inclination to change it.
“Who’s your decorator? They suck.”
I scanned the room, taking it in from her viewpoint. To be fair, it wasn’t so much ugly as it was an over-the-top attempt at mid-century modern. The house’s architecture made it livable, even if the furniture wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea.
“Ask the previous owners,” I told her. “I bought it like this.”
She eased herself from under Waldo, then brushed dog hair off her jeans when she stood up. “So the furniture isn’t yours?”
“Came with the house.”
“You just move in?”
“Three years ago,” I admitted.
“That makes the furniture yours.” She laughed, then shook her head. “And Waldo?”
“He didn’t come with the house.”
She pointed and grinned as though to say, I see what you did there.
“How long have you had him?” She skimmed the living room, the dining area, and the kitchen as she moved toward the back of the house.
“Two years.”
Laikyn peered down at Waldo, who was propped with his front paws in front of him as he watched her. “How old is he?”
“Three, maybe four. Don’t know for sure.”
“No doubt the longest relationship you’ve ever had,” she said with a grin.
“Not quite, but close,” I admitted.
Her eyes met mine, and I could tell she was trying to read into the meaning. When I didn’t give her anything more, she continued to survey the space.
“What was the appeal?” she asked, placing her hand on the retracting wall of windows that opened to the outdoor living space. “All the concrete, the pool, or the view?”
“All. None.”
Laikyn smiled, and it changed her from attractive to dick-hardeningly beautiful.
“What’s out there?” She was pointing at what the real estate agent had referred to as a recreation room at the far back of the property. The previous owners had used it as a gym.
“Nothing at the moment.”
“Seriously?”
I nodded. “You should get some sleep.”
“Oh, right.” She clutched her hands to her chest. “Big day today. A girl only gets married three times, but I’m sure the first is supposed to be special.”
I choked on a laugh. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting her to be quite so lighthearted about the whole thing.
“So we get married this afternoon.” Laikyn’s eyebrows rose. “Then what? I hope you don’t expect me to sit in this depressing place all day.”
I could tell she was being facetious. The house wasn’t the least bit depressing, even if it was bland. Considering I was rarely here, I didn’t see the point in doing anything with it.
“I’ve got an office,” I informed her.
“In the house?”
“No.”
“Ah. You’re one of those, huh?”
“One of those what?”
Laikyn shrugged. “I don’t know. It was the first thing that came to mind.”
Oh yeah. She was going to give me a run for my money.
“You should get some sleep.” I picked up her bags. “Pick a room.”
She stopped me as I turned toward the hall leading to the guest rooms, her expression serious. “Is my mother going to be all right? I mean, with the … stuff.”
“Yes.”
“You sound certain.”
“That’s my job.”
“And you’re good at your job?”
“The best.”
Her eyes moved over my face as though hoping to ferret out the truth.
“I won’t lie to you, Laikyn. I have no reason to.”
Her pretty green eyes searched my face for a moment before she finally said, “Okay.”
I nodded, then raised my arm in the direction of the bedrooms. “Okay.”
“What are my options?” She spun on her heel to lead the way down the hallway that extended off the living room. Waldo trotted along at her side, clearly expecting to spend more time with her.
I didn’t respond. The house was four thousand square feet, but the majority was the entertainment areas. There were only three bedrooms—only two downstairs—so it wouldn’t be difficult for her to figure it out in less than a minute.
She stopped at the first door she came to. “Is this one yours?”
“No.”
“Is someone else using it?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll take it.”
I carried her bags into the room and left them on the bed. I had just stepped into the hall when Laikyn called my name.
“Yeah?”
“What you said earlier about my mom paying someone to kidnap me…”
I waited.
“Was it true?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to tell me about it. Not now, though.”
“Sure.”
“Good night.”
“It’s morning,” I reminded her.
She smiled. “Good morning, then.”
“Come on, Waldo. Let’s give the girl some space.”
If a dog could pout, Waldo did, but he followed me out of the room so I could close the door behind me.
Instead of going straight upstairs to my bedroom, I went to the other bedroom and rapped my knuckles on the door, signaling Jinx that I was coming in.
I opened the door and found him propped up on the bed, a book in his hand. His light blue eyes skimmed over me briefly.
“I’ll introduce you after she catches a nap,” I informed him as Waldo hopped up on his bed and curled against his legs.
Jinx nodded. He pointed a finger at me, then to himself, before arching his eyebrows. It was his way of asking if I needed anything from him.
“No, I’m good,” I answered.
His eyebrows arched higher.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Jinx jerked his chin, then turned his attention back to his book.
I pulled his door closed, then headed upstairs to my bedroom. I didn’t stop until I was in the bathroom. I flipped on the water, stripped off my clothes, and got under the spray. I let the cool water beat down on my body, willing it to take the edge off this lust that had consumed me since Laikyn first opened the door a short while ago. I couldn’t explain what it was about her, but I ached for her.
I’d never had a reaction to a woman like this. It wasn’t merely physical attraction. It was more than that.
When it came to women, the only thing I’d ever been curious about was how loud I could make her scream when she was in the throes of orgasm. With Laikyn … I got the feeling her screams would be as vibrant and heated as she was. I wanted to hear them, but I also wanted to hear her say my name when she came. I wanted to watch her face when her eyes rolled back as she succumbed to ecstasy. None of it made sense.
I fisted my cock roughly as I imagined tunneling into her tight, wet cunt. I imagined her fingernails slicing down my back while I pounded inside her, taking us both to the edge and beyond. I envisioned her long legs wrapped around my hips while I impaled her over and over again.
It wasn’t going to happen, but the mental imagery had formed, and for a brief moment, with my eyes closed and my hand stroking my dick, I let myself think it could.
I grunted when my cock kicked in my hand, spurting cum on the shower wall.
While the idea was fantasy worthy, I had no intention of fucking Laikyn Quinn. I would make her my wife and then do what needed to be done. Once everything was as it should be, I would release her from the contract with an annulment—after all, I was doing this under false pretenses—so she could go on to marry someone who deserved her.
For now, it had to be this way. I couldn’t tell her my reasons, but it had nothing to do with love or lust or happily ever after. I didn’t give a shit about any of those things, and I damn sure didn’t want her to mistakenly think I did.