Page 13 of The Villains We Make

“Is it such a terrible idea?” I say, my voice a breath against her ear. Her spine stiffens and the little hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

She turns to face me. I don’t move to give her space. I notice how her nipples press against the faded white of the night gown, see how her pupils have dilated.

“I don’t want you. I did once, but that’s over,” she says.

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

I brush one hardened nipple with the knuckle of my hand. She licks her lips, swallows. I lean closer, brushing my lips over her cheek before whispering in her ear, “Who’s the liar now?”

The phone rings again, breaking into this strangely intimate moment between us.

“Maybe you should get that.”

“It’s fine.” I silence it again. “Tell me, is it such a terrible idea?”

Her gaze moves from my lips back to my eyes. She narrows hers, brushes my chest with her fingertips, and it’s me who has to swallow now as she slides her hand down over my stomach, my groin. When my dick responds to her touch, she narrows her eyes. She wraps her hand around my erection, and when she slides it up and down, something sounding like a growl comes from my chest.

But when, a moment later, she cups my balls and squeezes too fucking hard, I suck in a breath and grip the windowsill.

“O—”

“Like the one-sided agreement about not lying to each other, I’m guessing I don’t have a choice in this marriage either, do I?”

“No, not really,” I say. She squeezes again, and I grit my teeth, close one hand over her wrist. “Take it easy, Ophelia.”

“You won’t touch me, understand?” She twists a little.

My breath is a hiss. “You’ll want me to touch you, trust me.”

“You. Won’t. Touch. Me.” She twists harder, and my vision starts to fade around the edges. “This marriage? This sham marriage? It is on paper only. It’s not real, and you won’t touch me.”

“I won’t be able to do much if you keep this up. Fuck. Fine. Christ.”

She chuckles, lets go of my balls and slips away as I recover myself.

“And when it’s over, we annul the marriage, and I never see you again. That’s the deal.”

When I turn around, I find her seated at the desk writing something on the pad of paper there. “Ophelia?—”

“It’s the only way I’ll do this. I’m finished being a pawn.”

“Like I said, you’re not a pawn, not to me.”

She rips the sheet off the pad and brings it over to me along with the pen. “Sign it.”

I take it, read it. It’s a simple contract of sorts confirming that I won’t touch her, and that the marriage will be annulled at a time of her choosing.

“Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“I’m not sure this would even hold up?—”

“Just sign it, Silas.”

“You’re not thinking clearly. You hit your head pretty hard?—”

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