Page 36 of Ferocious Nightmare

Eleven

“Areyou really going to do this?" Coulter’s arms were crossed across his wide chest and his scowl had deepened into a deep crease. He’d been acting annoyed ever since I’d sucked on his dick after the doctor appointment.

You’d have thought he’d relaxed a little bit, but his intensity only grew even harsher.

"Yes," I huffed, annoyed. “Why are you even questioning me on this?" I ticked an eyebrow upward. "I thought you trusted me." I shook the bag of dead rats that we'd bought from a pet store in his face. "You know he'll suspect you if one of your clubs isn't effected."

His hand went to my wrist, shoving the disgusting smelly thing away from him. His other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. His deep eyes stared down at me with distaste but the way his fingers were clenched into my back made my heart pitter-patter like it was being shot with bolts of electricity. "But does it have to be this club? It's my favorite."

I nodded, my heart lodged in my throat. "Especially because it's your favorite. You would never self-sabotage your highest grossing club."

"That's not why it's my favorite."

"Then why is it?"

He grinned, his smile wolf-like. "That, my dear nightmare, is none of your business."

“All right,” I huffed, “keep your secrets. And while you're at it, get up there.” I gestured at the large air vent.

He sighed, groaning, then took the bag from me. "Fine, but you owe me for this."

“Only in orgasms," I snarked, staring at his fine ass as he climbed up the ladder, "and shove them in as far as you can."

I wished I could see his face as he unleashed the dead animals into the air vents, or at least hear a little shriek of disgust, but instead, he worked silently, taking only a few minutes before climbing back down.

"Shoot," I said, disappointed, "I was hoping for more squealing."

“You're going to have to try harder for that.” He only smirked as he walked behind the bar, washing his hands. When he was done, he tucked the bag under his arm and turned around, leaning his hip against the sink and stared at me.

His face was unreadable.

“What?” I asked. “A zombie rat bite off your tongue?”

Since the infamous wedding, where we had become engaged enemies, we'd come to a tentative truce.

We were united in our efforts to take down his father, a slow build up that would end in a big bang, literally, but hadn't discussed 'us.'

Every day he showed me he cared, from the way he made sure I was safe, to making sure I had everything I needed. He'd paid over a hundred thousand just to get me on the list for that doctor and to make sure she penciled me in as soon as I felt ready for the surgery.

He was still giving me bunches of chocolate cosmos, fresh ones at my side when I awoke, though I had no idea how the hell he was getting them here.

I wasn't sure if it was still a dig about what I'd done to him, or because he knew they were my favorite. Still, I appreciated the way the smell filled my nose every morning, reminding me of home.

And yet, he still looked and acted like he was right now. Aloof. Untouched. Cold.

Except when we were playing, either I was making myself come or was sucking his dick.

I think that was why I liked doing it--it was the only time he became human to me. Showed me that he wasn't made of stone.

"I made another doctor appointment for you," he finally answered, still staring at me with that aloofness that I hated.

"Is that so?" I leaned over the bar counter, noting with satisfaction that he'd glanced down my dress to stare at my breasts. "And what problem are you solving this time?"

A strange look crossed his face. “The problem of you being not pregnant. It’s a fertility doctor.”

"Oh.” I frowned, feeling my heart pick up. "That."

"She's going to check you out, see if you're an ideal candidate."

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