Page 69 of Killing Emma

I swallow at the fire in her voice. This whole notion seems fucked up, but… “Okay. Suck my dick then.”

Her lip twitches upward, and she leans back over, not even bothering to toy with me. I suck in a hard breath as she takes me down the back of her throat.

“Fuck,” I gasp, gripping the steering wheel as she bobs up and down. I can barely focus on the road as her hands join her mouth, gripping the base of me. She pumps and sucks as I white knuckle the steering wheel. I drop a hand to her hair, threading my fingers through her soft locks.

I’ll do anything for this woman.

I rest my head against the back of the seat as I take the exit off the highway. I let off the gas as a guttural groan fills the cab and my come shoots down the back of her throat.

She swallows and then leans back. Before she can wipe her mouth, I grab her chin and bring it to mine, giving her a heavy kiss. I taste myself there, and I get turned on all over again. I break away so I don’t wreck Jude’s truck and put myself away.

Emma leans against my shoulder, wrapping her arms around mine. She rests her head against my shoulder, and I ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes with the way she’s touching me. It’s all wrong. It’s not me.

The me I know would’ve finished the woman in the suicide chamber. He would’ve never let Emma live beyond the night we met. I don’t know what the fuck happened to him, and I’m starting to wonder if I still have it in me to do my job. The thought of being unable to make a living is…

Bothersome.

Though, with Victor’s inheritance I don’t really need it. I spend the rest of the drive focusing on anything other than that, and by the time I pull up outside of the garage, I’m feeling a little less tormented.

“How’s your head?” I ask Emma as she sits up, and I ease the door open. My fucking leg is on fire, but I’ll take the physical pain any day over the shitstorm in my head.

“Ibuprofen and I’ll be good,” she says, giving me a small smile. “Maybe a shower, too, though. What about your leg?”

“Stitches would probably be a good idea,” I laugh, sliding out of the truck and wincing as more blood gushes from the wound. It’s not as deep as what Emma thinks. She didn’t get the knife far.

“Let’s go inside and wait for Jude.”

She nods, following me into the house. I know she’s in pain by the way she rubs the back of her head, and it makes me want to fucking set myself on fire for doing it to her. I’d never hurt her—not unless she…

She’s not going back to him. She chose me tonight.

Emma braved the fucking suicide chamber for me. That’s admirable, really. I watch as she heads for the kitchen, making herself a glass of water.

“I didn’t finish the dishes,” she says to me as I limp to one of the chairs at the table.

“Why’s it matter if you finished the dishes? I’ll do them later.”

“I don’t know. I guess I thought I was being helpful.” Emma eyes divert from mine in the moment, and I don’t know if I said something wrong—or if this is one of those female things where she’s really upset about something else.

“You don’t have to earn your keep here,” I say carefully, my head throbbing. “Why don’t you go up and shower? We can watch a movie, do something normal after all this.”

She nods just as Jude steps into the kitchen. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

I watch her leave, breathing a sigh of relief. She’s got me on edge right now, and I don’t know which one of us is the root cause. She stabbed me, I hurt her. It’s not good. Nothing about the situation is good. I’ll have to spend the rest of my life making up to her for it.

“Tense,” Jude mutters the obvious as he sets the med bag on the table. “And before you try to murder me for what happened, I tried to stop it. Chester locked me out.”

“He won’t be a problem anymore.” I unbutton my jeans and slide them off, exposing the gash in my leg. “She thinks she got me a lot deeper than she did.”

“Yeah,” Jude replies flatly. “You need to keep an eye on her head.”

“I know,” I cringe at the sharpness in his voice. “I didn’t know it was her until she said something to me. I don’t know why she didn’t just fucking say something when she walked in.”

“Shocking for someone who’s not used to our world,” Jude says, cleaning out the gash with alcohol.

I wince at the burn. “She was brave.”

Jude glances up at me. “I think there’s something more to her.”

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