Page 26 of White Rabbit

Even his name haunts me.

I leave work in a daze, unable to think straight, unable to focus. One minute I was at Ogmore Grange and the next I was already home, stripping off my uniform like it was burning my flesh.

Ignoring the missed calls flashing on my phone, I step into my shower. It was probably just another voicemail from my father asking me to reconsider my job. Again.

Turning the dial, I need the cold water to bring me to my senses, but it doesn’t work. All I see is him. Dark eyes. Inked skin. Scars. That fucking smirk.

Turning the heat back up, I try to push him from my thoughts. It’s like I’m consumed by him, this dangerous stranger who everyone seems to fear. Christ, even battered and bruised, he was still hot. Sinfully hot.

And the things that came out of his mouth? Cover me in paint and take me right there on the desk? Just who did he think he was?

Soaping my body, I let my fingers move over my breasts. Nails scratching lightly over the tight, hard nubs. My body was aching, desperate for something…anything. I pinch myself, letting my head fall back against the tiles with a small groan.

He put everyone on edge, the other officers, my father, the warden. I’d read his file, over and over. I knew what they suspected him of, the rumors that surrounded him and yet…I was wet for him.

How could an evil man like Elijah Creed draw me in like a magnet? My hands roam over my slick skin and I imagine that they’re his hands. How could he be so honest and raw with me? He said he wanted to fuck me and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. Of course I had.

I was thinking about it now as my hand slid lower. What was I getting myself into? Those eyes seemed to stare right into my soul, and that hair. He had looked like a rogue pirate before, wild and a little grungy. Now, he looked like a slick mafioso. Dark and tempting.

Tracing slow, lazy circles over my clit, I lose myself in the memory of him. God, that fucking hair. I wanted to fist my hands in that hair as I moaned his name against his skin. Elijah Creed was invading my thoughts and I couldn’t control it.

I was standing on a precipice I never realized existed and I wanted to jump all in, and take what he was offering me.

But I’d be ruining my life if I did.

Was anything worth that? Did he really shine that brightly?

My fingers move quicker, with a touch more pressure as I remember the scars on his back and chest and my urge to kiss each one. The man and the monster, and I craved both sides of him. I wanted him to own me, but also for him to unravel, spilling his secrets.

My orgasm hits me quickly and is over all too soon, leaving me feeling hollow and empty. It wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed…him. Turning off the water, I dry my sensitive skin slowly, drowning in my thoughts. There was no use in trying to resist him—Creed isn’t someone you say no to. That would be like waving a red flag at a bull. He’d made it clear he was interested in me, and I doubt that he's just going to stop, especially now that he’ll be in my class.

I’m still processing how I feel about that. Part of me wants to get to the root of what makes him tick, find out whatever I can. If it yields something I can use to help take down his organization, then that’s a good thing. At least, that’s the excuse I make as I crawl into bed and try to calm my racing heartbeat. I was doing my civic duty. He was a criminal, and it was my job to uncover more about it.

The other part of me wants to just soak in his intense attention. Lap up the way he watches me like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever seen. My instincts were broken and couldn’t be trusted clearly, because while they were screaming at me to stay away from the dangerous man, I was also trembling with excitement. It was like something had been unleashed inside me and I couldn’t describe it.

All my life I’ve done what was right—I went to college, followed in my father’s footsteps, working on the right side of the law, found myself a steady, boyfriend with a good job, made the right friends in the right circles and apart from my job at Ogmore, I’d always done as I was told by my parents. I was a hardworking, dutiful daughter.

The expectations placed on me had been weighing heavily recently, like chains around my neck as the voice inside my head, the one that had questioned each and every step my life has taken, got louder.

I wasn’t able to see things as black and white as my father and he had always said that I was too soft, too trusting, because the shades of gray made me doubt myself. But Creed shone so brightly, a splash of crimson in my dull world that all but made my common sense run away and hide in the shadows. Finally drifting to sleep, I imagine myself inside Monet’s head, a world of swirling colors of blues, greens, and purples covering everything.

Getting ready for family dinner takes more effort than normal as I force myself to pull on a nice dress and put on some light makeup.

I hadn’t seen or spoken to my brother since our little run-in at Port Ellesmere docks, and it was making me anxious. What was he going to be like at dinner? Would he be nasty and snarling again? Or would he be a perfect gentleman in front of our father?

Making the drive to Newton feels like it takes no time at all, before I’m standing on the doorstep of my family home. My father’s housekeeper, Elsie, ushers me inside and towards the dining room with a tight smile.

We pause, standing just outside the door as she casts a worried glance my way.

“What’s wrong?”

Swallowing, Elsie glances at me with a guilty expression. “The Judge has been in a…foul mood this week, Miss. It might be best to stay quiet this evening and nod along.”

My father was a busy man, a powerful man, and that often came with a lot of stress. When I was a child, my mother used to take the brunt of his short-temper, and while he never laid a finger on us, he could be prone to throwing things and screaming. I’d learned early on to keep my head down and avoid his anger. We share grimaced smiles before I step into the room.

My father stands near the window, finishing a glass of whiskey before placing it on the sideboard. “You’re late.”

Glancing at the time on my phone, it shows that I was dead on time. It was the same time I’d always arrived for dinner since I moved out, but I can already tell that pushing back on this would be a bad idea. Waves of tension roll off him, filling the room with a stifling atmosphere.

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