Page 55 of Wicked Little Secret

I’m not a violent man. I’m a civilized man.

I use my words. Not my fists.

Yet the vastness of the world narrowed down to that singular moment.

And in that singular moment, I lost my grip on sanity. My fingers slid over the largest rock within reach and I brought it crashing down over his skull.

Instant satisfaction filled me. So I did it again. I struck him a second time and then a third.

Samson Wicker’s skull cracked open and his body slumped half on top of Nyssa.

The tunneled vision faded for a sick, twisted reality.

Nyssa gaping up at me, eyes wide in shock. Samson collapsed in the grass, blood seeping from where I’d bashed his head in.

I clench shut my eyes to avoid the projection on the ceiling, yet the images still exist.

They’re too fresh in my mind, playing out like in real time.

We fled.

We galloped in the night among the deep, sweeping shadows and distant party music.

It was as though we believed if we ran fast enough, we could escape the dark truth. We could pretend what just happened never did.

There was only one place on campus where we could go—my office.

Air eluded us as we gasped for breath and turned to face each other. In the dim light of my office, I felt grotesque, like some violent beast that had spiraled out of control.

Nyssa’s eyes were still wide, blinking at me with thick lashes. Her full, wine-tinged lips formed the tiniest O shape.

She was as speechless as I was.

I expected her to scream. For her to hurl cruel words at me about what a monster I’d been.

These seemed to be thoughts flitting through her head too.

Things she considered before she settled on what to do—rushing toward me for a frantic kiss.

Her arms wound around my neck, and suddenly, I was inundated with every small detail about Nyssa Oliver.

Her intoxicating scent.

Some kind of musk that was as sweet and warm as vanilla but with a woodsy hint like fresh soil. Imagery of soft cashmere and strolls in the forest immediately came to mind.

The sound of her breathing.

Small, gentle intakes of air that made my own heart stammer.

And then there was the feel of her body pressed up against mine.

God, was it like fuckingheaven.

Her nails sunk into my forearms as she rose en pointe and her supple breasts brushed against my harder, flatter chest.

I quickly curled an arm around her to hold her in place, keeping her firmlywhere she was.

Her soft lips tortured mine. Her mouth opened and her tongue slipped out. The little pink ribbon swiped at my bottom lip, tracing the outline.

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