Page 37 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

I point at Mom. “She’s talking about Rinna. Make her stop. Do it now.”

“If you insist.” He reaches for his waistband, lifting his black shirt, revealing ...

“Oh, Jesus actual Christ. Nyet to that!” I shout, placing my hand on top of his. I lean in and whisper-slash-hiss into his ear, “That’s obviously not what I meant. You can’t just shoot my mom in the head. What the hell is wrong with you?”

He presses a hand against my chest and gently pushes me away. When our gazes lock, his eyes are twinkling with mischief. “I was only joking, my love.”

“I hate you. Everything you are—all you’ll eventually become—I hate it.”

He shrugs. “That’s not what you said earlier.” He’s said the words loudly enough for my parents to hear who are now laughing like treasonous bastards.

“And what the hell are you laughing about?”

“Language,” Mom scolds. “We heard you both earlier, baby.”

“I’ll tell you,” Dad says with a hearty chuckle, “I haven’t made noises like that in twenty years.”

“I know,” Mom says bitterly. “You better believe, I know.” Mom’s got her phone in her hand, tapping out a message. Looking over her shoulder when she’s done, she stares at Abiand me for a moment, drinking in the vision like sweet tea. “I’ve invited Fiona along, too. I hope you don’t mind.”

“The more the merrier,” I say, and the worst part is, I think I mean it. I kind of love all the focus being on Abi and me.

Dad pulls onto Tallulah’s town square, and I’m a little confused when he parks in front of Foote’s Feet, a shoe store specializing in women’s orthopedic pumps. Once he cuts the car off, Dad turns and smiles at us over his shoulder. “Alright, Abdulov,” he says, and my entire body tenses. I’m the only person who has ever called him that, aside from his parents. For a moment, I worry he might scold my father, but he doesn’t. To my surprise—and perhaps to my horror—a peaceful, content smile spreads across his face, and he says nothing, just reaches for my hand and squeezes gently. “It’s going to be me, you, and Scotty’s fiancé this morning, buddy. You boys can’t see their outfits before the big day. Tradition, you know. After that, we’ll meet up for lunch.”

“I would love nothing more, sir,” Abi says sincerely. “May I have a moment with Tatum before we leave?”

Mom and Dad share a secret smile before Dad gives the green light, and they leave us to talk in private. Outside the car, it seems like my parents are standing a million miles away from each other. There’s something going on between them, and I’ll get to it eventually, but there are far more pressing matters at hand. Their backs are to us, giving us privacy. Abi wastes no time, unbuckling my seat belt and pulling me onto his lap. One arm wraps around my waist as he sucks a finger into his mouth, getting it wet. Once he’s done, he shoves his hand down the back of my pants, finding my hole on the first try. The moment he’s inside, I suck in a quick, sharp breath, my eyes rolling back in my head when he searches out my prostate.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he mumbles against the side of my face. “I just needed to feel you.” His lips are reckless. Little anarchists, hellbent on shattering my resistance. My chest rises andfalls rapidly, my hands holding onto the arm he’s got around my waist, clinging on for dear life.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

His finger explores me with abandon, touching each and every inch. “I can feel it. My cum. I filled you up, Tatum. Can you still feel me?”

I’m making all of these awful sounds; grunts and gasps as he assaults my insides. I press a palm against my stomach and smile warmly. “Yeah. I feel you. You’re deep in there, Abi.”

He growls at me, pressing against my prostate harder than before. “Tell me you’ll miss me today. Swear it.”

“Fuck. Abi,” I moan. “You have to stop or I’m going to get hard. I can’t go in there with an erection.”

He smirks. “Then say it.”

“Yeah,” I admit, suddenly feeling breathless. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Good. I will miss you too.” The smile he gives me sends a chill down my spine. “When you select your outfit, do not worry about what I will think. I want you to feel beautiful when you walk down the aisle. If that means simply wearing a jockstrap and your crop top, so be it.”

I stare at him in silence, feeling dizzy with hope, but that hope makes way for reality rather quickly. We haven’t discussed it yet, but we’ll have to have some sort of game plan going forward. Something to stop this sham of a wedding in its tracks.

“I’m not walking down an aisle.” I say the words as softly as I can, because even if I have to be the one to say it out loud, I don’t want to hurt him. I wouldneverwant to bring him pain, but letting him live in this happy-go-lucky headspace will lead to just that. Hurt. Disappointment. My big Russian bastard, the owner of a broken heart. “We’re going to have to stage a breakup. Abi, I can’t just marry you, willy-nilly, like it means nothing.”

“Like it means nothing?” he whispers. The face he makesseems like the words taste bitter on his tongue. The most pained expression flashes across his face, but only for a second, and then it’s gone. Had I blinked, I would have missed it. Truthfully, I wish I had, because it was an awful sight. Seeing hope fade from his eyes feels like a gut-punch. He was staring at me like I’ve just taken all he holds dear and burned everything down to ash. I open my mouth to apologize, but he cuts me off. “Yes. We’ll be broken up long before the wedding.”

He pulls his finger out of me and reaches beside him, reaching for his small black satchel. Inside, there are a few wet wipes. I love that he carries them around on his person, probably hoping for the chance to discreetly slip inside me throughout the day. Stolen moments belonging only to us. I take the bag from him and pull out one of the wipes, grabbing his wrist and pulling him closer. I can’t look him in the eyes. Not after seeing all that hope fade away.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, cleaning his finger.

“Sorry for what?”

“That I can’t give you what you want,” I say sheepishly. “Or that I don’t know what I want.”

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