Page 46 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

He pulls up to a stop sign, and because I’m dealing with a giant man-baby, he dramatically sticks his fingers into his ears, turns to stare at me, and says, “Nah-nah, nah-nah, boo-boo. I cannot hear you.”

I lay my head back and groan. “You’re adorable, but my Goddess, you are insufferable at times. Just fucking spit it out. What did I do?”

He pulls his fingers out of his ears and grabs the steering wheel before heading across the intersection. “Fake boyfriend,” is all he says, and he might as well be speaking gibberish as far as I’m concerned, because I haven’t the slightest clue what he’s talking about.

“What?” I ask, but he ignores me, turning his attention back to the road ahead. He flicks on his blinker when he reaches Second Street. I don’t know where he’s taking us, considering this a residential area, but that’s not what matters right now. “What are you talking about?”

His jaw works—left to right, then right to left—his teeth grinding. “That is who I am to you, is it not?” he says bitterly. “It is what you said at the inn.”

I study his face like I’m studying for a test, trying to understand why he’s so upset. “Abi,” I say, reaching out and taking his hand. I half-expect him to shove me away, but he doesn’t. He just turns his hand over and allows me to weave our fingers together. “Baby, please, look at me. I can’t make it right if you won’t even meet me halfway.”

He jerks his head in my direction, his eyes widening. “Baby?” It feels like every muscle in my body has ceased functioning. He looks just as surprised by the endearment as I am. In fairness, I didn’t mean to say it, but now it’s out, and he just looks so fucking happy. With one word, I ripped him out of his darkened headspace and thrust him into the light. He grips my hand fiercely. Furiously. Fucking painfully, but I never want this pain to stop. I want it to consume me. Just let it linger as a constant reminder that for one small, insignificant moment in time, I was his and he was mine. “May I speak freely, Tatum?”

“You can tell me anything. You know that.”

“I do not know that.” He shakes his head insistently. “Not always.” The car comes to a stop, but I can’t tear my eyes away from him long enough to see where we are. It’s like he’s a black hole, and his presence is pulling me in. “You keep me at arm’s length. Sometimes you make me feel like I am everything. The sun. The moon. Every star in the sky. I cherish those moments. They’re the ones I hold on to when ...” He lays his head back on the headrest and sighs. “They’re what I cling to when you shut me out.” His grip tightens, and I can feel his nervous sweat against my palm. “I do not wish to be your fake boyfriend. Iwant this with you. All of it.” He tilts his head in my direction, not speaking, just studying my face.

“All of what?” I finally manage to ask, though there’s no need. I already know what he means. My voice is shaky and broken with nerves, and it’s only now I realize I feel just as pained as the expression on his face. He says nothing, just gives me a pleading stare. “You want to be my boyfriend?” I whisper, like saying the words quietly enough might not make them real. “Real boyfriends?”

His head seesaws up and down. “Would you want that?”

I swallow the lump in my throat, wanting to tell him. Wanting to scream it from the rooftops, but I can’t get my fucking voice to work. I don’t know where we’re heading or what we, as a couple, would even look like. And there he is, staring at me, his mouth slowly falling open. I’m too scared to make a fucking sound, and he’s sitting there looking like I’ve just broken his heart.

“Abi, I don’t . . .”

He shakes his head, and I can tell he’s trying to mask the hurt. It might work with someone else—with anyone else—but it doesn’t work with me. I’ve spent six months literally curled up at his side. I know this man, and I know he’s close to breaking.

“Nyet. You do not need to answer. Take all the time you need. I am not going anywhere.”

I squeeze him, because I need him to know. “I’m not saying no. I care for you. Deeply. I just need a little time.” In a last-ditch effort to drive the fact home, I dive forward, pressing my lips against his. It isn’t anything special. It’s hardly the kiss to end all kisses, but it’s a kiss that shakes me to the core. I think he feels it too. No. I know he does. It’s there, sparkling in his love-drunk eyes. It’s in the way his hand rests flush against my heart, his nails digging in ever so slightly. Mostly, it’s in the way he pulls away, brings my hand to his lips, and kisses my knuckles, one by one.

“Thank you,” he says.

When he releases my hand, I catch him off guard, tickling his palm. “I’m happy to be of service. Now, where are we?” Tearing my eyes away from him, I’m finally able to see where he’s parked. The moment I see my ex-boyfriends’ townhouse, the blood feels like it’s drained from my face, and my mouth goes dry. “Why?” is the only word I can get out. I startle when he takes my hand.

“Before we met, when I was stalking your social media activity?—”

“You still stalk my social media activity, big guy,” I say, tickling his thigh.

“Correct,” he says. Fucking shameless. “But when I first started stalking you, before I knew the real you, I had your life’s story written in my head. You amongst a sea of boyfriends, each worshiping you endlessly, the way you deserve. To me, you were a strong, impenetrable fortress no one would ever dare breach.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “Then, I found out that was not the case.” He reaches for me, his thumb brushing softly across my cheek. “They had the whole world in their hands, and they threw it away. And do you know what I say to that?”

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“Good,” he says. “I am glad they threw you away, because it meant getting to claim you as mine.” His hand drifts down the side of my face, not stopping when it reaches my chest, nor when it passes my navel. It only comes to a halt when he reaches my soft cock. His hand wraps around my bulge, giving me an affectionate squeeze. “Benito broke you. He stole the Bens to break your heart. He cost you this mysterious Austin, who you rarely speak of. Now, I am going to break Benito’s neck.”

As I try to understand the words he’s just said, he opens his door and steps out of the car. Moments later, my door opens, but I can’t make myself move. His words are ridiculous. What the hell is he even talking about?

“Do not worry,” he says. “If you do not wish to watch, you may stand outside.” He unbuckles my seat belt and picks me upwith minimal effort. I’m still trying to process everything as he walks us to the front porch, lifts his leg, and kicks the door off its hinges with ease.

My body jolts at the sudden crash, and mental images of Benito mistaking us for robbers and gunning us down cloud my head. I’m shaking in Abi’s arms, and all I can do is bury my face in the crook of his shoulder and hold on for the ride.

“Knock-knock,” Abi yells. “Hope you cry, hope you die, Benito.” Though his use of my newfound catchphrase makes my heart race a bit faster, all I can do is whimper into his shirt. Part of me wants to demand he takes us away from here right this second. There’s another part, though. The darkest part of me. A part that wants to see this thing through. To watch as life drains from Benito’s eyes. “Do not be scared, Tatum. I will not allow him to harm you. I have a grenade launcher in my pocket. Would you like to watch his body turn to pink mist, sweetheart?” Before I can respond—not that I could even get a word out if I wanted to, because what the fucking fuck?—he chuckles into my ear. “I am only joking.”

Slowly, I tear myself away from his shoulder and look him in the eyes. There are glints of mayhem swirling in them, and the left corner of his lip is tugged up in a smirk.

“You are not the only one with a sense of humor,” he says. “They’re not home. You have nothing to worry about.”

“What do you mean? Where are they?”

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