Page 134 of Unwrapping Deviance

I guess he can. I saw the perfect outline of every one of his teeth in the mirror when getting into the shower. I can create a perfect mold if I want. It should have been horrifying, outrageous, but all I felt was sadness because eventually, it will fade.

Daniel turns me over and positions my knees up and open. The layout has my sex open, my clit exposed between the lips he spreads between his fingers.

“How does she feel this morning?” he asks.

I catch myself grinning when answering, “Wet.”

Those dark voids of endless need snap to mine. I’m momentarily certain he’s going to rail me into the mattress, so I’m disappointed when he pulls back. His eyes never leave my face as he drifts back with slow, measured steps.

“That mouth of yours is going to get you in so much trouble one day.”

I smirk. “You could always put something in it.”

A deep, guttural rumble expands the width of his chest, a sound that prickles every hair on my body to stand. It’s pure, animalistic ... fucking hot.

“You want my cock, baby?”

My gaze drops to where his meaty hand is palming his delicious erection and my core clenches. My stomach seizes.

My mouth waters!

“Always. Please. Let me taste you.”

I know it’s anowhen he moves away from me to the dresser. A moment later, he has a pair of pale gray sweats in hand and a matching sweater. No amount of pouting stops him from dropping the bundle on my belly.

“Later, little doll. I need to feed you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHRISTIAN

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Fuck it.

Fuck. It!

I love her. I fucking love my pintsized brat with her big, blue eyes and sweet smile. I love the freckles across her nose and that damn dimple in her chin. I love her giggles, and the way it has the power to punch me straight in the gut with just a glance.

Not very manly.

Definitely not rational, but one thing I won’t deny is the fact that I don’t regret a fucking thing. Part of me was sure I would. You don’t just sayI love youto a girl you’ve known for three days without some inner turmoil. A flare of doubt and panic. Hell, it’s the very reason I haven’t said the words to anyone ever.

Not Daniel. Not Lucy. Not even my mom.

It wasn’t a common word in the MacAllister household. Dad didn’t want little bitches for sons. Mom’s tricky way around it was to brush our cheeks with her fingers. Sometimes, she’d pretend like we had something there she was wiping away, but she’d give us the tiniest smile like it was our little secret.

I never did that to any other person after she died.

Except Mira.

I guess some part of me had known from the very beginning that I was already gone over her. Can’t exactly pinpoint the moment, but maybe when she slapped me. That sweet fire of hers.

Whenever it happened, I’m done trying to fight it, especially after the day I had. Brutal. The drive to Mayfield. Four hoursof kicking myself for dumping Mira into Daniel’s lap and just leaving. An extra two hours of wandering around different shops and gathering the items I was there for while constantly wondering if Mira would like the pretty dresses, the stuffed animals, the books I passed.

I spent an unnecessary amount of time strolling through the romance section of Mayfield’s tiny bookshop wondering which ones Mira would like

I called the office and booked a few weeks off in December to take Mira to twelve of the Greek Islands.

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