Page 165 of Moth to a Flame

Landon shuts me up by shocking me. He removes his hand from my hip, sliding it between my body and the wall. He rubs me, forcing me to come again, and I know—I justknow—that when I do, it won’t feel like a relief. It’ll be torture.

I’m not wrong. I clench around his cock as another orgasm nearly destroys me.

“Landon.”

“Regan,” he answers, thickening inside me. Fucking me as deep as he would go. “Fuck, I’m coming. Take my cum. Take all of it. Every fucking drop.”

I whisperyesandpleaseandmore.

I cry and scream and moan.

I’m nothing and yet I’m everything all at once.

I’m mine. I’m Landon’s.

My man. My sanctuary. My home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Regan

“What if they’ll seethrough my lies?” I ask Landon, not for the first time over the last four days.

When the bastard kidnapped me, it took us twice as long. The asshole drove through strange roads and deserted towns in an attempt to escape detection.

We could’ve done the same. Lengthened the trip. Spent a day or two at the fancy hotels Landon booked us.

We could’ve done it faster, too, had we taken a flight.

I’m the one who said no to either of the options. I needed the time alone with Landon and away from the world to make sense of what had happened to me. I also needed to be back with my family. I missed them and Mojo so goddamn much.

But now that we’re about half an hour from Landon’s home, our home, where they wait for us, where no journalists snoop around, I’m worried.

They would see I lied to them over the phone. That what we told the authorities was bullshit. In person, Mom, Dad, and Rosemary would undoubtedly be able to sniff out the truth.

Which they shouldn’t. Plausible deniability is the first reason. Then there’s the matter of my future husband and me defiling, debasing, and destroying a man.

Doesn’t matter that this man isn’t a man at all. That Lester was a pedophile, a piece of shit monster. Doesn’t matter that no one in my family is disgusted by death and blood and gore.

They don’t need to hear about it. They don’t need to know that my husband and I are also sort of monsters.

Especially since I have no intention of asking him to stop killing people for me.

“Walk me through that again, little lamb.” His hand is firm on my thigh as we drive through the highway.

The skies are painted in orange and gray hues. Fall in New York is beautiful. Being home is even more beautiful. It’s everything.

I put my hand over his. My bandaged fingers over his flawless, perfect ones. It’ll take time for my injuries to heal, and I’m not sad about it. How can I, when Landon says I’m a badass for manipulating Lester into dumping them in strategic locations. For being the bravest person he’s ever met for sacrificing myself like that.

Looking over at his profile, I ask, “Aren’t you bored with hearing me repeat the same storyagain?”

“I’ll never be bored with you.” He casts his dark gaze my way, squeezing me over the jeans I bought at one of our stops.

Leggings would’ve been more comfortable for the long drive. Fuck leggings. I’ve been wearing them for the last ten years of my life. I’m done.

Gone are the days of carrying a gun on me everywhere I went. When I browsed through the racks at the store of one of the hotels we stayed in, I had a choice, and I chose freedom.

Not from Landon. Landon will be with me everywhere I go.

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