Page 115 of Never Fall for an Angel

“Sleep.”

MILA

Idon’t think I’ve ever been this excited in my life.

“What are the rules?” Christian asks, buttoning up my coat like he’s my dad sending me off to my first day of school. It’s not even cold out, but because he’s taking me off the island, I don’t argue.

“You’ve asked me that three times.”

Cocking his head, he tugs me closer by the pockets of my coat. My heart lurches in my chest, my nipples brushing against the lace of my bra.

What has he turned me into?

“And now I’m asking you again.”

My tongue darts out to lick my lips, my mouth impossibly dry simply because of his presence. It’s been three days since I gave my first blow job, and I’ve found myself wanting to do it every day since, just because I like the way I can make him fall apart.

He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my gaze up to his, and every nerve ending in my body short circuits.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll cancel the trip.”

My stomach sinks. Ineedoff this island. Just for a few hours, so I can feel like a person and not just a very sexually satisfied captive.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re thinking about my tongue between your legs.”

I wasn’t thinking about that.

I definitely am now.

“That what you want?” he taunts, voice low and dark as sin. He steps even closer until I’m forced to fall back to the table, my ass resting on the edge. “You want to cancel our trip and let me spread you out on the bed? Make you come on my tongue until you can’t remember why you wanted to leave in the first place?”

A shiver ghosts up my spine when his thumb brushes over my racing pulse.

The asshole’s trying to con me into giving up my day of almost freedom.

“You fight dirty,” I grumble, and he chuckles darkly.

“Play dirty, too,” he smirks. “What are the rules?”

I let out a huff. “No running off by myself. If I see something suspicious, tell you. If I see anyone I recognize, tell you. If anyone asks, you’re Christian Smith, and I’m Mila Smith, your devoted wife of two years.” Had to roll my eyes at that one.“Don’t tell anyone I’ve been kidnapped in an attempt to one-up you . . .”

“And?”

“And no smiling. No breathing. No blinking. No chewing gum . . . Did I miss anything?”

“Yeah.” He takes my jaw in his hand, forcing my gaze to his when I attempt to climb down from the table. “The moment you feel overwhelmed, tell me. We’ll come home.”

Home . . .

That’s actually kind of sweet.

I swallow past the lump forming in my throat, the heavy silence between us weighted with everything neither of us has been willing to discuss. How I shot him. How he left me.

We’ve both made mistakes. I actively make them every day when I don’t tell him the truth about that night and why I did what I did on the hospital roof.

I want to tell him. I want to share that with him, but . . . it’s hard. Pain is hard. It’s ugly and disgusting. Ithurts, and we’ve both been hurt enough for a lifetime already.

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