Page 88 of Born for Lace

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I set a torch upside-down on the floor in the corner. There is power, but the lines must be fried somewhere. Rodents, probably.

Flipping the tiny spring bed over on its side, I settle on the floor on a mound of thick duck-feather blankets I found sealed in an airtight box in the cupboard. The people who lived here had affluence at one point.

I glare at the ceiling like the anger inside me can crack the age-old timber rafters, curl the roofing out?—

I growl. Carving through my brain are ideas of her and me, and her knickers with Tomar, and my deep, rooted, agonising need to peel his skin from his flesh so no part of him has touched her.

My brother.

My saviour.

At the sound of a soft sob outside my door, I jerk upright. I have never moved so fucking fast. Lunging to my feet, despite my half-naked state, I wrench the door open.

She is there.

At my door.

She collapses against me—half pulling, half pushing—and bashes the blunt of her fists against my abdominals in a weak, heartbreaking display of anguish and confusion.

My chest aches. “Did I do this?”

Sobbing, she beats me with her fists. “It’s… It’s too much.” She wheezes. “It’s all been too much. That man beat me, Lagos! He beat me, and you’re— You’re like him.” She can’t get the words out after that, her throat filling with emotion too large to breathe through.

“Breathe, little flower.” I scoop her into my arms, her long red hair rushing over my forearm. The white slip-dress she is wearing flows, soft and feminine against my body. My cock thickens in my briefs, jutting out of the grey fabric.

“I care for you!” she sobs. “I like you!”

“You shouldn’t.” Kicking the door shut, I take her to the bedding and lay her on the blankets.

I’m not a decent creature, not a kind or considerate man, not—what I need to be for her. I don’t know how.

I just have to try.

“I would never hurt you,” I growl, my voice deepening, tight and angry.

She turns fetal; her soft, petite body sinking into the blankets, and my arms encompass her, drag her to my torso, and hold her there.Fuck.

I stare ahead at the cupboard, at my reflection in a full-length mirror. My jaw clenches. The abomination glaring back at me is twice her height, and easily three times thicker. My eyes dilate, blackening. I’m staring at a malevolent canvas, a beast crawling over goodness in human form and defiling it.

My cock leaks.

Fuck her.

Trying to get a fucking grip, my iron-blood burning through me, detonating my pulse, I look away from our reflection. My heart thumps on the other side of her head, and I’m seriously concerned the violent organ will scare her. Scare her away—I tighten my arms around her because I can’t allow that to happen. Not now. Not anymore.

I have to admit it. I have to relent to the unyielding talons of her presence. I’ve tried to ignore it. Fought through each feeling as it bubbled inside my mind. Attraction, then intrigue, then consideration, possessiveness, obsession, and ultimately the feelings keep coming, stacking on top of each other, fucking burying me.

Sheistoo sweet.

Too good for this world.

Too pure for me.

But I want her anyway.

I’m already everything that is wrong with the world today, everything that is wrong with genetic engineering and the black age of the Gene Wars.

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