Page 171 of Auctioned

She’s trying so hard.

My jaw tics. My chest is hot.

Loving a person is a motherfucking disease. Anyone else could’ve died at my feet, and I wouldn’t have lost sleep over it. I would’ve stepped right over their corpse. Called Clara to clean up the mess.

Sure, I hate what our family has put women through over the years. I’ve risked my life to save theirs. But they were merely tasks I had to cross off my list.

Ophelia, though.

I need her alive. Being obvious could end up with her dead.

“Clara said you’d be back early. I just didn’t think you’d be herethisearly.” Her smile is tentative. “Hungry?”

Hungry, or are we practicing?That’s she’s really asking.

“What’s for dinner?” I play her game, shrugging off my jacket. It goes on the nearest armchair, folded neatly.

The cuffs of my shirt slip through the loops. I roll the sleeves up my forearms, and Ophelia’s eyes are drawn to the movement. For a moment. They’re back on my face the next, dark and alert.

“Rice.” Adorable. She must’ve burned the protein.

I fight back a smile. This isn’t the time to admire the blush creeping up her cheeks.

She opens her arm to the side. Again,onearm. “Missed me?”

“Painfully so.”

It’s the truth. I thought about her throughout the trial. Through traffic. While my son was planning to kill me. I thought of her beneath me. At my side. On top of me.

Laughing. Moaning. Cursing me.

Cutting me. The wound on my arm has healed over the last two weeks. I have fresh, smaller ones across my back where she got me during our training. Bruises too.

Ophelia has bite marks and welts on her ass.

She knows the risks without me having to do worse. I don’t want to cause her actual harm. Anything that doesn’t have to do with sex is strictly off the table. She can hurt me, not the other way around.

My version of love isn’t conventional.

Then again, Ophelia isn’t a conventional woman. Tonight, though, Oliver will be led to believe that she is. That she’s disposable.

The cadence of my heart is furious. I’m sure she can hear it.

Casually, I stroll over to her. I’m dying to lean over and kiss her. Taste her. Sink my teeth into her plump bottom lip. I go behind the couch instead.

“You?” Placing one hand on her shoulder, I ground her. Trick her into thinking I’m falling for her act.

She pays attention to my every move. Her eyes narrow when she realizes I’m pinning herhiddenarm down.

“Since the moment you left the house.” She’s not bullshitting me. Her tone is suspicious, nonetheless. Her body tenses, readying itself for a fight.

“That’s a good fucking girl.”

Creases line her forehead. “I didn’t do?—”

In one smooth move, I hook my arm around her waist, hoisting her up in the air, pressing her back to my front.

“Fuck!” Her knife glints in the dim light.

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