Page 112 of Handsome Devil
“Done and ditto.” I peered around. I was going to need a lot of fucking soap and alcohol to wipe this place out.
“No more jokes about making someone else happy either,” she warned.
“Sweetheart, I’d never deliberately bring joy to anyone but you. You’re the only human I can stand.” The confession surprised me more than it did her.
I didn’t hate her.
I didn’t tolerate her.
Ilikedher.
Quite a fucking lot.
A terrible complication, obviously.
For the first time since I walked into the room, I softened, eating the space between us with one long stride. I put my hand on her damp cheek, tilting her face up. She closed her eyes.
“Look at me.”
She shook her head.
I brought both my palms to her cheeks, inching my face to hers. “Now.”
Her eyes fluttered open. I felt my heart drilling its way out of my rib cage.
“Listen to me carefully, Gia. I am yours. All of me belongs to you. My body—yours. Brain—yours. Money—yours. Kingdom—yours. Every inch. Every cell. Every atom. Every single breath has your name on it.”
“And your heart?” Her voice came out scratchy and thick, eyes glittering with tears. “Is it mine too?”
“Oh, Apricity.” I plastered my forehead to hers, gathering her into my arms. “If I had a heart to give, it would be yours. Without question.”
Later that night, when I stared in the bathroom mirror, I didn’t recognize myself.
My nose was the same. My lips, ears, and apple cheeks all recognizable to me. But my eyes had changed shape. They’d morphed into something hard, almost sinister. They had seen my husband kill numerous people. They had witnessed blood and terror and anguish. They sent this message to my heart, but it was never delivered.
Because the bloody organ did not care in the least.
I should’ve been scared. But all I felt was jealousy and possessiveness that simmered beneath my skin, threatening to explode.
Watching Tate with Lila tonight unleashed something wild in me.
I found myself crossing another moral barrier, like I did when I asked Dr. Stultz not to report Tate to the authorities.
I was willing to go all in for him.
Even if I didn’t know his real name.
Even if he didn’t know what really happened with his adoptive father and me and finding out would probably ruin what we had.
Shaking my head, I flicked the tap on and rinsed my facecloth in warm water, moving it across my cheeks, forehead, and chin. I wet it again and reached between my thighs to wipe the dry cum that clayed over my skin before thinking the better of it. Something thrilled me about going to bed marked by my husband’s sperm.
A knock hammered on my bedroom door, and Tate shouldered past it. The door to the en suite was open, giving him a direct view of me.
I rotated, leaning against the sink. “I’m not decent.”
He was wearing his gray joggers again. No shirt. Not an ounce of fat on his body. My thighs involuntarily squeezed at the sight of him. His cheekbones were extra sharp under the dim light, his hair damp from a shower.
“I’m wearing my retainer and nightcap.”
