Page 75 of Handsome Devil
“Which is?”
“Sit on my face.” That patronizing, devil-may-care smirk returned to his elegant face.
I opened my mouth to chide him. He stopped me with a wave of a hand.
“You can cut the bullshit about not being attracted to me. Our kiss told me a different story. And no, the fact that I killed Duffy won’t deter you either.” His eyes bore into mine. “You’ve been let down by humanity before. You love the idea that your husband doesn’t abide by the rules of society. That I would kill to protect you. The fact that you’ll never have my heart sets your soul on fire. You’ve never failed at anything, Gia, but you will fail at making me love you.”
I swallowed.
“But you’ll still scream my name as I feed you my cock and my tongue. Settle for whatever scraps I’m willing to give you.”
I didn’t answer.
My face was aflame.
My knickers weredrenched.
This wasn’t me. I was the girl who needed proper foreplay. A certain mood. A good bloody meal and candlelight.
Tate continued, his voice soft as velvet. “You secretly love that I am obsessed with you, don’t you, Gia? That my need for you is dirty and inappropriate, filthy in nature. A part of you has always wanted to spread those legs for me. Now the only question is whether you’re going to deprive both of us much longer.” He stood up, finishing his drink and slamming the empty tumbler on the table.
I remained woodenly seated, struggling to breathe properly.
“If you want to know what a six-thousand-dollar bottle of whiskey tastes like, I’ll be in my study until midnight. All this chasing you around in a forest opened my appetite.” He left, his knuckles brushing my shoulder ever so fleetingly, leaving little tremors across my skin. “For your pussy.”
My body was splayed against Egyptian sheets in the guest room, every fiber of it attuned to the study across the hallway.
I blamed it on the margaritas. My long day. The near-death experience in the woods. Whatever the cause, I wanted to slip into Tate’s study and find out what his expert hands were capable of. Deep shame bloomed in the pit of my stomach.
I was responsible for his father’s death. More responsible than he could ever know.
My eyes drifted to my phone on the nightstand. I touched the screen to check the time. Eleven fifty-eight. I had two more minutes to change my mind. My husband was a punctual creature. He wouldn’t wait a second past midnight.
They say that the heart wants what it wants, but in the end, it was my vagina that made me slip out of the lace-trimmed linen and tread across the hallway. My toes sank into the plush, silkencarpet that drowned out my footsteps. I stopped before his study. He left the door ajar, an open invitation for me to come in. I peeked inside, my pulse accelerating.
It was completely dark. All the lights were off. A silhouette of my husband sitting at his desk, jotting something down on a thick textbook, danced in the center of the room.
He wasn’t lying. Hecouldsee in the dark. He was writing in the dark.
Solving equations in the pitch black.
Everything clicked. That time he fetched me from my birthday and read a book…hetrulyread it.
Tate finished the page, flipped onto a fresh one, and continued jotting. A few seconds passed before he closed the textbook and sat back.
“It’s five seconds past midnight.”
His voice jolted me out of my reverie, and I sucked in a breath. I hadn’t realized he noticed me.
“Are you coming in or staying out?”
I stepped into the doorframe, closing the door behind me.
“Attagirl.” His words slipped through a condescending smile.
“I won’t have sex with you.”
“If you’re here for a conversation, I’m afraid I’m fresh out of patience for chitchat.”
