Page 77 of Only for Him
But I don’t think Roman would like the idea of other men watching me.
And, God help me, I find myself feeling the same about anyone watching him.
What we have—which, I remind myself, isnothing,can’t ever beanything,because he’s a murderer and I’m a fuckingdetective—is too raw and brutal for anyone else to witness, let alone understand.
I shake my head and move on to the shoes. They’re strappy, high, and dangerous in a very literal way. These will all but incapacitate me. I’m definitely not running away in them.
If I can’t run, I’ll have to stand my ground.
Or kneel.
Do I really trust him enough to wear shoes I can’t escape in?
I’m frustrated to find that I do, then tell myself it’s because I’m of no use to him if I’m dead. He needs me alive. If he wanted to kill me, he’d have done it two orgasms ago.
He still wants to use my “latitude” as a cop, right?
A cringe of discomfort when I consider whether I’m just a means to an end.
When, like it or not, he’s quickly become much, much more to me.
The merry-go-round in my head doesn’t stop. With him, because of him, I’m always feelingsomethingfar too deeply. Whether it’s fear or shame or lust. They take turns feeding each other until I’m dizzy.
At the bottom of the bag is a velvet jewelry box. I snap it open.
Earrings.
Big, teardrop-shaped, crystal and silver, so heavy they could anchor you in place. I touch them and find them to be cold and solid.
Accompanying them is a note folded origami tight.
Dress the part, little viper. Wait for me.
No signature, because he doesn’t need one.
It’s here when it shouldn’t be. That’s his signature.
My thumb hovers over the note, tempted to trace the ink, traitor nerves sparking.
I step back to take it all in.
My body responds first as nipples turn diamond-hard. Next, my skin grows fever-bright, and I taste guilt and thrill fizzing against my tongue like champagne.
I snap the box shut with a bite.
I want to throw it all away.
Torch the dress. Slam the shoes through a window. March the box back to wherever he crawled out from and smash it against his fucking face.
But I won’t.
I’ll put on the dress, the mask, and the heels. I’ll even wear the earrings he picked for me even if they tear my earlobes in half. Because if I don’t, then he wins. And if I do, he wins anyway.
I clench my teeth so hard my jaw cracks. Leaning back against the bathroom door, I cup my hands over my pussy, feeling the heat through my pants, remembering how easily he manipulates my flesh.
And how fucking good it feels to let him.
I can’t stop thinking about how I’m about to take a step into something I’m not prepared for.
