Page 57 of Hunted Temptation
But that’s not what this feels like.
It feels… different.
Wrong.
Like it’s some sort of guilt thing. And even though he’s brought me here, killed for me and saved me, it hasn’t felt like I’m an obligation or that he’s taken me in because of pity. But now—this does feel just like that.
Pity.
And that makes my saliva taste rancid.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door. Lifting my head, I turn to look toward the door, calling out for Vaughn to come in. I have nothing to hide. He’s seen every part of me, even the things I never wanted another person to see.
The door opens slowly, and I hear a creak at the hinges. Vaughn’s eyes find mine, and all the doubts I felt, while they’re still niggling in the back of my mind, aren’t in the forefront any longer.
“Come on and eat, Goldie.”
His voice is thick and husky, like honeyed whiskey. Not that I know what that tastes like, but I can imagine it’s what he sounds like, flowing slowly through my ears and my veins simultaneously. Although I don’t know if that even makes sense. I’m so punch-drunk by this man that I am thinking in riddled nonsense.
“Okay,” I exhale.
Standing, I let the water slide down my naked body, my gaze connected to his. I watch as his blue eyes darken, then his lips curve up into a grin. A naughty grin. I know what that smile means, and I want it even though I’ve just had it. Even though my body is sore, even though I’m physically exhausted.
I could rally.
Hell, I could be on my deathbed, and this man’s dark-blue eyes could meet mine, and I would be ready for him, legs spread, wet, and writhing.
“Hurry up, Elodie.”
Without another word, he turns around and walks out of the room. I watch him go, sliding my tongue along my bottom lip when I do, wishing I were following him… or rather chasing him down so I can straddle him and fuck him until we’re both so exhausted we can’t even breathe, let alone think.
I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel the pity being thrown in my face.
VAUGHN
We eatdinner in comfortable silence, or maybe not so comfortable considering I’m shifting around in my seat, my cock twitching every other fucking second as I think about being inside her.
“I don’t think I can marry you,” she states.
My cock goes soft instantly. “You don’t?” I ask.
She doesn’t have a fucking choice in the matter. She is going to marry me. It’s cute that she thinks she’s got some kind of say. Pressing my lips together, I roll them a few times as I lean back in the chair.
“I don’t,” she whispers before she continues. “I thought I could. It’s all I wanted, for you to want to keep me, but that’s not what this feels like.”
“But something has changed,” I murmur.
The whole conversation seems annoying, and I want it to end. And as much as I want to tell her that, I’m pretty sure that would be in poor taste, so I don’t. Instead, I wait for her to respond to me.
“I want you to want to marry me.”
If she didn’t look so serious sitting across the table from me, I would laugh at the way she said that.
It was cute as fuck.
“You think when I tell you to marry me, that I don’t want you to marry me?”
I feel like a fucking idiot having this conversation with her, but she’s serious, so I try not to laugh, shake my head, or look up to the ceiling for deliverance. She sucks in a breath and stands from her place at the table.
