Page 69 of Dolls & Daggers
“It’s okay. I can wait. Would you… would you like me to get ready?” I peer up at him with big doe eyes, willing a blush to rise to my cheeks as I bite my lower lip demurely.
Marcus doesn’t bother hiding his erection as it springs to life behind the charcoal joggers. “Sure. Third room down the hall on the right.” He steps into my space, blue eyes tracing my features. I force myself not to flinch as he cups my chin. “Forget the wig. Dress in the lingerie and wait for me on the sofa in the living room where I can see you.” He pulls on my lip with his thumb. Every nerve in my body screams in revulsion. I mask it with a shy smile and fluttering lashes as he whispers, “Fuck, you’re perfect.”
“Thank you.” I lower my gaze, glancing timidly at the bulge in his pants that threatens to brush against my stomach if he comes any closer. It makes me wantto retch. Guilt lances through me for being so intimately close to a man who isn’t Wren.
Turn it off, Dove. This is what you do. It’s who you are. Wren doesn’t change that.
“How old are you?” Marcus asks.
“Fifteen,” I lie, providing the age he requested I play.
His smile is downright diabolical. The contents of my stomach curdle as he says, “Good girl.”
A shiver runs through me. He mistakes it for desire and chuckles. “Go get ready for daddy.”
Gag.
Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it with a thin smile and turn to do as he says.
The hall is devoid of personal touches. No photos, no shelves with knickknacks. The off-white walls are blank. But stepping into the room he directed me to is like walking into a nightmare. A ledge borders the top of the space, and every inch of it is occupied by dolls—porcelain collectibles, the same kind Freddy used to keep in my room at his house.
What the fuck is it with psychopaths and dolls?
A shudder racks my body. I toss my bag onto the pristine ivory comforter of the queen-sized bed before setting the wine on the large white vanity.
I retrieve an alcohol test strip and dip my finger inthe red liquid, dropping some onto the strip. I let out an unladylike snort when it turns blue instantly.
Amateur.
I check the time and pull out my lingerie, inwardly cringing as Wren sneaks back into my thoughts. If he saw what Marcus is about to see tonight, he’d lose his goddamn mind.
I know I have to reevaluate everything. Every painstaking detail I put into my kills washed away because my boyfriend discovered my identity.
Wren makes me sloppy. Distracted.
But I refuse to give him up.
Or the Doll.
I have to changesomethingto make this work. And I want it to work so badly. I’ve never wanted anything like I want Wren. He makes me feel alive. Being with him awakens a protectiveness in me I never knew I possessed.
It’s not like a mother’s instinct—the kind that drives a woman to do whatever it takes to protect her offspring.
No, it’s something far more primal. A feral need to protect my mate.
I need to be willing to do whatever it takes.
Marcus is talking shop when I return to the main living area, laughing with whoever is on the other end of the screen as he lounges at the dining room table.The open-concept layout makes it easy for him to see me, and I allow another shy smile to grace my lips as his approving gaze drags down my scantily clad body.
Lazily, I peruse the room. As he continues working, I do things to catch his attention—bending slightly to read the titles of books on the inlaid shelving so he gets a perfect view of my ass beneath the babydoll nightie, or slowly pushing my hair over my shoulder before running my fingers over my breast.
By the time he finishes his call, he looks ready to chase me through the house and fuck me senseless.
I’ve never been drier.
“Did you not like the wine?” he asks, joining me where I sit with my legs curled beneath me on the sofa.
“It tastes a little funny.” I scrunch my nose and move to my knees, reaching over to take his glass as he sets it on the coaster. Holding his gaze, I take a drink. “Yours tastes normal. Maybe mine still has soap residue from the dishwasher?”
