Page 17 of The Villain
I grin, turn to my cousin. He knows I don’t, but he’s fucking with her too. “Not yet. But maybe later.” That last part I say to her.
“You want something for the pain?” Enzo asks.
“No. I told you, it’s good for me to remember.” I brush a lock of hair behind her ear, and she jerks her face away. I wonder if she’s aware she’s biting her lower lip, a giveaway of her anxiety. She’s not as tough as she wants to appear. Understandable, considering.
“What about this?” he asks, tossing the letter opener up and catching it. He’s cleaned it at least.
“Leave it. I may need it,” I say with a pointed look to Allegra. “Lock that door though,” I tell him, gesturing to the door that adjoins mine. I won’t be putting her back there tonight.
He does. “All right. I’m going home. Call if you need me. I’ll check in on you in the morning,” Enzo says, setting the letter opener on the table across the room before he leaves.
“Cute little stunt,” I tell her once he’s gone.
She faces me. She’s tiny barefoot like this. “I’d say effective is the word you want to use.”
I grin. She’s tough. Good. This is going to be fun. “Effective if earning a punishment was your goal, sure.”
She tries to look defiant, but I hear her swallow.
I brush my hand over her hair. It’s a wild mass of dark waves and I can imagine what she’d look like on her hands and knees before me, all that wild hair in my fist tugging back her head as I take herfrom behind.
I’d let her come even after this transgression. Not for her pleasure, but for mine. For me to see her face when her body betrays her.
I wonder how she’d look at me then. After coming on my dick.
Careful. Not yet. Don’t lose control.
“Moth,” I say.
“Reaper,” she responds.
I raise my eyebrows.
She gestures toward my chest. “It’s what they call you. The Grim Reaper. Bringer of death.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know what you are. What your family is.”
“Same as yours.”
“Not the same.”
“Yet you’re not afraid to attack me.”
“I already told you that I’m not going to play good little victim. I will never be that.”
“Been that before?” I ask, gesturing with a glance to her hand.
She narrows her eyes. “No,” she denies. “Now take me down from here.”
I snort, walk to the table against the wall where I keep a bottle of whiskey. It’s where Enzo left the letter opener. I pick it up, study it. It was stupid not to check the desk before putting her in there, but no one uses that room, so I guess the soldier didn’t think to. I’m lucky the thing was small, but fuck it was sharp. I tuck it into my back pocket and pour myself a glass of whiskey. Capping the bottle, I take the glass back over to her and offer her a sip.
She turns her head away, but licks her lips. She’s thirsty, but she’s also stubborn. I sip my drink and look her over. Her blouse is torn, hanging open, beneath I can see a black lace bra. Pants are intact. She’s up on tip toe and her toes peeking out from beneath the wide pant legs are painted a deep purple.
“My arms hurt. Take me down.”
“What happened to your finger?”
