Page 101 of Tell Me Why
CHAPTERFORTY-THREE
Christian
“Remember who’s in charge here,”I remind her, my voice ragged, coming too close to revealing just how much I need her. “If I want to fuck you again, and again, andagain,then that’s what’s going to happen.”
Her pink lips curve upward into a smile that cuts straight through my defenses. She reaches up and brushes her fingers over the beige bandage on my neck. The cut is healing, and I could probably take it off.
She purses her lips at me. “Last night, when I couldn’t sleep, I imagined stabbing you again. I woke up happy.”
My heart pounds. “You’re welcome to try killing me again,” I whisper, leaning in, brushing my nose across her soft cheek. “A little knife play might actually be fun.”
She laughs, the delicate sound floating around me like a melody, and I smile. I fucking smile. I can’t help it. The sound wraps around my heart and squeezes like a fist, pumping the useless organ back to life.
Seeing her comfortable and relaxed makes me happier than I’ve ever felt. I mean, fuck, I’d sink a knife into my own damn chest if that’s what it’d take to keep a smile on her face.
We’ve been fucking for days, and I already want her again, my balls aching—but if I take her again so soon, I’m going to cause some serious damage.
So, instead, I settle in next to her and pull her warm body against me. She rests her head against my chest, and I stroke her arm gently, the tips of my fingers skating over her soft skin.
This feels so good. So fucking perfect it’s terrifying.
Silence drifts over us like a warm blanket, and I stare up at the ceiling, listening to her slow, steady breaths, feeling my own heart beat in time with hers…
“I didn’t open the envelope, because...I’m afraid,” she says quietly.
The comment comes so out of the blue that for a second, I have no idea what she’s talking about. Then I remember—she’s talking about the large manila envelope I gave her. The one on the nightstand. Still unopened.
“I get it.” I tighten my arm around her. “But avoiding the truth doesn’t make it less real.”
The information in that envelope is fucking gnarly, and my instinct is to I protect her from it, but she deserves to know. She deserves the truth.
“If I don’t know, then I can ignore it. Pretend it doesn’t exist.” Her voice is small, vulnerable, and it claws at something deep in my chest.
“Nah.” I press my lips to the top of her head, breathing her in. Her sweet coconut scent makes my head swim. “Not knowing will eventually eat away at you. Trust me.”
She twists her head to look up at me, one eyebrow lifted, a spark flashing in her eyes. “So you’re an expert on me now?”
“I’ve been watching you for months,” I admit. “Since that day in class when you told me not to touch you.”
Before then, actually. And I haven’t just been watching her. I’ve been completely consumed by her. Obsessed. But after that first taste, she filled every thought in every shadowy corner of my mind.
“You mean the day you finger-fucked me in the hallway,” she corrects.
The memory of her pressed against that wall, shocked and angry, makes my heart beat faster. I flash her a lazy smile, trying to hide the effect she has on me. “You liked it.”
With a playful squint, she plops back down onto my chest. “I plead the 5th. You can’t prove anything.”
Right. Aside from the fact that her body lights up like a neon sign for me. The way she responds to my touch, my cock—it’s like she was made for me andonlyme. We fit together so fucking perfectly.
Shifting, I reach over and grab the envelope off the nightstand, holding it up between us. “We could look at it together.”
Sitting up, she takes the folder from my hand and stares at it. Finally, she pushes out a harsh breath. “Yeah, okay,” she says with just a hint of hesitation in her voice. “Let’s do it.”
I sit up next to her as she takes a deep breath, opens the envelope, and pulls out the stack of papers. I already know what she’s going to find—surveillance reports on Shadow and Ash, financial records, new articles, witness testimony, and...finally, the information Vaughn found on Eve…and her mother.
Skipping Vaugh’s lengthy report, she thumbs through the first several pages with stoic detachment, until she gets to the police report, written on the day her mother was killed. She pauses.
“This is the police report on my mom’s death…” Her throat bobs, and I feel my own throat thicken in sympathy. “I’ve always wanted to see this, but my brother told me it had been destroyed…” She glances up at me, her eyes filled with confusion that cuts me to the bone. “...by the Burning Crown.”
