Page 34 of Regressive

“Yeah, he probably wanted you coherent when he fucked you.”

My jaw drops. “He wasn’t going to—”

“Yeah, Little Lamb, that’s exactly what he planned to do.” His fingers drop from my neck, down my arm. “You walked right into the slaughterhouse; you know that? And for what? To drag me home?”

“You promised.” I have nowhere to put my hands, and my brain is a little fuzzy, so I rest them on his stomach. His muscles tense. “You said you’d come home, every night.”

“This is work.”

I roll my eyes. “That girl you were talking to was work?”

“Recruitment,” he says simply. “I have a quota. You know that, Imogene.”

I do, but it doesn’t lessen the sting. “You defy your father all the time, but not when it comes to other women. That’s about you, not him.”

“That’s about me doing what I’m told so that he doesn’t get suspicious and start sniffing around more than he already is.” He tilts his head. “Did anyone see you leave?”

“No. Elon and Silas are doing a job. Levi was in the shower.”

He snorts. “He’s probably panicking right now.”

“Probably,” I say feeling a little guilty.

“You can’t walk the streets alone, Imogene.”

“I was dressed like a secular girl. No one noticed me.”

“Oh, they noticed you,” he says, running his finger over the collar of my shirt. “Those two assholes were on you the second they saw you.”

“They were just—”

“Men.” He pushes his fingers under my shirt. “Men are aware of you, Little Lamb. They see your beauty. Smell your innocence. They want to be the ones to break you in, claim a little piece of you.”

“That’s not true,” I say, squirming against his touch. My skin warms and my nipples tighten. He notices and brushes the pad of his thumb over the peak. I suck in a breath and shiver. “I just looked lost, and they were being—”

“Don’t you fucking dare say nice.” I swallow back the excuse and lean into him. “If another man touched you—violated you—without my permission, I’d have to kill him.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He shoots me a look, one that tells me I don’t understand the lengths he’d go to protect his possessions. “You’re mine, Imogene, inside the walls of Serendeeandout. No one has the right to touch you, speak to you or be near you without my consent.”

“You don’t believe in the rules of The Way,” I say, pretending his words don’t send a pool of heat between my legs.

“I don’t,” he agrees, leaning forward and running his nose along the shell of my ear. “This has nothing to do with Serendee, and everything to do with you and me.”

His lips capture mine, not gentle. Not demanding. Owning. He kisses me. Hard. Jaw working against mine at the same time his fingers push up my shirt and his hands massage my breasts.

He licks my chin, my neck and along the path where the liquor spilled earlier. He doesn’t stop until he’s removed my shirt and has my tits pressed together, mouth consuming both of my nipples at once. I slam my head back, knocking it against the cabinet, and he lifts me cleverly unbuttoning my jeans and dragging them over my hips.

He pulls back and looks at me, eyes grazing over my body, one hand shifting up and down the bulge in his pants. My soul sets on fire.

I wait for him to release himself, to free that weapon cloaked in cotton, but he gives it one last long stroke and focuses back on me. He kisses the inside of one knee, then the other, then spreads apart my shaking thighs. His lips are warm, but the kisses leave a wet patch that cools, sending shivers across my flesh.

“You don—”

“Yes, Imogene, I do.”

His tongue swipes over the hot patch of skin and my hips rise. I grip his shoulders for stability. “Rex,” I start, trying to maintain composure. He inhales my scent, then parts my folds, pushing his tongue inside. It’s wet and warm and— “Yes. Oh—”

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