Page 46 of Daughter of a Monster

Lifting myself from the floor, I walk back to my room, determined not to play any more games with Jericho Priest. I will find out if he’s working for my father, but I will do it without involving him.

chapter fifteen

JERICHO

Leaving her there on the floor, looking up at me with those come-fuck-me eyes was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. And I’ve had to do a lot of difficult things in my life.

She looked at me as though I were a king, and I did nothing. Nothing. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was just supposed to be here, unknowing, unnoticed until I needed her. And now I need her, I want her, but in an entirely different way than I anticipated.

While I pace the floor of my office, my eyes dart back and forth to watch her on the cameras. She didn’t stay on the floor for long. She fled to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her as though she were being chased.

She’s gorgeous. So fucking exquisite. There is no other word to describe her. Those haunting blue-gray eyes which I can’t get out of my head. Those lips. That body. The way she looks at me, chin slightly raised, challenging me.

Dragging my hands through my hair, I let out a groan. It’s torture being around her. I don’t know why I do it. But I do. I keep going back, keep getting drawn to her. After stumbling across her in the pool, I left the Sanctuary for days, trying to clear my head. I had meetings with my accountant, trying to calm his pleas for me to cut back on my spending, but it was just an excuse. I would have avoided the meetings if I didn’t need a reason to leave. I couldn’t cut back now. Not when I’m so close. But as soon as I sat down at the dinner table and saw her again, every sensation came flooding back.

My desk mocks me with all its neatly arrayed paper and pens and pencils and stacks of newspaper. I swipe my arm angrily, spilling the contents to the floor. Everything in my life is about precision and control. It’s the way I run things. Rules calm me. But Berkley has come along and ruined it all, spiraling my life into chaos.

She toys with me. Tempts me. What I would give to be able to take her, feel her, kiss her. I want to devour her. I want to hear her scream my name in ecstasy and curse it when I leave.

I want to crush her and protect her. Shelter her and then expose her, use her for my pleasure and leave her exhausted from my attention. Every thought I have regarding her is a jumbled juxtaposition of desire and loathing.

Her father took from me.

He must pay.

And in order to do that, I need her.

I need her so he feels the same pain I do. I want him to feel the same hopelessness and despair that I have. I want him to beg for me to stop but receive no mercy. I want to do to her all the things he did to Hope and make him watch.

That is why I can’t touch her. Not yet. Not even if she begs for it.

Begs for it.

The image of her on her knees before me, stripped bare, waiting for me jolts through my brain. I can’t stand it anymore.

Fuck it.

I storm up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. I’m the one who’s in control of this situation. I’m the one who gets to make the decisions. If I want to take something, I will.

Ripping open the door, I stand with heaving breath, not saying a word. She gets such a fright she leaps from the bed wearing nothing but a threadbare t-shirt. I can see the outline of her naked breasts beneath the material. They are perfect. She is perfect.

“Jericho?” her voice shakes.

I don’t say anything. I don’t need to. It’s all there in the storm of my eyes. I’m hungry for her, desperate, and yet I can’t bring myself to take another step. I’m rooted to the floor, frozen in place by need.

She moves forward. Her feet are bare. Everything is bare under her see-through shirt. There’s a dark patch between her thighs and my cock swells, as I imagine what it would be like to be buried inside her.

She walks forward, keeping her eyes fixed on mine. She’s exquisite. So fucking beautiful. She keeps moving until she’s only a breath away. The stupid girl comes to me willingly. No wonder she never saw the evil in her father. She’s staring into my soul and fails to see the darkness lingering there. She’s trembling. The scent of her invades me. Her gaze challenges me. Begs me. Taunts me.

I want to push my hand into her hair, fist it with my fingers, jerk her head to the side and crush her mouth with my own. Instead, I wrap my hand around her throat and walk her backward, slamming her against the wall. I expect there to be fear in her eyes. I expect her fingers to claw at me, but all she does is stare, even as the pressure of my fingers increases.

I want to hurt her in order to hurt him. I want to make him pay but I can’t resist her. I shove my mouth against hers, demanding her kiss. A groan of delicious torture falls from my lips the moment I taste her. It’s better than in my dreams. Better than the times I’ve imagined it.

The grip of my fingers falls away and instead I wind them into her hair. Her hands move to the back of my neck. They slide into my hair and tug on the ends as our mouths collide.

Our kiss is feverish and desperate, pent up passion spilling messily as we fight to get closer, to consume each other. The feel of her, of her skin sliding under the material of her shirt drives me insane and I pull it up her body, separating our lips only long enough to tug it over her head and toss it aside. I’m desperate to see her, to study her and drink in the sight of her, but I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to pull away from her lips. My cock roars to be released, pushing against the confines of my pants. Her hands slide down my back, prodding and probing the indentations of my muscles. She moans and it’s such a glorious sound it almost makes me come then and there.

“I need to see you.” My voice sounds foreign, even to me. It’s torn with need and desire, broken with desperation.

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