Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“This is where you bring women, isn’t it?” Saylor asks, but there’s no judgment in the question. “I mean . . . it’s fucking impressive. I wouldn’t blame you.”
“I’ve never brought anyone here.” The admission comes out before I can stop it. “You’re the first.”
She turns to face me fully, her dark eyes wide with something that might be surprise. “Ever?”
“Ever.”
I step closer. “I created this place thinking I’d never want to share it with anyone. And then you came, and well . . .”
Her breath catches. “Blue . . .”
“I’ve never wanted to protect someone the way I want to protect you.” I reach out to touch one of the blue roses, its petals soft as silk beneath my fingers. “I’ve never wanted to claim someone the way I want to claim you.”
Understanding flares in her eyes, and when she steps closer, I can smell her perfume mixed with everything around us.
“Then claim me,” she whispers.
I take a step back. “It’s the killing talking.”
“What?”
“This feeling—the need to fuck after violence. It happens every time you kill someone who deserves it.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to create distance between us. “Your blood is still running hot from what happened in the basement. You think you want this, but it’s just adrenaline.”
She steps closer, closing the gap I tried to create. “Don’t tell me what I’m feeling.”
“Saylor—”
“No.” Her voice is firm, her dark eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare use my inexperience against me. Don’t patronize me by saying I don’t know my own mind.” She reaches up, her fingers grazing the edge of my jaw. “I wanted you before I killed Julian. I wanted you ever since I saw you watching me at the White Note. And I wanted you last night when we kissed outside my bedroom door. This isn’t about violence—it’s about you.”
I catch her wrist, but I don’t pull her hand away. “Stop protecting me from what I want.” Her thumb brushes across my bottom lip, and I feel my resolve cracking. “Stop protecting me from you.”
The last of my self-control snaps.
Instead of answering with words, I cup her face in my hands. Her skin is warm beneath my palms, and when she tilts her head up to meet my gaze, I can see myself reflected in her dark eyes.
The space between us disappears as I lean down and she rises up on her toes, our mouths meeting in a kiss that tastes like forgiveness and promises and of hunger that’s been building since the moment I first saw her sing. Her lips are soft and demanding, and when she makes a small sound of pleasure against my mouth, something in my chest ruptures open.
This kiss is different from last night’s desperate collision outside her bedroom door. This one is deliberate, exploring, a conversation conducted through touch and breath and the way she threads her fingers through my hair.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, and I can see in her eyes the same hunger that’s been eating me alive since she asked me to teach her violence.
“Tell me what you need,” I say against her ear, my hands sliding down to rest at her waist.
“You,” she says. “But not the gentleman who’s been so careful with me. I want the man who wields the axe. I want you to stop holding back and fuck me like you mean it.”
The rose petals fall around us like rain as I kiss her again, deeper this time, with all the control I’ve been holding on to finally slipping away.
In a greenhouse full of impossible flowers, with rose petals falling around us like blood-red rain, I can see the exact moment Saylor stops being the good girl who ran from violence.
And becomes the woman who’s going to let me destroy her completely.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Saylor
When Blue kisses me, it’s like tasting lightning and wildfire, and I want to burn from the inside out.
His hands slide down to my waist, fingers digging in with just enough pressure to remind me he’s done this before and that this is the same man who would kill men without hesitation. The gentleman who’s been so careful with me is nowhere to be found, and thank god for that because I’m done pretending I want soft touches and sweet words.
I want the psychopath who ordered his man to split open a corpse and stuff it with flowers like some twisted bouquet.
“If we do this,” he says against my neck, “there’s no going back. You understand that? I don’t do the typical boyfriend and girlfriend. I don’t do sweet and normal. I don’t do vanilla in anything I do.”
Instead of answering, I grab his shirt and pull him deeper into the gazebo, where the living walls close around us like a confession booth made of roses and shadows. The moss beneath my feet is thick enough to cushion anything, and when Blue’s eyes go dark with understanding, I know he’s thinking the same thing.