Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
No photos. No clutter. Just one indulgence: a decanter of amber liquid catches the light from the nearby lamp, and a painting above the bed depicts a hazy scenery with only one character standing in an empty field. It might be a demon. It might also be a person wearing a costume of dense furs. But there’s something unsettling about choosing an image of someone so lonely for one’s bedroom. Or he’s just into fucking monsters, which would say something about the way he sees me.
I stop at the edge of the bed before I realize I’ve moved. My hand skims over the silk comforter; the fabric hisses under my fingers. It feels too intimate to stand here alone and assess. Like reading someone’s diary while they’re away.
In the mirror, I catch my reflection—hospital wristband still on, wet hair, eyes too soft for a room this sharp—and I wonder what the hell he sees when he looks at me. A good fuck? Marriage material? It’s almost unbelievable that I’m here, in this deeply curated space.
Water runs in the bathroom. Corvus is probably busy wrestling his guilt about the fire incident.
I should step back and wait for him, but instead I sit down on his immaculate bed. There. I’m making a dent in the perfection. The question is: how soon will Corvus be tired of the alien presence in his space? Is he like memory foam and will eventually accept the change?
The water’s still running in the bathroom, steady and calm, unlike my legs, which start bouncing after less than thirty seconds of rest. I glance toward the door, half expecting him to appear and tell me I’m breathing wrong in his bedroom. When he doesn’t, I stand up.
Curiosity killed the cat, they say. But I’m not a cat, so maybe my curiosity can be rewarded?
I drift toward the dresser, fingertips trailing over polished wood. Everything’s lined up with military precision. Cufflinks, a watch, a glass tray holding rings I half expect to contain microdoses of poison.
I open the next drawer with a growing sense of guilt. I shouldn’t be doing this, but the temptation is too much.
His underwear is pristine, as if he’s disposing of old pairs every single month. Thick black cotton. Perfectly folded. I bet one three-pack of them costs more than my favorite jacket. I snort under my breath, then close the drawer.
The one below contains socks. All black. Obviously.
By the time I reach the third, I know I shouldn’t be snooping, which is exactly why I do, because the itch to find out more about the handsome man who’s claimed me as his is too strong.
The bottom drawer opens, and I hold my breath.
Inside, arranged on a bed of black silk, are sex toys. I know how much he loves to bottom, so their presence shouldn't be all that surprising, but I didn’t imagine someone as buttoned-up as Corvus would have one dildo, let alone a collection of sleek silicone and glass. A couple of dildos—one very small, one definitely not. A slender silver vibrator that looks more like a piece of tech than something you’d stick anywhere private. Three kinds of lube. Condoms arranged by the color of their packaging. Every piece has its place, like everything else in Corvus’s world.
But still—holy shit.
My brain is stuck on a glitch, because this man tortures people for a living, and this is the secret he hides?
The air feels thicker. My pulse does this weird fluttery thing that has nothing to do with fear. I picture him, the stoic, controlling Corvus, writhing on the bed, using one of these, biting his lips, chasing what he can’t admit he wants.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my eyes wide with wonder.
I don’t mean to touch, but my hand moves anyway, fingertips brushing over cool silicone.
Behind me, the sound of running water cuts off.
I flinch, drawer still open, toy still in my hand. My heart slams into my ribs as I assess my options. Hide the toy? Turn it on? Flee?
The bathroom door creaks, then footsteps approach in a steady rhythm.
I spin toward the door, the toy hidden behind my back, pulse roaring in my ears. I’m caught between needing to chuckle like a schoolboy caught red handed, and… wanting to know more?
Chapter 14
Corvus
I take way longer than necessary, but the hot water raining down on my head shields me from the reality awaiting me in the bedroom. I have a fiancé. A fiancé whom I eat with at the table, who shares things with me, and who will tonight sleep in my bed.
What the hell happened?
How did I end up like this, with this… stranger invading my space like a Corpselock song played at a cutesy boho wedding?
When, on a whim, I decided to take Dalton under my wing and save him from certain death, I imagined a setup where he has his space, enclosed and separated from mine, where I might join him for sex. Like a toy I otherwise keep in a box. But it’s only been three days, and I’m already breaking all the rules I set up in my head.