Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(48)
It’s like looking in a mirror.
Heart pounding, I manage a stiff nod, and he lightens the pressure on my mouth.
Barely, but still.
“Okay. First, I want to know why you did it.”
Sliding his hand to my chin, he raises an eyebrow.
I exhale harshly. “I didn’t do it—”
The end of my sentence is muffled by his palm slapping back over me; this time, his rings scrape my teeth, and he exposes my left breast with a snarl.
“Of course, the first thing out of your mouth would be more lies. Christ, you probably don’t even know how to help yourself, do you?”
A gurgling sound rips through the back of my throat as he leans in, his mouth hovering dangerously close to my areola. It tightens as hot, damp breath whispers over the peak, and my pulse races, thudding like a stampede between my ears.
Terror seizes my brain with its chilly claws, that age-old sense of paranoia flaring in my stomach and making me tremble.
But something else happens, too. Aiden’s mouth parts, minty air washing over my nipple, and through the disgust, a fog of clarity appears. Something inside me that recognizes him, and my body’s response to the things he’s done to it.
As he stares up at me, lips a ghost of a touch away from my skin, the image of him kneeling between my thighs in a similar fashion blindsides me.
Not because I haven’t thought about it since that night, but because it feels an inappropriate memory to have while he’s torturing me.
Heat thrums between my thighs, arousal coiling tight in my pelvis, and I shake with an entirely new fear; that he’ll be able to tell how he affects me.
And for some reason, part of me wants him to.
When he shifts, pulling his head back, a huff of relief decompresses my lungs. The smile that graces his face as he sits up is sinister, replacing the desire with dread, and I blink to try and stave off the whiplash.
“So, that’s how you want to play this.” His thumb flicks across my now-sticky skin—so soft, I’m sure I imagined it.
That makes me ache worse.
“What kind of girl makes up such lies about the man she’s so desperate and needy for?” he asks, but this time his hand stays over my mouth, informing me that it’s a rhetorical question.
The blanket slides lower, passing over my stomach until air hits my belly button. I don’t even have time to react, or freak out about him seeing the scar there, because the blanket doesn’t stop moving. He rips it off once he passes my hips, baring most of my body and soul on the bed, just barely hiding the imperfection by my tattoo.
Gray eyes feast on my naked form; if sight were palpable, I’d be a sobbing explosion of pleasure right now, trembling from the lack of warmth as it mixes with the fire in his gaze.
Nostrils flare. His inked hand grips my knee, bending it slightly.
Opening me.
I make a noise in my throat, something that’s supposed to be a protest, but it cuts off when he leans in.
Eyes on mine, he doesn’t touch me any more than he already is.
He just hovers, watching for my reaction.
And then he inhales.
I gasp so hard my lungs nearly burst. No other thoughts process—not about him seeing my scar, or what he’s doing here, or if he’s going to hurt me.
Just the elation from that singular action.
There’s something so pure and erotic about him smelling me, as if he’s trying to brand my scent into his being, that a tiny wave of euphoria tears through me, threatening to break my spine with its reverb.
Aiden’s smile shifts again, and he licks his lips, glancing down like a man prepping for his next meal.
As my pleasure dissipates, that familiar, comfortable feeling takes hold again, and reality crashes down, shattering the illusion that I’ve crafted around me.
My body stiffens, awareness trickling into the recesses of my brain that were still subdued from the sleeping pill.
This man has broken into my house.
Tracked me here.
Which means he not only knows where I’m at, but my real identity.
And I’m lying here, letting him accost me. Not taking danger seriously, which is what got me in this fucking mess in the first place.
Bucking against his hold as nausea curdles in my gut, I thrash and whimper until he finally loses his grip on my mouth. He shuffles backward, poised as if ready to grab me again, but I lean over the side of the bed just in time for vomit to spew from my mouth.
It puddles on the carpet, right on top of the slightest hint of a boot print, and my chest caves in, buckling as I realize just how fucked I am.
Wiping my lips with the back of my mouth, Aiden’s hand wraps around my hair, pulling it into a tight ponytail; he grips hard, his fist against my scalp, and yanks my head back so I’m forced to blink up at the ceiling.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed your scot-free life for the last three years.” His breath washes over my face, minty and fresh, and I swallow around it. “Because all of that is over now, angel. You’re going to atone for what you did, even if I have to coax it from your sweet little cunt. Especially now that I know how badly she still wants me.”
Twisting my head in his direction, he crashes his lips to mine, pushing them open with his tongue. I grunt, trying to shove him out—absolutely horrified by the idea of him tasting puke—but then he pulls back and drops me before I can even blink.