Oaths and Omissions (Monsters & Muses #3)(86)

“Look. At. Me.”

After a moment, she does, those sea-glass eyes dark and wide with unspoken emotion. I press my forehead against hers, dropping my hands to her hips so I can guide her into slower, deeper movements, meeting each grind with an upward thrust of my own.

Bottoming out in her over and over, I keep the pace up until we’re both panting, spiraling quickly toward a second release. “This is exactly where you belong, love. Riding my cock, flushed with pleasure, and dirtied up from a previous round. Our living room may be filled with art, but you’re the most bloody beautiful creation I’ve ever laid eyes on. The museums and galleries should be envious.”

She moans, pulling me in for another kiss, and then she rocks harder, faster, her cunt choking me as it flutters. Holding on to her as she begins to let go, threading her fingers through my hair, I help her ride out the waves of euphoria as they seize her body and soul.

My cock swells inside of her, and my bollocks draw tight, so in the next second, I’m shoving her off of me and painting that glorious pink cunt.

Flopping back on the mattress, Lenny spreads her legs as I spend myself on her. She’s sweat slicked and clearly exhausted, but she reaches between her thighs anyway, massaging my cum into her skin like it’s her favorite moisturizer.

With a tired grunt, I slink off the bed and peek out into the hall, checking to make sure Mileena isn’t around. The last few days, she’s made herself pretty scarce, though like a bloody raccoon she returns every night begging to talk to me.

I’ve grown quite bored with it, in all honesty. I might not be able to kick her out of the beach house, but I’ll be damned if I’m subjected to whatever blasted story she’s spent the last twenty or so years concocting.

Besides, it really doesn’t change anything. Damage inflicted is not so easily erased, no matter the amount of time between the initial hurt and eventual recovery.

Coming back, I clean Lenny’s mouth, chin, and neck, before swiping carefully between her legs.

She lets out a little breath, and I watch as her chest rises and falls with it, realizing that the sentiments I spewed moments ago weren’t simply the delusional recitations of a sex-starved fiend, but the complete, unadulterated truth.

Words don’t even do her justice.

Nor do they any longer accurately encapsulate how brightly she burns in my world, like an exploding sun wiping out all of humanity.

My hand stops moving, and it feels like my heart falls through my stomach, landing with a resounding thud.

Fuck.

“You know,” she says after the silence grows to an uncomfortable decibel. “I think I’m clean.”

Startled from my reverie, I blink and return to reality and force a chuckle. “You’re probably right.”

She shifts her eyes to the ceiling. “I talked to my dad yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“He offered me ten million dollars, equity in Primrose Realty, and said he was prepared to fly me across to Europe so I could attend the best art schools in the world.”

My fingers curl into my palm. “If?”

“If I come back. Date Preston, make him look good again. Apparently, my character has been defamed, though I’m not sure who started it.” She blows a strand of hair out of her face. “It’s a good offer, even though it’s way less than what my inheritance was going to be. I should probably feel lucky that he’s willing to give me anything at all, at this point.”

Preston’s claims from the other day poke at the back of my brain. It’s easy to offer the world to someone when you know there’s no way you’ll ever be able to follow through with it.

Lifting my hand, I run my knuckles over her cheekbone, smoothing away a smudge of paint under the corner of one eye.

“But it just made me think… I left because I didn’t want any of that. Going back now would feel like erasing any kind of progress I’ve made, just to make Daddy happy.”

“What would make you happy? College? Traveling?”

Me?

I could make you happy if you’d let me.

She shrugs, leaning into my touch. My heart kicks against my ribs, wondering if she’ll voice my thoughts.

Disappointment stabs the organ when she doesn’t. “I don’t know. But I think I’d like the chance to figure it out.”





The evening before Alistair’s gala, I find Mileena rocking slowly on the back porch swing. One of her hands curls around the chain hanging from the ceiling, and there are three suitcases sitting beside her, stuffed to the brim.

“Sirts,” she greets, not even needing to turn around and see who’s there. Almost like she can sense me, even after a lifetime apart. Clearing her throat, she glances sideways as I approach. “Sorry. I… old habits die hard, and all.”

“Yes, well. Not hard enough it seems.”

An awkward silence descends. “Your fiancée is nice. We didn’t get off on the best foot, and I’m not sure she likes me, but she’s sweet. Very good at painting, too… not that I know a lot about art. But she’s been decent company.”

And I haven’t. I tug at my necktie, trying to loosen it as it becomes suffocating, and nod at her luggage. “Are you going somewhere?”

Pursing her lips, she gives me a quick once-over. “You look…” Trailing off, she scoffs and shakes her head. It’s then I notice the brown bottle in her hand, sans its label, and she tilts her head back to take a sip. “So different.”