Page 146 of Executing Malice
I refuse to dislodge my cock. Refuse to give her an inch of freedom as I alternate between catching my breath and fucking her. I’ve lost count, but I’m not done.
Every time I think about her looking at me with that hatred in her eyes, every time I hear her voice ringing between my ears, telling me not to touch her, I’m hard. It’s like my body is trying to purge the last hour from my soul.
“Never again,” I warn her.
She rocks her head side to side. “Promise.”
I raise my head and peer down into her face, into her soft, green eyes. My fingers close around the smooth column of her throat, and squeeze.
“Say it.”
“I won’t—”
“No.”
Fingers tighten an inch.
“I’m sorry—”
Tighter.
“No.”
Her pulse hammers beneath my palm, a frantic little bird, but she’s staring up into my eyes with trust she really shouldn’t have when I’m barely in control.
“I didn’t mean—”
“No!”
She gasps. A weak sound as I cut her airway.
“I ... I love you.”
My hold relaxes.
“Again.”
I make her repeat it over and over again until it soothes the holes she cut in me. The chunks she stole. I know tomorrow, I will understand why she did it. Why it was necessary. I will accept she might have done the right thing, smart even, but not now. Not when the hurt is so fresh. So raw.
“I love you,” I tell her because even furious and frantic, that will never change.
“I killed your brother,” she whispers.
“I don’t care. I was going to kill him myself.”
Her small fingers brush my cheek and slide back through my hair. “We need to get rid of the body.”
She’s right, but I’m not ready to let her go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LEILA
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The sun paints a gold trim across the horizon by the time we head back into town. It glints along the treetops, follows us through streets slick with early morning dew.
Halloween is over, but Jefferson hasn’t had a chance to pack it up. Pumpkins still line the shops. Cobwebs shimmer in the windows. All so pretty. So normal. No one would ever guess we have a dead body bundled up in trash bags and Bungie cords in my trunk.
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