Page 9 of Her Wicked Knights (Their Hallowed Queen #3)

Colton

Colton

I wonder, briefly, whether I’m taking things too far. But I don’t stop to let myself answer the question as I push the door open, letting myself into her quiet house.

The Lavigne’s are out tonight, at a play in the city if I heard correctly when Jake was trying to convince Marley to throw a party.

I watched the house the way I do most nights, waiting until everything went quiet and the light in her room was extinguished.

Except this time, when the lights go out, I don't go home.

I walk past the pumpkin I cut into a few weeks ago, wondering how they haven't yet realized that it's rotting from the inside out. Then again, nobody seems to have noticed that Jake is rotting from the inside out, either.

We used to be best friends. It was Tripp and Marley, and Jake and me.

It was that way for so long I never thought it would be anything different.

But at some point, Jake quit caring about the rest of us.

I don't know if it was because his hormones decided to kick in when she started to grow tits or if it was when she lost what my mother not-so-affectionately called 'baby weight' and began wearing less clothing, letting us see more of her skin.

Whenever the shift happened for him, he became insufferable.

Always trying to get her attention, always trying to be the one she looked for first. He edged Tripp out of Marley's life long before Audrey ever did.

I know my way through this house with my eyes closed.

The Lavigne's had me over for dinner plenty of times growing up, both with my parents and without.

We'd always dash upstairs the minute our plates were suitably cleared, retreating to the safety of Marley's room so we could laugh about how stupid my mom sounded when she'd say pretentious things like "Did your chef train in a Michelin-star restaurant because this pot roast is divine.

" I'm sure she realized the Lavigne's didn't have their own chef— no one on this street does other than us, and that's just because my mother can't be bothered with something as demeaning as donning an apron.

The house is quiet, and I find myself holding my breath as I draw closer to her door, half hoping she isn't actually asleep. If she's awake, I have no idea how I'll explain my presence to her. Oh, hey, just here to check on you. Oh, the knife? That's just to help keep you safe.

I nearly chuckle at the absurdity of it all, but I stifle it as a small sound comes from the other side of her door.

It sends a shot of lust straight to my cock, making it jump in my pants as I imagine her breathless, naked, and begging for more.

I push the door open with the tip of the knife, letting it open ever so slightly, to see her lying there under the covers, clearly fast asleep.

I don't know what that sound was for, whether it was an unconscious sound or something from a dream, but I want to hear it again.

Marley sleeps in complete darkness, with her fan cranked up to supersonic speeds.

Goosebumps race down my arms as I step under the fan's cast-off, though I think it's got more to do with the way her pink lips are parted than it does with the cold.

Her beautiful face is lit up by the bar of light that slips in through the hall, letting me see her long lashes are securely shut.

That gives me the courage to creep closer, to swipe a strand of her dark brown hair out of her face ever so gently so that I can admire her, uninterrupted.

She's a heavy sleeper, not so much as twitching as I guide her hair behind her ear.

Emboldened by this new knowledge, I caress her cheek gently, her smooth skin so velvety soft under my fingers.

I grip her chin and imagine kissing her, pressing my lips to hers and tasting what Jake gets to taste every time he kisses her like it's not the greatest fucking thing he's ever done.

"You're so fucking perfect," I whisper reverently, studying her face, trying to commit every facet of her in this moment to memory.

For once, I've got her all to myself, and it's glorious, incredible, absolutely fucking magical.

Something dark flutters inside me, something that tells me it could be like this forever if I just push the blade deep enough.

My chest seizes, but I can't stop myself from poising the knife against her slender neck.

If I'm fast enough, she may not even feel anything at all.

And then I can do the same thing to myself, following her to an early grave that we'll share all alone.

Marley Lavigne would be my heaven. But if I kill her, hell will surely claim me, and then I wouldn't even have the hope of maybe someday.

It's why I drag the blade away from her vulnerable neck, letting it trail down the center of her chest, between her breasts.

The blade ghosts over her skin as I grab the edge of her blanket and tug it down little by little, revealing the small tank top she's got on.

It leaves a few inches of her stomach bared to me, and I'm possessed with the need to feel it beneath my lips.

But if I get my lips on her, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to remove them, so I press them together to alleviate the temptation and pull the blanket lower.

Her slender thighs are bare in the pajama shorts she's wearing, and she doesn't roll over to close them even in the absence of the blanket's warmth.

She just lays there, so ripe and ready for the taking.

It would be easy to do. I could slip her one of my mother's sleeping pills, ensure she doesn't wake up as I'm undressing her like one of the dolls she used to try and make us play with.

But I never wanted to play with the dolls. I just want to play with her like she's one of them.

I let my fingertips graze against her thigh as I drag them upwards, so close to her center. It would be so easy to slip a finger under those shorts and whatever panties she's got on, to sink a knuckle between her legs, to feel her heat envelop me.

My stomach clenches at the need, and my fingers wander over the fabric of her sleep shorts, barely touching her.

I could take what I want from her, fit myself between her legs and fuck her until I've rid myself of whatever madness has me in its grips.

With a condom on, she may not even realize what happened when she wakes up. I'd be gentle... for the first time.

The ache inside my pants is unlike anything I've ever felt. It grips me tight until I can barely breathe around the way it's consuming me. Just one touch...

It's so feather-light at first that I'm not sure I've touched her at all, until I feel her like velvet beneath my fingers. I have to stifle the groan that tries to crawl its way out of my throat by biting my fist, which I've wrapped around the blade.

I don't dare look away from her face, studying it for the slightest indicator that she's about to wake. But her face remains impassive, so I don't remove my hand, letting her adjust to the weight of it on top of her pussy before I slip a finger downward.

A sweet sound comes from the back of her throat, and her lashes flutter, but I remain completely still, frozen with my thumb pressed against her hot slit.

She's wet. I don't know how normal it is, but that temptation makes it so much harder to retreat.

I skate a finger along the seam, enjoying the way her wetness increases for me, like her body is inviting me in.

It's an invitation I want to accept— an invitation I nearly do.

But even through the obsession that's clouded my judgement, I know it would be wrong.

Morally reprehensible. Illegal. Something she may never forgive me for if she found out.

And as much as I want to risk it for the literal biscuit, the release it would give me isn't worth losing her forever.

I don't dare push inside, not wanting to see how far I can take it before she wakes up screaming. Instead, I channel every cell of my body into the tip of my thumb, enjoying the way a little sound comes from the back of her throat, something like pleasure, and it's my undoing.

I press my fist against my mouth again to stifle my groan as I come in my pants, my hot seed spilling inside my boxers. I don't even have the shame to feel bad about it, because if it's this fucking amazing when all I'm doing is touching her, what will it be like when I finally fuck her?

I drop the blanket back in place, taking a moment to be sure she's still before I stick my thumb in my mouth and suck her faint juices off of me.

The groan slips out of my throat when I taste her against my tongue, warm and silky. The flavor is divine— it's delicate and sweet, just like her.

I freeze as Marley turns, drawing the blanket up to her shoulders. Her eyes don't open, but I can sense that she's not as deep in sleep as she was a mere minute ago.

I tiptoe to her door backwards, pausing when I get to the threshold and look back to see her sleeping so peacefully, entirely unaware of how vulnerable she is.

If I could let myself in and do what I wanted to her so easily, anybody can. It's a horrible thought, one that puts a twist in my stomach as I decide I'll have to just keep watching her to ensure that no one harms her.

"You're safe." I promise in a whisper. "See ya soon, Marley."