Page 58 of His Trick

When I finally pulled my hand free, he slumped against me, soaked in a whole new way, and just as broken. His breath came in sharp, shattered gulps.

“You…you let me in,” he said, his voice almost boyish while he tried to hide his grin.

I gripped his face, forcing him to look at me. His lips were swollen, his eyes glassy with shame, pleasure, and an overwhelming amount of pride.

I smirked. “And you’ll beg for it again. Isn’t that right, Good Boy?”

He didn’t speak, his eyes turning into something I didn’t recognize. He looked almost shy. “Why’d you finally let me in? You hate giving up control.”

Because it’s you, Shiloh.

Out loud, I said. “You looked so cute when you begged for it. Asking so politely.”

He shook his head, wiping his face to shield the emotion there.

“And…” I said, pulling his hands off his mouth to look at his sparkling blue eyes. “If anyone was going to make me break, Shiloh…I knew it would be you.”

What in the fuck has my life become?

The next morning, all I could do was lie in bed with Xanthy. I barely registered anything the woman was talking about until she whacked me in the arm.

“Babe? Okay, seriously, what gives lately?

Xanthy’s hair fanned across the pillow, golden as the sun.

Like fucking Sunshine.Ugh. Carrington, what are you doing to my brain? Why are you fucking taking root like an incessant weed despite everything I try to do just to get rid of you?

He let me take control last night. He actually gave in, just a little. It was like he knew I needed it. I needed him to feel how alien yet amazing that was. I still couldn’t comprehend the fact that it fucking happened. My ass was sore, and when I was inthe shower this morning, the water and the familiar sensations made me impossibly hard. I couldn’t leave the bathroom until my stupid boner finally let up.

I refused to keep falling prey to Carrington’s mind games. My head was already fucked up. Today of all days. My birthday. The very day, my dear old dad ruined my life and got me sent to foster care. You know who wants a fifteen-year-old orphan whose dad is a convicted murderer?

No one.

No one wanted me.

They were all afraid of the darkness he instilled in me, little by little, my entire life. When I was eighteen, I got kicked out of the only home I really knew. I kept my head down and managed to get financial aid through my job as a butcher. I was good at slicing meat. It was quiet and controlled. I enjoyed the room’s coolness and was able to focus on what I needed for school.

I never dreamed I would get into medical school. I wasn’t brave enough to hope I could actually be a doctor. It made sense that if I were meant to save people and put them back together, I would stop dreaming of spilling their blood and watching their eyes go grey.

Right?

“Shiloh Edmund Anderson.”

My full fucking legal name jolted me from my thoughts, and I looked at Xanthy. She propped herself up on her elbow, watching me like she was trying to read a map, but kept getting lost. Her eyes were a combination of worried and fucking angry.

“I…What?” I said, trying to remember anything about what she was saying. Anytime I opened the well of my mind, it was just those desert colored eyes staring at me in the damn pool.

Fuck me.

“Baby. You’re miles away when you’re right beside me,” she whispered.

Her voice had that flat edge she reserved when she thought I was breakable, and it pissed me off. She only used it when my father was the topic of the conversation.

Xanthy knew about him. She knew my history, and that made her the one person besides Carrington who knew that my fate was to become a monster.

Xanthy studied psychology, and on top of fitting her perfect mold for her life, I knew she enjoyed poking around my damn head.

Apparently, that was an exclusive for the Harding siblings. She was tired and simply looking for answers. “What’s going on, Shiloh?”