Page 41 of The Cruelest Chaos

“Tomorrow,” she says, and it comes out as a throaty whisper. “Tomorrow you’ll take me home.”

“Of course,” I lie.

Chapter Eight

‘Tomorrow’comes and goes.

Friday night, and I’m still at Maverick’s. He’s spent a lot of time in his office, writing in a journal that he never lets me get close enough to read, and I’ve spent a lot of time eating his food and letting him fuck me. It’s a little strange, wandering the rooms of his enormous house. A little odd that I’ve known him less than a week and yet I flit about his house in his clothes, eating his food, like I own this place.

This is like a movie. I’m just not sure what kind it is yet: Romance? Horror? Thriller?

For all the time I’ve spent here, we haven’t spoken much. He’s taken some calls in his office. Disappeared in rooms I probably haven’t even seen yet.

Now, after eating Chinese, he sits on the edge of his bed and I’m up against the pillows as he flicks through movies on the TV that slid out of the ceiling of his bedroom like a projector. His back it to me, his shirt on.

He glances over his shoulder.

His eyes make my heart flutter as he looks at me. He’s got a sinister edge that makes for a good villain; the one the damsel in distress is tempted by throughout any good story.

The one you almost wish she’d fall for.

“What do you want to watch?”

I shrug, twist my fingers in his borrowed shirt. “Whatever.”

“Don’t be like that. I mean, if I put on porn, would you want to watch that?”

I squirm.

“Opera? Rom com? Horror?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. It’s something I’ve wanted to know all week. What the fuck is this? What the fuck are we doing? I cross my arms, wrapping them around my body, trying to make myself small. I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that I don’t have a bra on. That it’s cold, as always, in this house.

For the first time this evening, anger flashes in his eyes. “Do you want me to be mean to you?”

I feel a thrill of something I don’t want to feel rush up and down my spine.Do I want him to be mean?Yes, my lips beg me to form the words. Hurt me, so I know my place. Hurt me, so I know what I’m doing here. What I am to you.

Make me remember it. I don’t want this to turn into something…else. I want it to be clear cut. Sex. I can have sex. I can do that, without the heart stuff. The heavy stuff.

Can’t I?

“I just mean…what are we doing?”

He frowns. “Having sex.” His lips pull up into a smirk. “A lot of it.” He shrugs. “You don’t have a job. I work when I want. I need someone to…fuck. You seem to like it. What’s the problem?”

“The problem is this is all weird.”

He cocks a brow. “Weird?”

I throw up my hands. “I kind of feel like a whore.”

“You want me to pay you so you can really feel like one?”

I mean, it’s not a bad idea but… I shake my head. “No, I just don’t know what we’re doing here.” I’m not by any means in love with him, but I already feel myself becoming attached. It’s part of my problem. It’s why I let Shane fuck me.

It’s why I like when my mom screams at me just as much as I hate it. Lapping up affection. And this, days with this crazy, crazy boy…it’s making me feel a little unstable all over again.

“We’re two adults having good sex.”