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Rabbit is endlessly fascinating.
“You know,” I say, the words just coming out on their own. “There are other levels to our game. Ones that make tonight like a G-rated movie.”
She twitches, vibrating, and I feed off that energy, my cock paying all kinds of attention.
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do, Rabbit. Deep down. I want to make you utterly mine to do with what I want, when I want, no matter what.”
Poppy stares at me for a long beat then sets down her cutlery and leans in.
“Is this,” she asks, “your fucked up way of asking for exclusivity?”
Chapter
Twenty-Six
POPPY
“Or me tellingyou you’re mine to do with what I want.”
My heart thunders against my ribs, and I nod, trying to pick my way through everything. From the moment when I saw the guys, and knew he was there, I’ve been in freefall.
I’m sitting here, naked—well, basically naked—with not only the man who killed my parents but a man who saved my life. A man I let fuck me with a hunting knife handle.
No. I didn’t let him do anything.
I begged.
Demanded.
I really am one messed up, fucked up rabbit.
When he killed the first guy it thrilled me, turned me on. When he fucked me and made me display myself in front of the second man, I probably could have orgasmed just with one tiny touch.
I liked when he killed him, too. Liked the fact that he killed him for me.
I’m not even going to ask what he did to Giovanni.
I look at Davian, that dark burnished bronze hair with the loose curl, those devastating and electric green eyes that seem to be able to cut through steel, and the mouth that can be hard and sensuous and dangerous at the same time. I look at him and say, “It goes both ways.”
“Does it?”
He rises and clears the plates like this is some kind of domesticated scene and fetches his whiskey. Davian leans against the island and watches me back, those eyes giving nothing away.
Before I can answer, his phone buzzes, and he just turns and goes to it, frowning as he texts whoever it is.
I drink the gin and soda, trying to move the outward calm in. But I’m a mess inside.
There’s no use trying to deny it anymore. I want him.
The things he does to me—physically, psychologically, emotionally—are all tangled, and I don’t know what I’m meant to do or how I’m meant to feel.
He killed for me, and I can’t get that thought out of my head.
We connect on a deep, intrinsic level. It’s twisted, but it’s true. And I know he feels, too. I’m wondering if, like me, he’s also trying to fight it.
But…he kills people.