“Bullshit. I don’t buy that.” Demi releases my hands, pressing her palms across her chest. “Those are weak reasons, Royal.”
“It’s more complicated than that.” My body grows hot, then cold, then numb. And my stomach churns. The heaviness consuming my chest steals my breath.
I have to tell her . . .
. . . I have to tell her everything . . .
. . . before I lose her forever.
“Society has labeled me a monster,” I begin, bracing my stance.
Three loud thumps on the door send my heart into my chest.
Demi slides off the counter and tiptoes to the foyer. I stay back, out of sight, and watch the flash of red, white, and blue lights from the driveway shine in through the front windows.
“What’s this about?” Demi asks.
“Ma’am, this is your eviction notice,” a sheriff’s deputy says.
“Seriously? Are the lights really necessary?” She yanks the paper from his hand and peers up and down the street. I’m sure her neighbors are all peeking out from behind their custom Roman shades. “A little overkill, don’t you think?”
“You have twenty-four hours to vacate the premises.”
Demi slams the door and shuffles back, her hands digging into her scalp and the eviction notice floating to the floor in a crumpled ball.
“How can Brooks evict you?” I ask.
“He owns this house, remember? When we moved in, he made me sign a lease. You know, to protect both of us. But I never paid rent. He never wanted me to me pay a single penny. This was just a formality.” She slumps over the island. “So yeah, legally, since I haven’t paid any rent to him—ever—he can serve me with an eviction notice.”
“Fuck that asshole.”
She turns to me, dark hair covering her face, and huffs. “Fuck him so hard. In the ass. God, I hope he goes to prison. Screw it. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure he spends time behind bars, and it’s not going to be some white-collar minimum security retreat either.”
“Demi.” I grab the flap of a cardboard box and drag it off the counter. “Let’s channel this energy on productive things. Like getting you all moved out before that asshat deputy comes back tomorrow with a padlock for the door and a pair of handcuffs for you. You’re too pretty for jail anyway. Those women would fucking feast on you . . .”
I slip my hands behind her ass and cup her perfect cheeks, pressing her against me.
“Stop.” She tries not to smile as she smacks my chest. “Fine. Let’s pack. And let’s make sure we accidentally pack some of his shit.”
“Which will of course get lost in the move, because that’s just what happens sometimes . . .”
“You’re bad.”
Her smile fades for a second, and maybe she’s replaying our pre-eviction notice conversation in her head.
I need to think fast. Distract her. Anything to keep from having to tell her yet. We’re on the right track. I think she could love me again. I just need a little more time with her, a little more time to remind her that I’m not what they say I am. I didn’t do anything wrong. And I love her just as much now as I ever did before.
And maybe the truth is, I’m the one who’s not ready. Because if I tell Demi what happened, and she doesn’t believe me?
I’ll lose her.
All over again.
Forever.
And I can’t fucking live without this woman.
Thirty-Six
Demi
* * *
His lips silence my thoughts, absorbing my curiosity, albeit temporarily. My hands hook his broad shoulders and my nails snake through his soft, thick hair, raking his scalp. I pull back for a moment because I want to look into his eyes, and when I do, I see a bad boy and a good man, and I’m not sure how that can be.
His metallic scent fills my lungs, and the thought of his dirty hands all over me makes my body hum with life. His fingers tug at the hem of my shirt before boldly slipping under and caressing my breasts.
I draw in a slick breath and hold it as he massages the ache in my peaked buds. Lifting the shirt, he brings his mouth to one of my nipples, drawing it in with gentle, warm sucks and flicking it with his tongue.
I can’t breathe, my head falling back.
The window by the breakfast nook is uncovered, and I’m sure the Manchesters across the street are getting an eyeful, but I’m too preoccupied to care. I never did like them anyway.
This street is pretentious as hell, and I never really belonged here anyway. This was all Brooks’s doing.
Royal’s hands clutch my sides and he wraps my thighs against his side. He kisses my neck before cupping my ass and sliding me off the kitchen island. I hook my arms around his neck as he carries me toward the foyer.
“Where are you taking me?” My words are a breathless whisper, and certainly not a protest.
He doesn’t answer. He only carries me up the stairs, one by one, making me feel light and weightless in his hold. My stomach swarms with butterflies, and my heart pulses with each step.
Turning the corner at the top, I slide off him, and his hands press into my hips, guiding me backward until we hit a wall. A framed portrait of Brooks and me falls, the glass popping out of the frame.
When I glance down to look at it, Royal cups my chin and redirects my attention to him.
“Fuck that guy,” he whispers before claiming my mouth again. His kiss is harder this time, more in control than ever before. But I have to admit, he was always in control.
This man is my weakness.
I’m addicted, and he’s my fix.
Royal’s mouth drags from mine, his thumb pressing into my collarbone as he lowers his mouth to my belly. Pushing my shirt out of the way, he unbuttons my jeans and slides them down, along with my panties, and peels them off.
Spreading my thighs, the next thing I feel is the warmth of his wet tongue invading my damp center. His finger slides between my seam, pressing inside me as he circles my clit.
I have to brace myself against the wall when my thighs shake. The scruff of his five o’clock shadow brushes against my inner thighs, creating a sweet trifecta of sensations.
He’s completely focused on me. My needs. My pleasure.
I’d almost forgotten what it was like to have a man put me first. His licks and strokes are equally tender and heart-stopping. A sweet, yet painful reminder of everything I’ve missed the last seven years.
My sex aches for more, for him, for that connection I crave so deeply it terrifies me.
Royal abandons me seconds before I reach my peak, rising slowly until our eyes meet and his heat radiates through me.
He kisses me once more, and I taste myself on him. I taste what he does to me. His hand cups the side of my face, his fingers behind my neck.
“Come on,” he whispers, his mouth still pressed against mine.
His hand drags down my arm until he laces his fingers into mine, and then he leads me into my bedroom, guiding me to the center of the bed I’ve shared with Brooks for years.
The discordant feeling I get when I sprawl across the center of this bed is quickly overshadowed by the ripe rush that floods through me when I watch Royal yank his belt open and unzip the fly of his gray work pants.
In an instant, he’s naked and on top of me, his thick erection grazing my trembling inner thighs. I want to feel him inside me, all of him, with nothing between us.