Running from hell isnʼt easy. Especially when thereʼs someone dragging you back down into it.
Belligerent, brash and always in shades of black, Freya is hardly a lady. Hidden away by her father, sheʼs lived a normal life despite being born into the...
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TORREN PULLS AWAY, giving me some reprieve from the sweltering heat of his body. He’s still standing between my legs while I sit on the barstool.
I let go of a staggered breath as I lean back and further out of his touch, swallowing the parched knot at my throat. His dark eyes track the movement, and then they narrow.
On my neck.
On the mark he left there.
He lifts his hand, and I suck in a breath when his rough palm meets the base of my throat, his thumb coming up to lightly skim the bruise.
A barely restrained annoyance flickers in his eyes as he brings his gaze back to mine. “You tried to erase me.”
Something twitches in his jaw. “And you failed.”
Annoyance scrapes at me. I spent a lot of money on that concealer. And it worked, for the most part.
“Not completely,” I murmur.
An agitated line forms between his brows, and he grits his teeth.
“I’m all over you,” he says, eyes darkening as he gives me an accusatory glare. “You smell like me.”
Unable to help myself, I lean up into him, my nose brushing against his neck as I inhale. I’m met with the masculine scent of his cologne. But then it hits me — the faint hint of sweet wine, black vanilla and raspberry.
I blink, not fully in charge of the words that slip from my lips. “You smell like me, too.”
Torren’s gaze flares, and a growl rumbles through his chest. His hand comes up to cup my chin in a rough grip as he glares down at me.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he snarls, the line of his jaw harsh. “Where did you go today?”
My brows meet as I stubbornly glare up at him. “You didn’t answer mine.”
A scathing amusement fills his eyes. “What if I have other friends with benefits?”
Jealousy bursts my stomach, wrapping its talons around my spine as it climbs up my throat.
“You’re my fiancé,” I blurt, in a lame attempt to try and stake my claim on him.
The side of his mouth lifts. “Oh?”
He leans further into me, forcing my thighs wider apart to accommodate the width of his torso. His inked hand comes up to my waist, searing hot on the bare skin of my stomach. He trails his hand down, until it’s skimming the waistband of my jeans, then further down, until his fingers border dangerously close to my ass.
It’s times like this I realize how much I should have just shut my mouth.
Because I just proposed a sex deal with the devil, after stealing information important enough to use against him.
