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While my cock has fallen from her, Cora is still in my arms when I wake. Her face is on my chest, and her hair is spayed across my arm and the bed behind her.
She looks like a fucking angel when she sleeps.
“Good morning, love.” I place a light kiss on her forehead.
Her eyelids flutter as she tilts her head toward me, and my stomach drops when her eyes meet mine. She pushes back from my embrace and mutters, “This was a mistake.”
“Cora.” I stretch my arm out toward her as she retreats from the bed.
“I shouldn’t have let you…” Her words trail off, and I can tell she’s thinking about last night. There is no hiding the shame written on her face.
“Shouldn’t have what?” I toss the covers back and climb from the bed. In the event she tries to run, I want to be ready to chase her. I try to hold it back, but my words are fueled with a bit of anger, “Let me fuck you? Ride my cock so hard that your cum trickled down my sac?”
“Samuel.” Her voice is pained, and she shakes her head while wrapping the sheet around her body.
“Or maybe it was pleading with me to keep my cock inside of you as you fell asleep in my arms? Which was it, love?” Quickly losing control of my emotions, I can feel my face growing red. My breaths are growing deep and heavy, my nostrils expanding with every heated exhale.
“I can’t.” Her chin trembles as tears well in her eyes, and she turns her back to me.
“Are my horns fucking showing?” I snap at her. “Do you find me so fucking evil that you can’t even look at me in the daylight?”
“You have fucking killed women, Samuel.” Her voice cracks as she yells, and she spins back to face me. The once-welling tears now stream uncontrollably down her face. Her voice is barely audible when she continues, “You’re a murderer.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CORA
“I am. I can’t fucking deny who I am or the things that I’ve done,” Samuel nearly shouts at me. His hand slides along his short hair in frustration, and he lets out a heavy sigh as he mutters, “I’m so much fucking worse.”
“Worse?” I exclaim.
“I’ve tried to hide it from you,” his eyes dart to the scrapes and bruises from yesterday, “but I couldn’t. You’ve seen it with your face pressed against the cobblestones.”
“I…I don’t understand.”
“You aren’t the first woman I’ve fucked with their face buried in the ground.” His tone is flat as he explains, “I don’t even know how many of them there have been over the years.”
My stomach drops, and I’m filled with nausea. “Why?”
“They don’t matter.” He paces and his voice is on the verge of sounding frantic. “I’m trying so fucking hard, Cora.”
“Trying to do what?”
“To keep these uncontrollable urges at bay.” He rounds the bed and takes a step toward me. I quickly realize that I have nowhere to go but backward. I recoil with every step he takes until I find myself in the corner.
His hands slam into the wall, flanking my face, and boxing me in as he braces his weight on his forearms. My heart pounds, and I can barely breathe as he looms over me. Looking up at him, our eyes meet While his face is riddled with anger—pure fucking rage—all I can see is the softness of his eyes. And I can’t bring myself to look away.
“You weren’t the first of them, Cora.” He shakes his head as he presses his forehead to mine.
“What are you saying, Samuel.” I struggle through my tears to push the words out.
“I’ve never fought it before. I’ve given in to every fucking urge and need.” His words are slow and heavy, his warm breath blowing over my face with every word.
“The last time?” I ask, completely unsure if I want to know the answer.
“Chicago.”
“You fucking raped a woman in Chicago, then flew home early to?—”
