Page 52 of Lethal King

I might as well be fucking drunk.

Or, worse, hungover.

My skull gently throbs as I roughly dry myself off with a towel and wash my hands in cold water—anything to keep them from wandering back below my waist.

Anything to keep myself from falling back into that wild trance.

Fuck.

Rian Kilpatrick saw me at my most vulnerable.

My enemy. My hunter. My prey.

He saw how I cum. And then he saw how flustered I was that I had cum.

There was no other option. I couldn’t kill him. All I could do was get the fuck out of there and drag whatever was left of my dignity behind me.

But even as I clicked the bookshelf door shut and raced down the cold dark steps, I couldn’t shake his heat.

Rian’s scent followed me. His cum trailed down the inside of my thighs. I couldn’t help myself. I reached down and scooped some up with my finger.

I tasted him.

And he was fucking delicious.

“Stupid fucking hormones,” I grumble to myself.

Raging back into my bedroom, I find the new outfit I had ripped out of my closet when I got home. The turtleneck and legging I had worn earlier are already nothing more than a pile of ashes. I set that shit on fire as soon as I had the chance.

He. Tore. A pussy hole in my leggings.

My toes curl. A heavy pressure threatens to take hold of my core. My hand wanders down my flat stomach.

I can’t help but wonder if I could still taste his cum on my cunt…

No!

My other hand slaps away the treacherous one. I drape myself in heavy cloth.

Rian Kilpatrick isn’t just some good fuck you can lead around on a wild goose chase. He cursed you to a fate worse than death or abstinence.

He wants to marry you.

The reminder is well served. A sneer twists my face as I force away any thoughts of enjoyment or pleasure.

Then, my bedside drawer rattles, and my attention is turned further from my shame. My phone is ringing. I quickly grab it, desperate for a distraction. But when I recognize the number, I decide I’d rather be alone.

I’m in no mood for Tytus’ banter. I’ll find out how his little meeting went later.

I need to get some food in me.

Stomach rumbling, I push my way downstairs and towards my kitchen. I already know my fridge is nearly empty, but when I open it up, I’m met by a nice little surprise.

I’d forgotten about Babcia’s cabbage rolls.

God bless that woman.

Ripping them out of the fridge, I start to gorge. But even as I satisfy one hunger, another remains stubbornly in place.