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“So…” I prompt when Night still doesn’t answer the question.
“So, what?”
“Do you want a damn drink?”
His slack jaw is comical. I laugh, and his expression quickly morphs into a scowl. Doesn’t matter though, he’s still fucking fine. Probably more fucking fine when he’s glaring at me like he wants to kill me. My pussy throbs.Down girl, let’s rehydrate before we go again.
“No one ever does that.”
“Does what?” I scrunch my nose up at him. He’s being weird.
“Offers me a drink.”
I stare at him like he’s the crazy one.
“You must be parched,” I quip. “It’s a wonder you haven’t died of dehydration.”
He doesn’t smile. He’s still staring at me like I’m a bug under a microscope.
“If you had any idea who I was…” he mutters.
“You’re the guy who just fucked me so good it hurts to walk. Your bedside manner could use a little work though. Look, are you thirsty or not? Because I probably shouldn’t drink this entire bottle to myself, but if you’re not having any, you can bet your ass I’m going to.”
“Fine.” He sighs.
“Fine what?”
“I’ll have a damn drink if you’re so hell bent on being a good hostess. Most people are wary to eat or drink anything around me.”
“Iamthe fucking hostess with the mostess already, thank you very much. Ididlet you fuck me.”
“Letme?” he repeats.
“Yes.”
“You didn’tlet medo anything.”
“Well, I sure as shit didn’t stop you.”
“I’d like to see you try.” His threat, and the accompanying sadistic smile, sets my fanny fluttering all over again. Damn him. I just can’t resist a bad boy. And given where I now am, and who I’m living with, I guess that means I’m fucked.
Or – hopefully at least – I will be fucked. Regularly. And hard. By many different psychopaths. My favourite.
“There should be glasses in that cupboard there,” he says nodding to the wall-mounted cupboard to the right of the stove top.
I follow his instruction and find two cut crystal wine goblets, which is fucking ridiculous. Setting them on the counter, I raise a brow at Night and cock my hip.
“And where might I find a corkscrew, oh wise one?” I tease. I don’t actually expect them to let us have an object as lethal as a corkscrew in our rooms. The razor for shaving is one thing, but there’s five creative ways to kill someone with a corkscrew – on top of all the mundane ways.
“Try the top drawer,” he drawls back, amusement lacing his midnight tone.
I shiver. Fuck that’s a sexy voice. I wish he’d talked dirty to me while he was pounding me from behind. I love me some good dirty talk.
The corkscrew is exactly where he suggested it might be, raising my suspicion.
“You seem to know the ins and outs of this room a little too well.”
“They’re all the same.”
