Page 56 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
“Jesus, you’re all so old,” I murmur, and Crown sighs dramatically.
“I’m thirty years old, Gidge. I’m sure that feels old to you—sometimes it even feels old to me—but I assure you that I am nowhere near the age where I was listening to a gramophone in my childhood bedroom.”
I cast him a disbelieving look, tapping my nails against the glass neck of the scotch bottle. The French manicure that Giulia’s servant girls gave me is long past its prime with multiple nails chipped and stained, yet another reminder that I very nearly lived a brand-new life in a completely different universe.
“Are you sure about that? You look like you were around when the gramophone was invented.”
Crown comes over to me then, crossing his arms, his gaze this penetrating beam that I do my best to ignore. We sort of had a thing the other night, didn’t we? The bastard isn’t engaged to Amber; he has a ruby ring that matches my eyes; he offered to send me away if I wanted to be with Grey.
Where does any of that leave us now?
“Stop playing games, Gidge. Let’s talk. What do you want out of all this?”
Anger surges through me, as it always does. It’s held my leash for so long that even though I’ve agreed to remove the collar of rage from around my neck, I jump when it tells me to. Crown might be a know-it-all bastard, but he’s asking a legitimate question. Deep breath in, deep breath out.
I finally deign to look at him, and I swear, the rough beauty in his face nearly staggers me. A memory prickles, a very specific one, where I’m looking down at our bodies, joined together, seamless, hard to tell where one of us ends and the other begins.
“It was all on you,” I whisper, looking away again. I finally set the scotch aside; I’ve got a nice buzz going. “All of the risk.” I look back at him, but as per usual, he’s nearly impossible to read. “Just like Queenie.” Here is where I start to get choked up. Here is where I find it difficult to breathe. “You put your life on the line for me, Crown. You were willing to die to protect me. My question to you is: what do you want out of all this?”
My question seems to surprise him for a moment.
When it seems like Crown isn’t going to answer, I grab the scotch bottle only to find it torn from my hand.
I look up.
“Don’t you dare try to lecture me,” I warn him, but then he’s throwing the bottle on the floor and my face is between his hands. I’m so startled that I jerk back, leaving room for him to put a knee between my thighs. He nudges my legs apart in a way that’s possessive, like he’s claiming his territory or something.
I’m too buzzed to remember how pissed off I am about that.
I lift my fingers to his face, dragging my nails down the day-old stubble on his cheeks.
“You better not be drunk, Gidge,” he warns me, but I just laugh. He knows I can hold my liquor.
“I didn’t regret it last time,” I breathe against his ear, licking up along the shell of it until he lets out a low growl, pushing me back onto the mattress. Our mouths work against one another as the old king bed creaks beneath us.
Whatever.
If anyone hears anything, they’ll assume it’s Beast. If they see him and think otherwise, they’ll make it his problem. And he, clearly, knows that Crown is in here with me.
“If you’re in here then …” I start, releasing Crown just enough that he can put some space between us with the sole purpose of staring at me.
“Because I told you that I was going to start working on my wants, didn’t I?” he queries dryly. “It’s not over yet.”
“Which part of it?” I quip, rubbing my aching body along the dirty denim that cups his muscular thigh. “Do you really think you can wrestle me away from Beast with that ruby ring of yours?”
That comment annoys the fuck out of him. He sits up suddenly, staring down at me with an inscrutable expression.
“If you wanted to be a part of the club, you should’ve picked me.” This line is delivered with the utmost seriousness; it oozes arrogance, reeks of confidence. “You would be the most popular club wife; every groupie in the clubhouse would envy you.”
“You should know, considering you fucked most of them,” I retort, pushing up onto my elbows. I rub my cunt against his leg again, and he frowns at me. “Dated them, actually. What were you up to? Searching for a wife of a more appropriate age?”
This time I’ve really done it. Crown’s eyes narrow to slits and he leans down, grabbing my wrists and pushing them into the bed. With him this close to me, it’s an assault. His scent is like violets and suede, luring me in toward a dangerous predator I have no business being with. Beast is dangerous, yes. Crown is calculating.
