We were both still dressed in our cocktail finery, joined only where it mattered.

Looking down at Cleo’s plaited hair and exquisite dress, watching her body press harder against the couch with my every thrust, I fell deeper in love. I’d loved her as a child, a teen, and a man. And now I loved her as if she was a dirty siren that didn’t mind shedding her seraph wings and letting me take her dirty and wrong.

Massaging her lower back, I ordered darkly, “Spread your legs, Buttercup. I’m going to fuck you hard.”

Cleo whimpered, obeying instantly. Her legs widened, her feet still encased in the delicious high heels.

The moment she moved, I didn’t hesitate. With a powerful thrust, I drove deep inside her, stretching, claiming.

She cried out, bowing her head and biting a cushion.

Sparks shattered behind my eyelids as I thrust harder, faster, deeper.

Sweat glistened on her shoulders but I never stopped.

Moaning with delight, Cleo clawed at the sofa cushions, her nails indenting the thick fabric. “More, Kill. More.”

Something switched inside me. I didn’t know if it was her calling me Kill, or the deep passion in her tone, but I couldn’t disobey. My cock grew thicker, and I drove inside her so, so deep.

I would mark her forever. I would imprint myself into her soul so even death could never part us.

My stomach kissed her ass while she bent like a wilting flower over the armrest of the couch. Folding over her, I planted a hand on the cushion by her cheek and captured the nape of her neck with my teeth.

“Ah!” she cried, arching in my hold, giving me better access to her throat.

We were no longer humans as I licked and bit with primitive claiming. We were savages intent only on one thing: destroying each other with bliss.

Her pussy clenched around my length, triggering my orgasm. “I love fucking you,” I growled as pleasure spiraled through my system, shooting from my balls and through my cock.

I couldn’t stop the release and threw myself headfirst into it. Leaning back, I planted my feet hard against the carpet and thrust.

“Don’t stop. God, don’t stop,” Cleo panted. Her face was flushed and tense, every sense turned inward.

She cried out as I pounded into her with relentless rhythm.

“I’m coming!” Her voice tore through my haze.

I spurted inside her, over and over again.

Fisting her braid, I held it while my balls smacked against her clit with rhythmic slaps dragging on her orgasm.

The friction between us undid me. The grimace of tortured ecstasy on her face consumed me. She couldn’t do a thing but endure my pace, my pressure—everything I gave her.

The last of my defenses toward her crumbled. I loved her so fucking fiercely.

The last band of bliss finished and I slowed down, running my hands down her back. Petting her, calming her. “That … that was—”

“Amazing,” she breathed, her legs wobbling as I pulled out and tucked my cock into my trousers.

Smiling at how sated she was, I picked her up and sat on the couch, placing her on my knee.

Tomorrow, I would walk out without saying goodbye. I would go to battle without a backward glance, even though it would tear out my fucking heart.

I would do it to protect her.

I would do it to keep her safe.

But for now, she was mine and I meant to tell her just how much I loved her.

Kissing her ever so softly, I pressed my forehead against hers. “You’re my home, Cleo Price. And through life or death, I’m never letting you go.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Cleo

It’d been three years since I’d become Sarah Jones. Three years of living an imposter’s life. Three years of emptiness. But now there was an itch inside my brain … begging for a scratch, craving the walls to fall.

Life had taken away my past and changed my future … I just had to hold on and see where the tide of change led me. —Cleo, diary entry, age seventeen

The next morning began like any other.

I woke on the left side of the bed with Arthur on the right.

We smiled and stroked and showered together.

We chatted and ate breakfast like any ordinary couple.

He skirted the topic of world domination, secret plans, and revolutionary reform. While I pried and inquired and tried to comprehend the magnitude of what would happen.

Then he announced he had business to attend to back at Pure Corruption.

I asked if I could go.

He said no.

He explained it was boring admin stuff. Stuff I wouldn’t be interested in.

I didn’t believe him, even when he assured me he wouldn’t be long. That he’d be back for dinner. That I didn’t need to worry.

He was downright lying.

When he walked out the door¸ I knew then that something was wrong.

It wasn’t his overeager assurances that terrified me. It wasn’t his curtness when I pried.

What petrified me were the words he didn’t say.

The questions he refused to answer.

He was planning something.

Something huge.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

“What do you think of this one?”

Grasshopper’s voice wrenched me from my thoughts.

I blinked, completely lost as to where we were and what the hell we were doing there. After Arthur had left, I’d paced the house, stewing with anger.

Once that proved unproductive, I decided to take drastic action. I threw on my jacket, tied up my hair, and stormed from the house—fully intending to drive over to the compound and demand to know what the hell was going on.