9
Fiore
The whole ride back to the house, Monster doesn’t take his hands off of me. While he’s not usually the most touchy-feely man — for from it, actually — just now he’s acting ravenous for the smallest amount of my affection. He kisses my neck, running his stubble down my skin.
I demur, looking at the driver, but Monster is unconvinced.
“Don’t worry about him,” he whispers, kissing my ear. “Focus on me.”
I submit with a sigh, closing my eyes. The second I do, Juanita and John’s dead eyes come back to me. As Monster’s hand comes down, sweeping aside the dark blue satin of my dress and baring my breast, I am still unsettled.
Even though he deserved it, I still essentially killed John. Standing as judge and jury, I stood by and let Monster play executioner.
What does that say about
