Page 56 of Fuse

And again, while I expect him to switch back to the emo rock, he quirks his lips with a sarcastic smirk and glides his hands down in a twisted bid to usurp the finger comb-out with a divine butt massage. “Says the wise and beautiful goddess with the enchanted and amazing ass?”

I sock his shoulder. “Are you trying to bribe me, Mr. Richards?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On if it’s working.”

I swallow back my blissful moan though wonder if that’s really the choice of a wise goddess. Showing my hand means I get a lot more of this, albeit with the man’s gloating grin in my face. But is that such a bad thing either? “Hmmm.” I stall for myself as much as him. “That depends.”

His long chuckle sends delicious vibrations through his whole body. Yes, even into those strong, divine fingers of his. “Ohhh, it’s working,” he murmurs. “Just admit it, or I’ll use my x-ray eyes to tell everyone your panty color at breakfast.”

I give up the shoulder bops, resorting to tweaking his nipple. “Since when were you okay with me wearing panties anywhere, Mr. Richards?” Then slither my thigh up, unable to hold back my moan any longer while gliding along the proud stalk at his center.

“Damn good point,” the man softly snarls, layering his seductive sound over my aroused sigh. His jaw visibly tenses, and I run my touch along its alluring strength.

“I love you, Mr. Richards.” And only because I do, I back off with the wanton thigh flirtation. The man has literally started hearing voices. He’s past the point of exhaustion.

“And fuck, how I love you, Miss Crist.” As he kneads my back cheeks deeper, he adds in a tender murmur, “And enjoy the fuck out of your oh-so-distinctive ‘panty color.’”

I hum while dipping down to kiss his pectoral, fighting the mists of sleep threatening to snuff my consciousness. “I have trained you well, young superstud.”

But in the end, I’m helpless against the onslaught of the slumber. As the fog rolls thicker over my mind, I’m aware of one last thing: the caress of his lips across my forehead followed by an equally worshipful whisper. “That you have, my velvet goddess. That you have.”

REECE

Unsurprisingly, Emma has drifted easily back to sleep.

Also unsurprisingly, I haven’t.

Not after what happened in my own goddamned bed.

In my own goddamned head.

Again.

I throw on a pair of nylon shorts, prowling downstairs and heading for the pool deck, intending to turn the ice beneath my skin into sweat—but I only make it as far as the ground-floor office before Faline swoops in again, even stronger now.

Reece Andrew Richards…

I try to sit. Lurch back up in such a violent rush, the rolling chair behind the desk spins away and slams the wall. Her whisper in my senses isn’t such a little sigh anymore. More and more, it’s as if she’s standing next to me. Preparing to torture me again.

You know it’s the truth.

You belong to me.

You always have and always will.

The crashing chair sends an echo through the house like a gunshot—though at the moment, if it meant expelling Faline and her goddamned sighs from my brain, I’d willingly take the brunt of a real rifle blast.

And soon, you will know that in full. And accept it with gratitude.

“Never.” Yes, I’m snarling at voices that are only in my head. Yes, I’m punching at the granite stone wall that stands in for the phantoms, really seeing the wisdom of incorporating the ridge as part of the house’s structure. Yes, I’m getting the horrifying correlation between this moment and the one like it from last night, when I tried taking down a whole cliff in the canyon with the same unyielding rage—at the same conniving bitch.

Only now, she hasn’t just decimated one of my best friends from the inside out.

She’s tromping through my goddamned mind.