The Wild Mustang & The Dancing Fairy: A Gorgeous Villain Prequel Novella by Saffron Kent (ereader for textbooks .txt) 📗

she does when she locks her door at night. And she does it all to get herself ready for the guy they’ve warned her about. So he could abuse that pussy and make her like it.”

“I would. I would like it,” I tell him as if he doesn’t already know.

He swallows then. “I know you would. Because I’d make it good for you. I’d make it so good that you’d be addicted. You’d become a junkie and you’d beg me for a fix. I told you that, didn’t I? I told you that every girl begs and you will too.”

My spine arches at his tone as if he’s pulling on all my strings and I nod.

“Yes. I will. I’ll do anything you want me to do.”

“You’ll beg me to spread your legs. To use that that tight little fairy hole and stick it to your brothers. You’ll beg me to destroy you in your good girl bedroom while they sleep just down the hall. While I make you moan in your lacy pillow and make you betray your brothers every night. And then, ask me, what will I do?”

My breaths are all but gone right now but I somehow wheeze out, “What?”

“I’ll tell them,” he says with a cold, humorless, half smile. “I’ll tell them how pretty their sister looked when she opened her legs for me last night. I’ll fucking brag about banging their sister under their noses.”

“You wouldn’t.” I shake my head. “I trust you.”

Maybe it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever said, even stupider than all the things I’ve been saying tonight, but I do.

I do trust him.

He had all the opportunity, didn’t he?

He could’ve told them.

He could’ve used me against Ledger. He could’ve bragged if he wanted to.

But he didn’t.

He kept our secret. Day after day, night after night.

I know he’s trying to scare me away but I’m not going anywhere.

He scoffs. “Yeah, that’s what stupid little girls say before they get into the car with a stranger who takes them away and locks her up in a room for the rest of her life.”

“I –”

“So you need to go home, understand?” he says, letting me go. “You need to leave me alone because as I said, I’m not thinking straight right now.”

“Do it,” I tell him, ignoring his command for the thousandth time. “Make me do things. Everything you said. All of them. Please.”

“Fae –”

“Please. Destroy me, Roman,” I beg like he told me I would, and a shudder passes through him and through me too.

I stretch myself up then, as much as I can, and put my mouth on him.

On his Adam’s apple.

I lick the bulge, his rough stubble, and I would’ve gone on to do more if he hadn’t wrapped my braid around his wrist and pulled my head back.

If he hadn’t made me look at him.

I shiver at the look on his face.

I shake with fear and anticipation.

His eyes have gone all dark like the night around us and his jaw has morphed into a true V. With his angry bruises, he looks so dangerous, so gorgeous that I whisper again, “Please, Roman.”

At my plea, his gaze falls down to my lips and I think I hear a growl.

I can’t be sure because it’s low and thick and in the next second, I don’t have the mental capacity to think about it anyway.

Because his mouth is on me.

His taste, all spicy and vodka-laced, explodes on my tongue and God, it’s so delicious that I want to keep tasting him.

I want to keep analyzing other nuances of his flavor and his soft, warm mouth but just then, the sky opens up.

With no warning or forecast whatsoever, it starts to rain and we break apart.

Panting, we look at each other and I don’t know what he’s thinking.

I don’t know if he’s mourning the loss of my lips as I’m mourning the loss of his.

But again, he takes away my ability to think when he picks me up.

He lifts me off the ground and because we’ve done this move a thousand times before during my dance practice, I don’t even hesitate to wrap my legs around his slim waist. And as soon as I do that, he puts his big hand on the back of my head and makes me huddle into his chest.

He makes me seek shelter from the rain in his big body.

And all I can do is take it and hug him tightly.

My Roman.

My gorgeous, gorgeous villain.

As he begins to move, I mumble, “My bag.”

I wouldn’t usually care about it, my backpack.

But it has something inside it. For him – not the first aid kit – and I don’t want it to get wet.

Smoothly, while still carrying me in his arms, Reed bends down to pick up my bag. When he has it, I thank him and kiss the pulsing vein on the side of his neck. I hear him inhale sharply as he walks me to the back door of his Mustang.

He opens it and carefully deposits me inside the car, away from the rain, before getting in himself. He throws my backpack on the floor and I don’t even wait for him to shut the door properly before I crawl over and straddle him.

It’s such a bold move but I don’t care.

I don’t really care about anything tonight except being close to him, taking care of him.

Taking all his pain from the fight and his loneliness away.

My hands are on his shoulders, fisting his damp t-shirt, and his find their way back to my waist, clutching onto my wet dress. I stare at the water droplets that sluice down his dark, rain-slick hair to his beautiful face. They stream down his cheeks and the side of his neck, disappearing into the V of his t-shirt.

And God, I was right.

He’s got muscles for days.

I can see them through his t-shirt, the ridges of his ribs and the hills of his chest and the cut planes of his stomach, and I squirm on