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Summary
“Drink,” Ember says, and she holds a bottle to his lips.
He drinks. Rowan or even Julian would probably yell at him about poison, but Ember wouldn’t do that. She likes hurting him with her own hands. If she ever kills him one of these days, it will be by hand, by knife. She’ll probably slice him a little bit all over, small cuts, sharp cuts, and then when she’s ready, and not a minute sooner, she’ll drag the blade across his throat to end it all.
Ember hums and straddles his tied legs. “What are you thinking about now?”
Maison doesn’t answer her this time. He can’t.
Ember smirks and moves until she’s practically sitting in his lap – and on top of his unmistakable arousal.
Series
- Part 2 of The Cohort