On the screen, a gruesome scene unfolded—a wife who had been murdered years ago had returned, now lying under the bed, her bloodshot eyes staring at her cheating husband and his mistress as they made love above her.
The audience held their breath. Even Lance flinched at the horror of it.
But in the last row, there were only Emerald and Alaric. In the dim light of the movie, she could see the possessiveness burning in his gaze.
Slowly, she reached out and traced the curve of his face with her fingers. "No," she murmured. "I don't hate it at all."
There was something twisted inside her—something just as possessive, just as unhinged. She lifted her finger and playfully pointed it at him.
Alaric leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin. "Hmm?"
Emerald leaned in until her lips nearly brushed his ear. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I like it when Mr. Corrigan wants to own me completely. Just like now." Her lips curled into a smirk. "Right here, I only want to do you."
