Whispers of the Devil のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

Dalton I should throttle her. That’s exactly what I should have done when I had her pressed against that tree. She’s either completely dense or truly fearless. I honestly don’t know which is worse. Walking around the property at night is not something I’ll allow her to do again, even if it means keeping her chained to her bed. God, the thought of her tied up and at my mercy makes my balls tighten as I stalk around the side of the house toward the detached garage. I throw the door open, forcing the image of Layla naked and prone, her eyes heavy with desire, out of my mind. The garage is cool and dark as I close the door behind me. No one here uses the garage but me. I keep my old truck here, tucked out of sight. I reach through the open passenger window and grab the bottle of scotch I picked up earlier tonight and wrench the lid open. Leaning against the side of my truck, I take a drink. Then another,

Dalton Layla’s covered head to toe in mud. She looks absolutely feral, and the fear and confusion in her eyes is notable as she loses her footing and falls right into my arms.Arm, actually. I keep my sketchbook raised above my head to prevent the mud and grime she’s plastered in from spilling onto the pages of fresh sketches I’ve been working on all morning. My other arm is roped around her waist as I haul her to her feet. She staggers backward, her mud laden sandals sliding off her feet. “D-Dalton!”“Layla?” I laugh, unable to help it. “What are you doing out here?”She screws her face into a scowl, her cheeks the color of ripe tomatoes, before she explodes, “I followed you, you fucking dickhead!”“Me? Why?” She looks me up and down, her expression shifting from outright fury to something I can only describe as utter bewilderment.

Layla I wrap my hand around the back of Dalton’s neck, my nails raking over his skin. His hair is like silk–soft and thick–and his skin is warm against my touch. He’s here; he’s real, and I’m safe. His lips brush against mine again in a silent invitation. My heart is still hammering in my chest as I close my eyes and part my lips, letting go of the crushing weight of the fear I’d just experienced and everything I thought I’d seen while running for my life through the house. His tongue slides over my lower lip–tasting me. I inhale a desperate breath before his tongue slides into my mouth, over my teeth, my tongue. He makes a low, throaty sound of pure male satisfaction before pressing his hand against my throat and deepening the kiss until I’m gasping for air. He tastes like salt and scotch. His leather and spice scent coils around me as he

Layla Monday morning hits me like a ton of bricks. The sun is shining hot and heavy when I roll out of bed at nearly 10:00, blinking rapidly to adjust to the startling glare. I slept like the dead. No dreams fractured my mind last night but…I sit on the edge of the bed, dressed in a men’s shirt that smells like Dalton. My throat bobs as I swallow against the sudden tightening there. A dull ache spreads up my inner thighs, and a bite mark I know is on my left breast sings with awakening pain. Memories of last night crawl back to the forefront of my mind while I sit in the hot sun. Last night, a storm of epic proportions rolled over the property, leaving destruction in its wake. I rise from bed and walk to the window, seeing Curtis on the back lawn cleaning up branches and debris. Deep puddles glisten in the sunlight–and beyond the yard? The marsh is lost beneath a thick layer of fog, l

Dalton Cold water cascades from my hands. The water flows down the sink in crimson ribbons. Out the kitchen window, night has fallen. Lightning flashes in the distance, but tonight’s storm passes the house without much drama. Rain showers over the landscaped backyard in gentle sheets of silver illuminated by the porch light. I shake my wet hands in the sink, reaching for a towel. My brushes are laid out on the counter, all of them clean and glistening in the light coming from a lamp near the kitchen table. I gather my brushes and turn, the glint of metal catching my eye. A butcher knife rests in the dish rack, freshly sharpened.It’s the only thing in the dish rack. Both Bailey and Layla keep the kitchen spotless and would have noticed a knife being left out. I reach for it and pull it off the rack just as Layla walks into the kitchen. Dressed in pale blue scrubs with her hair pu