Chapter 93

That was when I saw it, just to the side of my Adam’s apple—a noticeable bruise.

And it was the same goddamned spot where he’d injected me the night I’d returned from Paris.

“Fucking bastard.”

And then I couldn’t help laughing. I’d never been one for swearing, but my association with Mark Vincent, as brief as it was, seemed to have changed that.

Shaking my head, I bent to take a box of Epsom salts from the vanity, wincing as my ass reminded me yet again it had been well and truly fucked earlier.

Next time, I promised myself. Next time it would be me riding Vincent’s ass. It would be me marking his throat.

And it would definitely be me fucking with his mind.

But that could wait for another day. I emptied the Epsom salts into the tub, eased into the hot, cloudy water, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Yes, that could wait for another day.

Days Like This

Vincent’s Day