His

I never meant to be here: tied up in bed next to a serial killer.

When I followed him home, I was just playing Nancy Drew. Trying to find out his secret. His kiss was intoxicating, and I thought he was harmless.

I was wrong.

Nancy Drew never ended up in a basement, handcuffed to a radiator, teased to the edge of insanity, begging to be let go.

Soon I stopped begging to be let go.

Soon I started begging to be his.

© 2015 Tantor Media (Hljóðbók): 9781494581817

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Hljóðbók: 23 april 2015