Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 152710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
“I can ask you the same thing.”
He watches me with unsettling attention, looking right into the confusion of my heart.
Eager for a distraction, I turn my attention back to his state. “What happened?”
I really want to know. Whatever it was, wherever he’s been, it was dangerous. I sense it. Something other than jealousy gnaws at the back of my mind. Fear. I jerk inwardly at the recognition. No. I don’t care. I don’t want to care. I want to hate him. I need to hate him. Caring for a man who’ll never love me will be the worst betrayal my heart can muster. I’m going to find my freedom, and I’m not leaving my heart behind.
“Go back to bed,” he says softly.
I don’t let him invite me twice. Hurrying up the stairs, I run from the reactions he stirs in me. I run from the boy who’d turned into too much of a man, a man who is harder than what he should be because of one fatal night. We destroyed him. We turned a perfectly normal, young man who would’ve grown into a good husband and father into a criminal monster who feeds on pain. I might have played my part unknowingly, but I played it. Harold might have pulled the strings, but I danced to that tune.
The knowledge breaks me with heart-wrenching regret. When I looked into Damian’s eyes tonight, I saw what could have been. Inside the hardened shell, I saw a man who could’ve been capable of tenderness and devotion. The bad things that happened to me were out of my control. I hated that they happened, but I wasn’t responsible. For how Damian had turned out, I am, and this kind of regret is the worst.
Stopping in front of the cold fireplace, as far as possible from the bed, I wait for the inevitable. A moment later, Damian enters, still shirtless. Evenings in the Highveld are cool. He didn’t take off his shirt because he was hot.
Unfiltered, the question tumbles from my lips. “What happened to your shirt?”
He walks to the bed and sits down on the edge, legs spread. “Come here.”
His voice is soft and beckoning. It makes me want to obey, but I cling to my better judgment and shake my head.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
The vulnerability in the slump of his shoulders calls to my compassion. A sudden urge to soothe him makes me take one step. Then another, and another. He watches me as I walk to the cradle of his legs as if I’m being pulled by a delicate string that may snap at any moment. He looks at me with hope and tension, as if he’s worried I’d change my mind, even if the freedom of changing my mind is a false notion. He can make me do whatever he wishes with a small amount of force. We’ve already established that. But with the emotions wrestling in my chest, I’m weaker, unable to resist.
When I stop between his legs, he looks up at me, drinking me in with such concentration I feel like a fly trapped in a web. I can’t move or look away. Wanton need reflects in his bitter-brown eyes as he bunches my nightdress in his fists and moves it slowly up over my hips. His broad hand dips underneath, finding the elastic of my thong. One rip, and my underwear falls between my feet. It’s not a violent action, but I jump a little, nonetheless.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says softly, reassuring me of his earlier promise.
Lifting my nightdress higher, he drops his gaze to my exposed sex. He moves his hands to my ass and fills each palm with a cheek. With a soft yank, he pulls me closer, putting my pussy in his face. I have to brace myself with my hands on his shoulders to keep my balance. Touching his warm, hard body doesn’t work in my favor. The contact ignites awareness of his maleness, and a feminine part answers from deep inside. Moisture gathers between my legs and arousal throbs in my clit. My whole body tenses when he runs his nose up the length of my slit.
His tone is commanding, but when he lifts his eyes back to mine, they hold a plea. “Let me taste you.”
If I allow his tongue, where will this end? I’m tumbling down the hole of seduction he’s digging way too fast. If I’m not careful, I’ll soon be buried, left to suffocate. Is that what he wants? The ultimate submission? My final downfall? Is this his revenge?
Chewing my lip, I consider him. “If I give you what you want, will you let me go?”
He doesn’t hesitate for a second. “No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re my wife.”
“You married me for money and sex. If you have both, why not let me go? What more could you possibly want?”