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That primitive creature inside me roared.
She dropped all my guards and arrowed into my heart.
Fuck.
I could come in a second.
Explode in a heartbeat.
I groaned and thrust forward, knocking her head against the wall.
She moaned in discomfort but didn’t stop blowing me. She looked up the length of my body, and my hands landed on her temples, my fingers brushing through her soaking blue-black hair.
So soft.
So perfect.
So mine.
My soul burst open.
My blood shook off its ice and embraced sunshine instead.
In one submissive move, she fucking enslaved me.
“Ily…” I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to revoke that final rule about keeping intimacy out of our roleplay. I wanted her to fall in love with me. I needed her to care.
But then my hazy eyes met hers, and I froze.
She didn’t watch me like I watched her. Didn’t sink into feelings of awe and attraction.
Fuck no.
She watched me like an enemy sizing up their opponent. A talented little terrorist intent on using my weaknesses against me.
And I stupidly confessed my greatest weakness is her…
Yanking my cock out of her mouth, I swatted away her fist. “What the hell are you doing?”
Prim and far too composed, she dropped her hands onto her lap. “I’m adapting.”
“Adapting?”
“To what’s expected of me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you didn’t come at dinner. Victor’s pissed at me for what I did, and you’ve been tasked with punishing me for it. I assumed that would be your next command. Especially now you’ve rescued me and cleansed me and fixed what went wrong. I’m yours again, aren’t I? You want to make sure of it, am I right? You want to replace him with yourself. To ensure every piece still belongs to you.” She laughed, shocking the hell out of me. “So…I made another choice. To be the slave you think I am. To serve you the way you think I should. To ensure neither of us forgets exactly what we are.”
I hated that she could read me. That she’d seen all that and reduced our connection to nothing more than Master and slave when I wanted so, so much more.
“You’re mistaken,” I seethed. “I’ve told you time and again that I want more than just your body.”
“Well, my body is all you’ll get, Master.” Climbing to her feet, she splayed her hands. “Release me. If you don’t want to fuck me, then let me return to the jewel quarters and—”
“You’re not going anywhere. And don’t use that address when we’re alone, especially not in that tone. Call me Henri or nothing at all.”
Her face etched with annoyance. “Make up your damn mind.”
“Excuse me?”
“You told me to call you Master H at dinner.”
“When we’re in company only.”
“Fine.” She smiled full of poisonous sugar. “If you’re not going to use me, Henri, then…what’s the point?”
“What’s the point?” My mouth hung wide. Words deserted me. The punching agony in my chest made it hard to catch a breath. “The point, you beautiful, psychotic little nightmare, is I like you. I like your company. I like arguing with you, talking with you, and yes…I like fucking you. You left my side for all of two minutes tonight, and another man had you on your back, so forgive me if I never let you out of my motherfucking sight again!”
She didn’t so much as flinch.
Not a single reaction to my confession that I liked her back.
More than liked her.
I…
“Well…” She slowly turned around and turned the shower off. Silence rained between us; the tendrils of steam no longer just wisped around her but fogged the entire bathroom. “If you’re not going to have sex with me, what do you want?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose again.
Christ, didn’t she know?
It was fucking obvious!
I opened my mouth.
I scrambled for words.
And…nothing.
I couldn’t stay here.
I’d do something bad.
Stalking from the shower, I shot out of the bathroom and dripped water all over the bedroom carpet. Wrenching open the mini-fridge by the throne chair, I grabbed an icy beer.
Fucking woman.
Fucking jewel.
Fucking pathetic human heart.
I’d hunted for her because she belonged to me.
I’d killed for her because the thought of her dead or broken ripped out my guts and hung me from the gargoyle-infested parapets.
What was the point in talking to her when she flatly refused to see what I wanted? Why should I run the risk of allowing the heartsick idiot inside me to resurrect when she didn’t want a single scrap of my affection?
Fuck it.
I’d gone to war tonight.
I’d murdered in her name.
And somehow, with that stupid act of goodness, she stripped me of my newfound happiness.
Broke my blissful sanctuary.
And ensured the acerbity of nausea tainted every swallow of my beer.
I’d been free of that curse.
Free of feeling.
I wasn’t equipped to go back there.
Wasn’t strong enough to survive craving again. Longing again. Not after a lifetime of begging someone, anyone, to see me, want me, love me.
