“I love you.”
My shoulders bunch, and I fix my attention on him.
No smile. No amusement. Instead, cold, hard determination settles in his eyes and the shape of his mouth. He rocks his jaw, brings a hand to it, and rubs at the trim hair there as he pulls his gaze off me. “Do you even know what that means, Azalea?”
I, quite honestly, don’t have a clue. Not when he’s treated me the way he has in the past. Not when I can’t bring myself to trust anything seemingly kind that he’s done today—no matter how exhausting or thoughtful what he’s done today has appeared. I say, “I’m convinced neither of us does.”
He sighs, and a forlorn touch grazes his lips. “Right.”
Silence enters the cabin after that, and, unfortunately, Malcolm doesn’t die before we leave for the hotel…
Chapter Seven
?
May blessings never cease.
Malcolm
I love her. I adore her. I want her. She’s precious. She’s everything. She’s a flower, an angel, air, water,life.
“Shall I help, or would you be more comfortable doing it yourself?” I ask, as I step past the threshold of the nicest, but smallest, dual-bed hotel room I could find in the area. Though Icouldhave rented a massive suite, that would have wholly defeated the purpose of being as close to my beloved little dove as possible. So, here we are, in a delightfully intimate little box.
In silence, I unload my things, then I face her. “Did you hear me, dove?”
Aghast, she stares at the brand-new, plastic-covered mattress resting against the wall in our room—per my instructions. “What…is this?” she whispers.
My brows rise. “An extra-firm Helix Midnight Luxe. Brand new. For you.”
Her sky-blue eyes shift, crawling toward me. Intelligently, she says, “Huh?”
I dip into one of my duffle bags of supplies for Azalea and procure the pristine white, freshly packaged, Egyptian cotton sheet set I brought for this evening. Next, out comes the snuggliest white blanket I could find. I present them both, like lover of the century. “I brought detergent and made sure thisroom had a washer and dryer. Do you need to do it yourself, or may I?”
She says nothing.
“If it suits you,” I dip again, into my other Azalea supply bag, and get my bottle of foaming cleaner, “I can get started on wiping down the shower after the wash is rolling.”
Emotions run rampant in her eyes, then—one by one, per usual—she kills them. The light dies out, and I hold back my inclination to pout. Composed, she says, “I don’t understand. If you think I should be fighting it, why are you simultaneously feeding it?”
“Contrary to your beliefs, dove, I don’t want to drop you in the ocean and watch you drown. You’re not dealing with isolated battles; you’re facing off in a war. Ideally, you don’t kamikaze in the first confrontation and build even worse anxiety around taking the steps toward reprogramming your brain. One step at a time. One broken rule here and there. One win. Then another. One distraction that shuts down the obsessive spiral. I intend to stack survival in your favor as I press on the seams of this bubble you’ve created to keep yourself safe. Because, even if I’m a fan of bondage, no one deserves to live their lives completely chained, and certainly not by their own brains.”
Her mouth opens, and shuts. Contemplation causes her pale blonde lashes to flutter. Finally, she chokes out, “Did you…just say…”
“Bondage? Sure.” I smile. “What about it?”
Careful, she takes a wary step back.
I laugh and chase her retreat. “Does that frighten you, little dove? Didn’t I already tell you how I want you caged with your wings clipped at my bidding?”
Her flesh prickles, hairs rising on her arms above the lacy fringe of her quarter-arm white gloves. I have never seen herbare hands before. I’m obsessed with the possibility that tonight I might.
“You already know I’m not a good person, Azalea.” I close in, an advance for every retreat. “I can’t fathom why you agreed to come here with me. Overnight. In my vehicle. You’retrapped.” Her back hits the pale blue wall, and her chest heaves as it fills with breath. For propriety’s sake, I retrieve my own pair of gloves, slide them on, and cup her face in my hands. “You’re mine,” I murmur. “I can do anything I want to you.”
“No,” she whispers.
“Yes.” I tip up her face, slash my thumbs across her cheeks, daydream about a world in which our skin might collide. “So…” I say through the delightful haze, “…would you like help unpacking your mattress and getting your bedding washed…or shall I clean the shower for you instead?” Stepping back, I drop my arms and tuck my hands in my pockets. “I’m at your disposal.”
Agape, she watches me, shivering, breaths uneven. When she regains her voice, it’s raw. “What—” She swallows, the word vibrating with illicit threads of emotion. “—iswrongwith you?”
