We lay for a long time, breathing together, tracing each other’s skin. Secrets and the past whispered around us while I tried and failed to come up with a way to get him to talk to me about what was definitely plaguing him. The room hummed with the chemistry between us. A gravitational pull so wicked we’re enslaved for life. Maybe this began with one prisoner—me—but Tate is as much of a captive as I am to this fucking agony.
Here we are, tangled together as close as two people can be, separated by an unfathomable distance, because our insides are fractured beyond repair. He can’t find his way to me through the brambles, and I don’t have the emotional maturity to get him out.
Finally, he stirs, sliding away from me. I sit up. Dammit. I wish I had words beyond unbelievable fucking anger.
“Am I dismissed now that you’re done with me?” I can’t help watching his every move as he slides into the long-sleeved white shirt he wears for games. Why are the most devastatingly handsome men such evil fucking snakes? I can’t decide whether I like it better on or off.
No, definitely off. But him in a suit is no hardship.
The fucker smirks. He knows I’m staring. But he’s mine, too, even if he’ll never admit it. Tate has an unhealthy obsession with me. Specifically, with my ass. He loves being the only one I’ve ever let dominate me in the way he does, and that he owns me the same way a person owns a car.
He gets off on that power. He’s a slave to it. I’m the only place he can get that feeling in a real way. One that’s not pretend. If I need to trade that feeling as a currency and use it as a weapon, I will. The only weapon in my arsenal when it comes to Tate.
Because he’ll only fuck me if I beg him for it—if I want it. But he wants me to want it, so he can fuck me.
And that’s all we are.
Sex. Toxicity. War.
He stalks over to me slowly, a sharp-gazed predator. Calculated. A warning wearing skin. His shirt still half unbuttoned, fly unzipped, belt buckle undone. He grabs my face again, but this time I don’t dare pull away, heart hammering in my chest.
“I’m never done with you, Ryan. Fuckingnever. Not even death can save you, because should you die, I’ll follow you into the next life, too.”
See? Obsessed like a fucking psychopath.
Tate is a psychopath.
At least the sex isso. Fucking. Good.
He lets go of my face. “But you are dismissed.” He doesn’t leave, analyzing me. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re a goddamn asshole, that’s what’s wrong.”
“I’m always an asshole, and you never look like that. C’mon, let’s have it. We have a deal, and I intend on living up to my end of the bargain.”
“Don’t act like you’re a fucking saint, Tatum. You do it to keep me happy enough to get what you want from me.” Calling him by his full name gives me a sick sort of pleasure. I know he hates it.
He shrugs, gritting his teeth. “Both things can be true. Now, tell me. I promised to take care of you, and I will.”
A fact that he loves rubbing in my face, because I do need him. As much of a fucking dick as Tate is, he’s the only onestanding between me and the worst fate I can imagine—being my father’s captive for the rest of my life.
My lip trembles against my will. “I know the plan; I’m trying to be patient, but every week I have to prevent some new catastrophe. No one wins every game.” Not even McKinnon, my brain supplies, tonight being a perfect example. “What if you’re not there? What if I lose?”
His thumb caresses my cheek, and I have to fight not to close my eyes and enjoy it. I’m pathetic. Needing his touches so bad, I’m willing to take them anywhere I can get them.
“I’ll speed things up.”
“You will?” Didn’t expect that. Not with how he’s been.
“I already have.” He’s choosing his words carefully. “My brother knows about our wedding. We sorted out the inheritance.”
“That’s good,” I say. It is, right? Those things have a specific place in the hierarchy of Tate’s mind. His plan has an order and timing. I just wish I could open his brain and view the stupid fucking plan as it evolves and changes.
I bite my lip.
He tilts his head. “Are things really that bad, dollface?”
I close my eyes, nodding. I fucking refuse to say that shit out loud, but I chose Tate for a reason. He can protect me from my father, and he’s proven that. It’s impressive, really. But it’s created a new problem. I didn’t plan on becoming this attached to him. I hate needing anyone. Now, the longer he’s away from me, the more anxious I get. What if my father makes good on his threat to send Griff to Riverview since the army was delayed?
