Page 35 of Fallen Dane

“I was just shopping—”

“Don’t do that.” His voice is sharp. “Don’t insult me by lying right now. I’ve been watching you the whole time.”

“Dane—”

“Say it.” His voice is deadly quiet. “Say the bastard’s name. Tell me who you’ve been spying for.”

I press my lips together.

“Say it, Whitney. Tell me who you’re fucking me over for.” He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me to him. “And don’t make me ask you again.”

“I can’t. It’s almost done, and then we can put this behind us.”

He scoffs. “Don’t give me that shit. You make me fucking care about you and you do this? You’re a damn good actress, I’ll give you that. This is exactly why feelings don’t have a place in our world. It’s all about power and control. And that’s where I’ll always win.”

The words hurt worse than I want him to know.

“Please.” I’m crying now. “I wasn’t pretending with you. You must believe me. I never wanted this to happen.”

Dane lowers his head and presses his lips to mine. The kiss makes me dizzy, and I sag against him. When he pulls away, his green eyes lock onto mine.

“Who are you sending the information to? Last chance.”

I clutch the collar of his button-up shirt. “Dane, please. I can’t. Just leave this alone.”

I’m mentally willing him to understand. To trust me when I’ve given him no reason to. Especially when I don’t trust him either.

I can’t trust that he won’t go to the Council, which would put Sloane at risk. If there’s one thing I know he’d understand, it’s the need to do anything to protect my daughter. Even if it means losing the only man who’s ever made me feel this way.

“Wrong fucking answer.”

“Dane, I don’t have a choice—”

“There’s always a choice. And you chose wrong. You’ve lied to me since the first night of our marriage and proven that I can’t fucking trust you, Whitney. I promise you would have fared better having me on your side than against you.”

“Please.” The word breaks out of me while panic builds in my chest. “Please just punish me, Dane.”

I’m desperate for it, desperate for the pain that will make the guilt stop. “Tie me up. Spank me. Choke me. Use me however you want. Fuck my ass until it hurts. I deserve it. I deserve to be punished.”

“You want me to tie you to the bed and use every one of your holes?” His voice is bitter, and then he grabs my throat. “You want me to spank your ass until you’re crying? Make you beg for my cock? Then you want me to hold you and treat you like my good little wife?”

“Yes. Please. I need—”

“No.”

That single word makes my chest tighten. He’s refusing me. He knows I need him, and he’s denying me the only thing that helps make any of this better.

This is going to be so much worse than anything he’s done before.

“I’m going to fucking punish you, but I’m not going to give you what you want.” He releases my throat and steps back. “Strip.”

“What?”

“Take off your goddamn clothes, Whitney. Now.”

My hands shake as I pull off my shirt, then unhook my bra and drop it on the floor. I slide my pants and panties down my legs. When I’m naked, I stand there and wait for whatever comes next.

But instead of advancing on me, he just looks at me. His jaw is tight. His hands curl into fists at his sides. I can see he’s fighting what he really wants to say, and it breaks me. That’s the worst punishment—knowing that I’ve hurt him. That it’s even possible to hurt Dane Sinclair.