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“I’m not them,” he grinds out.
“But you are. You can’t help it. They treated me the way you did the night we met,” I say with a stony glare.
He flinches.
Good.
“You have to forgive me for that. It can’t be the reason you walk away,” he says.
“It’s not the only reason. Everything that’s happened this weekend. I don’t want to fight in the place where I’m supposed to be safe. I want a calm, quiet home. Those are my reasons.” I want to cry because all I want is for him to hold me.
“There’s a much better reason for you to stay,” he insists.
“Like what?” I ask impatiently.
“You love me. I belong to you,” he whispers, and I close my eyes on a pathetic whimper. He strokes his nose alongside mine. A tear rolls down my cheek.
“You belong to me,” he says before he crashes his lips on top of mine. He snags my lower lip between his teeth and sucks it, bites it. My fingers slide into his hair, and his tongue slips into my mouth. I let him taste me while I drink as much as I can handle before my body throbs for more. And then I gather tufts of his hair into my hands and yank—hard.
“Fuuuuck!” he roars and breaks our kiss.
I scramble around the bed.
“I belong to myself,” I snarl. “And yes, I kneeled in front of you and took what you gave me. But, I will never kneel for you again.”
He looks angry, but I still see that fear and I hate it. “You better not walk out of that door,” he says.
“Or what?” I hiss.
We face each other. His bed is like a battlefield between us. I press my knuckles into the mattress and lean toward him so I can look him in the eye one more time. There’s real distress in his that shakes my resolve. Damn him for making me love him so much.
“I am not afraid of you. How could I be? When you were so afraid of me that you needed a background check—" I say.
His face is pained. “I’m sorry—”
“You should be,” I snap. “But not for me. I’ve survived worse than a man who’s too blind to see that I’m the best thing that will ever happen to him.”
My heart tugs at the nearly gray pallor on his face when I turn to pick up my things. With each piece of clothing I throw into my bag, my resolve grows. I face him again. He’s watching me, his face thunderous and his body perfectly still.
“I’m leaving,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “You’ll be back. And I’ll be waiting.”
“Right,” I scoff dismissively and zip up my suitcase.
“You’re mine. My queen. What do you have without your king?” he asks coldly.
“All the power,” I say with an equally icy tone and then I smile and walk away from him.
Part II
RIVERS WILDE
HOUSTON, TX
THE RETURN
HAYES
