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No.
I needed to make him feel something for me.
I needed to make him need me.
And the only way I knew how to do that was with sex.
It hadn’t worked with Nyx. I’d been and done everything he wanted, but it hadn’t been enough. I had to pray that Brennan was different. That I could more than adequately satisfy him.
Our earlier kiss gave me courage where, before, I might not have dared approach him, but this was still me. I was still useless with my words, so I stayed silent. Instead, with my eyes now adjusted to the darkness, I saw the mound in the bed that told me he was on the right hand side, and I moved over to the left.
As I lifted the blanket and slipped underneath it, he asked, his tone more querulous than annoyed, “What are you doing?”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“And I’ll do because there’s no one else?” He heaved a sigh as I moved under the sheet, making me feel doubly unwanted.
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected in all honesty. I mean, I’d strong-armed the man into marriage. What more did I want from him?
But the truth was, he was the only person I had right now.
Which was so beyond depressing, so beyond illuminating that I huddled onto my side.
I’d chosen a life where I was a whore rather than work.
I’d chosen a life where I ran away from my responsibilities.
I’d chosen a life where my sisters didn’t know me and only called me for gyno issues because it was too embarrassing to go to the ER.
And how did I fix all that?
By tying myself to a man in the most lowdown way possible.
Despair suffocated me as I reached for him, needing to fill the empty hole inside me—not the one that was between my legs, but the one in my chest cavity.
I needed to escape. I needed to be free from these thoughts.
I pressed my hand to his chest, encountering bare skin and more of that scent that seemed to seep from his sheets, but his fingers caught mine. He held me firmly, resolutely. In a way that told me not to press him.
But what alternative did I have?
I needed him more than he needed me, and that was a balance I had to rectify.
“Camille, it’s late.”
I swallowed. “So?”
“You just murdered your father,” he said wryly. “This is reaction setting in, and I’m pretty sure that you’re going to regret this in the morning.”
“This time tomorrow night, you’ll be my husband. Are you saying you won’t consummate our marriage because of what I did?”
Another sigh gusted from his lips. “There’s no right or wrong answer here, is there? If I take advantage of what you’re offering, I’m a piece of shit. If I don’t take advantage, you’re probably going to think I’m not interested.” His hand shoved mine deeper beneath the covers. “There, satisfied?” He was hard.
Therewasa god.
“I will be soon,” I rasped, trying to sound seductive and failing. Could I do nothing right?
He grunted as I shaped him, my fingers sliding over his thick length. It was strange for him to be smooth, for his dick to be unlike Nyx’s. I’d had precious little experience with anyone other than him, and his shaft was so studded with metal I was pretty sure he couldn’t go anywhere near one of those detectors people used to find buried treasure in their backyards without setting off alarms.
