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The last two days have been relatively comfortable. We haven’t sabotaged each other, and she’d made us dinner tonight. I don’t want to get attached and I don’t want her to get attached; I want her to be free and live the life she wanted. Us getting along like a normal couple sans sex makes me want that for her more. I also want her more in ways that wouldn’t set her free.
I find the perfect word to finish the crossword on my phone and come up with a solution. If we can make it through to annulment, I’ll ask her out. If I win her over, It’d be better marrying on her terms and I won’t feel like an accomplice in this wedding scam. The information is there for her to read in her prenup but she hasn’t read it. I can tell by the way she’s looking at me as we finish dinner.
This is harder than the war. Being vulnerable in front of her has her thinking we’re bonding. Bonding leads to trust and shit. Also, she looks ready to try again. Karessa touches me more now. Slight touches like running her hand along my shoulder when she put my plate in front of me or kissin
g me on the cheek when she leaves the house.
This needs to stop.
“Are you coming to bed?” she inquires from the bedroom.
This is the shit I’m talking about.
“Yeah. In a bit,” I respond coolly although I feel low level panic.
There aren’t many more times I’ll be able to turn her down. It will be painful for both of us, but I must push her back. She’s too comfortable. We’re too comfortable. While it’s hard to hate her, it’s even harder not to fall for her.
She’s in bed wearing a silky robe. I’m sad to see her hair down. She may think I don’t pay attention, but I’ve learned that when she’s truly ready for bed, she’d have on a headscarf or a similar wrap. I checked with Jagger, Ainslee does the same.
Bee-lining to the bathroom, I take my sweet time getting ready for bed while praying she’d just go to sleep or read her damn prenup.
The lights are out once I’m done. Using the flashlight on my phone, I climb into bed and relax on my back.
Her soft body warms my side as she rolls over and drapes her arm over my waist and abdomen.
“Hold me, Oran,” she coos.
Fuck. I roll on my side facing her while letting out a long aggravated sigh. Hoping it’ll start one of those why-are-you-breathing-like-that arguments; it doesn’t.
Her soft hand caresses my jaw for a second, then her pouty lips cover mine. I give in, taking the kiss and giving it back. Her sweet tongue has me falling deeper into the kiss, giving into my craving. Karessa’s hands are fisting my black strands as my fingers dig into the dip of her hip. I continue to take, stealing kisses meant for her real husband and not the imitation that I am. My irritation has me nipping her lip, and her moan pisses me off.
Why does she like that shit? Why do I want her to like it?
I give her my frustrations: my fingers branding, pulling her hair, adding pressure to my bites. She takes it all and pushes for more. Climbing on top of me, she rubs what I discover is her bare pussy on my hard dick through my pajamas bottoms. I’m mad I want what she is offering so bad, I snap and pull my mouth away from hers.
“Dammit, Trophy. How many times do I have to say no? It’s not happening. Put your pussy on ice or something.”
I hear her quick intake of the breath. She hisses.
“You big asshole.” And harshly palms my face as she climbs off.
She rolls to her side facing away from me and I wonder if I went too far. I want to keep her in her place, but I don’t want her to hate me.
She’s abnormally quiet. Too quiet. The silence rages between us until I hear her sniff. Karessa climbs out of bed and I hear the soft click of the bathroom door.
I am a big asshole.
* * *
Karessa
I shut the bathroom door. The pain of rejection stings as it tears and rips at my skin. Hell is killing me. Not only is he grumpy, but he refuses to give me the one thing he’s been threatening to give me. He shattered my hope to maybe keep the truce by making love into irreplaceable pieces. Oran will never want me the way I want him. I cover my mouth with my palm to mute my sobs, my tears run hotly down my cheeks and over my hand as I struggle for composure. This can’t be my life.
The click of the door has me turning to my vanity. Rifling through my makeup bag, I pretend to look for something to avoid dealing with Hell. I stop breathing once I feel his heat on my back. His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me to his hard body, and I stiffen. I do not want pity sex.
“Karessa,” his voice warbles as if saying my name is torture. My pulse quickens. Outside of your vows, I haven’t heard my name off his lips. This time, it’s a pained whisper just below my ear as his beard tickles my neck. “Karessa…”
It’s too much. I try to move away but his grip is tight but his palm splayed on my abdomen is gentle.
