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So yeah, she’s right. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where I got my need for tying up women before fucking them.
Each time I have, they’ve developed feelings for me, which is why I have stuck to the rule of fucking them once, then moving on.
Just like I should do with her… Correction—just like I have done with her already. I turn over on my side, toss the book aside, and sit up.
She walks out of the bedroom, dressed in her now clean pants and shirt. Which is fine. This is best, us behaving like strangers. After everything I said to her—none of which I meant—I deserve the insults she hurled my way. It was uncharitable and immature, to say the least, and I hit her where it would hurt the most.
I hunch my shoulders. Not my fucking proudest moment either. But the woman drives me crazy. Hell, snowed up in this lodge instead of celebrating our delayed Christmas with the rest of the family is crazy. Not that I had looked forward to spending time with my brothers. Every time I am with them, it only highlights the fact that Xander is gone.
I draw in a breath. He’s fucking gone; he’s never coming back. I dig my fingers into my hair and tug. The pain ripples down my back. Good. I deserve to feel that and more.
If I could, I would take your place. You know that, brother, don’t you? I wish I had reached there just a few minutes earlier; if I had, I’d have been able to help you. But I hadn’t, and I’ll always blame myself for it.
The sound of dishes being clanked in the kitchen reaches me. The scent of cooking tickles my nostrils. My stomach grumbles.
Yeah, Xander is gone, and I’m still alive and hungry. My twin will never feel these basic urges again. These sensations that confirm to me that I’m alive. And fuck, if that’s not messed up. Why the hell can’t I will my body to shut down? To go through what he did. To feel, for one second, how it would be to not feel, to not exist. To not have to worry about feeding or clothing myself. Or wanting to be inside her again.
Why is it that I want to resist her, but I can’t? Every time I see her, feel her, smell her, all I want is to fuck her one more time? Why is she everything opposite to what I want to be right now? To shut myself off and mourn. That’s what I should be doing.
Instead, I’ve put myself in a position where I have no choice but to go through this fake marriage with her. To feel alive every time I see her. To long to possess her every time I smell her. To need to mark her as my own every time I touch her. And I, apparently, can’t stop myself from hurting her.
"Cazzo!"I spring to my feet and head for the kitchen. I burst inside to find her standing at the island, mixing something in a bowl.
She glances up as I barrel toward her. "What are you—" she begins to say, but I push aside the bowl, then grab her by the shoulders and apply enough pressure so she bends over the counter. "What the hell, Christian?" she splutters. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
I release her shoulders, only to grab her one wrist, then the other. "This is all your fault," I rage. And I know I sound unreasonable, but fuck that. Ever since she’s come into my life, everything has turned upside down. "If you hadn’t helped Karma escape, then none of this would have happened."
"If I hadn’t aided Karma, she and Michael would still be at loggerheads." She glowers up at me. "Which doesn’t explain why the hell you’re holding me down?"
"You make me crazy; you know that? Every time I think I know you, something happens that completely overturns what I think of you."
"Join the crowd." She snorts. "You’re the most annoying, frustrating man I’ve ever met. Speaking of, you really are a bully; you know that?"
"Took you so long to figure that out?" I glance around the kitchen and spot the apron hanging over a chair. I grab it and begin to tie her wrists with it.
"Christian, what the hell?" she explodes. "I was making dinner, and you just interrupted the proceedings."
"Fuck dinner," I growl as I complete tying up her wrists. She tries to straighten, and I push my palm into the center of her back. I hold her there, then reach around to unhook the waistband of her pants.
"Stop that," she yells.
I pause with my fingers on her zipper. My chest rises and falls. I hold her gaze, and she stares back. Color smears her cheeks. Her pupils are blown, her lips parted, and her hair flows about her shoulders.
"Do you really want me to?" I drawl. "Or are you so turned on by the fact that I couldn’t keep away from you, that I had to come in here as you were midway through making dinner and throw you over the island and am ready to take you now, you can barely stop your arousal from leaking down your inner thighs?"
She swallows.
"Say the word, Flower, and I’ll leave right now." I release her, step back, and hold up my hands. "Do you want me to untie you and stop touching you? Do you, Aurora? Just say the word, and I’ll do so."
"I.." She shakes her head. "I…" She squeezes her eyes shut. "I want you to fuck me, Christian."
The blood drains to my dick. "Open your eyes and tell me when you are looking at me."
She blows out a breath, then snaps her eyes open. "I thought you didn’t like how I look."
"Cazzo!"I drag my fingers through my hair. "I was pissed off, okay. I didn’t mean what I said."
"Are you sure?" She trains her gaze on me. "It didn’t seem like that when you shared your real opinion about me."
