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Chapter twenty-seven
Lyla
Hewaswaitingfor her when she entered the room, his elbows on his knees, his eyes on the door.
Looking at him, after the space she'd taken, everything she'd been holding together crumbled.
He was up and around her before she could blink, his arms holding her tight, his chest against her face, and she breathed him in, shaking, shivering, sobbing.
"I'm so mad at you," she told him between hiccups.
"I know, flamma," he spoke quietly, his words against her hair. "I know."
"And I'm mad that your plan worked," she grumbled into his chest.
He pressed a soft kiss to her head, before pulling back, pressing an even softer one to her lips. "I don't regret doing what I had to do for us to be here."
"Do you regret anything at all?" she asked him, their eyes locking together.
"I regret that you were hurt."
That was all. But she didn't know why she was surprised. She knew who he was, how he operated, how his system worked. Somehow, in the midst of his extreme and her extreme, they'd struck a balance—where he took from her what she gave and she took from him what he gave. She couldn't forget that. But she was still mad, and she needed him to be mad, to work this anger out of herself in some way.
She pushed him away, going to the shower, and was aware of him following her, his eyes curious on her changing expressions. "I'm feeling too much right now," she told him, stripping her clothes. "So much I feel like I'm going to explode without figuring a thing out."
He tilted his head to a side. "What are you feeling?"
She locked their eyes in the mirror's reflection, provoking him. "Imagine that I'm leaving you." She saw his body stiffen. "Imagine that this is the last time you'll touch me." His eyes blazed. "Imagine that you can't do anything to stop it. Think of that, and how pissed you'd be. Would you even be angry?"
"I don't know if it'll be anger," he stated softly. "But if that ever happened, there would be absolute annihilation."
She shivered, her hands gripping the counter. She needed something, something to calm the tornado inside her, she didn't know what, and she looked at him, begging him to understand and give it to her.
He came to stand behind her, his eyes steady on hers. "Trust me still?"
With everything she was feeling, everything that had unraveled over the last few hours, she looked at him. Stupid fucking heart, still trusted him.
Taking her silence for the answer it was, he took a step closer, coming to loom over her. "Trust me still?"
The question, asked again, only told her that he wanted her answer verbalized.
"Yes," she told him. She did. Despite everything, she did.
A soft kiss pressed to her head. "Good girl."
Before she could say another word, she was bent over the counter, her breasts pushed against the sink, her ass out as he held her down with one hand on the back of her neck.
His other hand rubbed her ass cheek softly, the callouses on his hand stroking against soft skin, before he smacked it.
She yelped, her heart pounding as she looked straight into the mirror, her eyes locking with his.
"You will release everything inside you, flamma," he commanded her, his voice low. "Every time my hand comes down, you will release whatever you're holding onto, and you will give it to me. Understand?"
Her chin began to quiver. "Yes."
Eyes locked with hers, his palm came down on her other cheek, harder than the first. She exhaled deeply and closed her eyes, imagining herself letting go. She could let go. She could be free. She knew it because she'd had it, and she could have it again. The past didn't have any control over her anymore.
His hand came down again, and a cry left her unbidden. "I hate you for keeping the truth from me."
