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“Are you—Is that my shirt?” He cocks his head to the side, a lifted eyebrow and curious amusement spreading across his face. I look down in horror, heat rushing my cheeks. I must have swept it up by accident in my angry rush.
“Don’t change the subject.”
He steps forward like a hungry predator but stops himself, and my eyes roam the canvas of his body. His tattooed chest rises and falls, and sweat runs in rivulets down his chiseled abs. The black ink spelling outVULPESin an arch above his diaphragm is a handsome contrast to his fair skin. Celtic knots twist and turn into the shape of a fox’s head on his sternum, and a patchwork of smaller, traditional-style tattoos decorate the rest of his skin.
My hand crunches around the small box in my hand, and I throw it at his feet. “And what the fuck is this shit?Plan B? You really think I’d let you stick your dick in me and risk having little Fox brats running around if I wasn’t on birth control?”
He glances at it but doesn’t pick it up and swallows hard. He fixes me with a stare that’s both angry and apologetic, as if he’s mad I didn’t accept his gift, but sad he thought it was necessary.“I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t, because you didn’t bother to fucking ask.” My blood boils, temperature rising with my voice.
Last night was terrible,I tell myself while I’m trying to remember how to breathe.
I’m still sore, because despite what I said in the Den, it’snotlittle. Far from it and before last night, it had been a while. A moment that I’ve thought about for years as an intangible fantasy was ruined by the fucking mess we’ve found ourselves in.
I meant what I said last night. I didn’t want to see his face. But not for the reason he thinks.
I didn’t want to see the apology in his eyes because I’m not ready to forgive him. Idon’tforgive him. He’s hurt me in so many different ways, and I still come crawling back for more. Maybe he’s right, and I like the pain. Whether it comes in the form of a paddle in his hand or the emotions behind his eyes. Maybe I need the sting and burn and hurt to feel something more than the cold detachment permeating my everyday life.
I knew if he fucked me face to face, he would try to kiss me. And I would let him. And whatever hope I tasted on his lips would make it all hurt so much worse.
“Looks good on you.” He flicks his chin at my outfit with a wolfish grin. I get the feeling he’s purposely trying to annoy me to avoid addressing the fact that he was too eager to get his dick wet than ask about protection.
“You’re the fucking bane of my existence, you know that?” I tug the shirt over my head and throw it at him. His jaw slackens and nostrils flare as his eyes comb over my thin bralette. “I picked it up by mistake. Maybe I would have noticed if I’d gotten a lick of sleep last night.”
He balls the shirt up, and I notice blood is seeping through the tape around his knuckles. “You’re welcome to my shirts anytime. What’s mine is yours, wife.”
“Thanks for the offer, but it won’t happen again. Now I’m going back to bed, and you’re going to find something to do that doesn’t sound like a fucking army of rhinoceros is going to bust through the floor.”
He calls after me as I walk away, “Next time, lose the bra and I’m sure your body will entertain me for a long time.”
And then the infuriating pounding of fist on leather resumes again.
Maybe I should have killed him.
_____________________
2
I’m puttering around the small apartment looking for something to entertain myself with while Finn is thankfully somewhere out of sight. I find a ring of keys by the door and decide to go exploring.What’s his is mine, right?
Two keys go to the garage and apartment in the barn. Not super interesting. The other three keys are clearly meant for doors, so I figure the next best option is the big house.
Climbing up the steps, I have a strong rush of déja vu about the night I was here last with Finn ten years ago…
The truck’s headlights swept across the dirt drive, and I looked out the window to the aged but clearly well-loved farmhouse. A few hours earlier, Finn got into a fight with a cashier who was rude to me. I can’t remember what started it, but when Finn told him to watch his mouth, he told him to fuck off.
Then Finn broke his nose. The tired look in his eyes walking out of that gas station is burned into my memory. Even at twenty-one, he had a reputation to uphold, but he didn’t get any joy out of it. Not like now.
Now, I can see the way his eyes light up at the promise of inflicting pain. And despite any rational logic, I want to feel that pain.
Christ, I’m fucked up.
The second key I test in the front door unlocks it. The door creaks as I slowly open it. I feel as if I’m breaking into someone’s home though I know it’s empty. I try to tuck away the memory of the last time I was here and everything that followed, and distract myself with what’s in front of me.
Finn was telling the truth. The place looks completely untouched. Like the previous owner just evaporated and nothing changed save the buildup of dust. There’s a rocking chair in the front room with a hand-knit blanket draped over the back and a book face down on the seat, still spread open to hold their page.
The house looks suspended in time, glass lamps and doilies on most side tables and surfaces. Porcelain angels and other figurines are amongst the knick-knacks strewn about, the typical stacks of Stephen King and James Patterson books piled on end tables. Embroidered pillows and chunky blankets are piled on the corners of the couch.
