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“You were quite…tantrummy.”
“Yeah, I lost my temper,” I admit. “I said hateful things and frankly, I misdirected my anger at Amber. She’s not doing anything to hurt me. You are. And for someone that you claim not to care about. I’m worth less to you than someone you don’t care about.” I emphasize those words so he’ll hopefully understand how low, how depressed that can make a person. “You care about me in the moment. You care about me when I’m in danger or when I’m hurt. You care about me when we’re fucking.”
“And you want me to care about you all the time.” At least he gets it, even if it’s strange that I had to explain the concept in the first place.
“Beyond just getting pissed off if someone tries to kill me? Yes. I think I would like you to care enough when a situation is making me unhappy.” I don’t want to mention the situation by name. “Maybe it’s naive of me, but I thought you pursued me because you wanted to be with me. Not just in some symbolic way, or to breed. I thought you were interested in me. Do you realize how painful it is to hear your mate say they don’t need to get to know you?”
He doesn’t respond.
“When we thought you would die, I sat at your bedside for hours, hoping you would be okay. I cared about you. I care about you.” Reality hits my brain painfully. “But you don’t want me to. And you don’t want to care about me.”
“I ended things with Amber.”
Maybe I took too many pain pills today. “Say again?”
“I ended things. It was clear tonight that you’re far more troubled by her presence in my life than you first let on.” A sad smile touches the corner of his mouth. “I don’t want you to be lonely or sad. You don’t deserve that. Your happiness matters to me, more than Amber mattered to me.”
I’ve won. It feels hollow.
Maybe I can’t trust him. Maybe he’s just going to cover up his affair more cautiously. Since that’s really all I wanted in the first place, I can be happy with that.
“I’m sorry for what I said before,” he goes on. “About not needing to know you. I might not need to. I’m not sure I truly know anyone. And certainly, no one knows me. But you’re my mate. If not you, then who?”
“That makes sense to me,” I say weakly. The connection we have makes its presence very known. It’s such an opportune time; I don’t want this conversation muddied with lust. “We can be a stronger team if we’re not strangers who hate each other and occasionally fuck.”
“You said you didn’t hate me,” he reminds me.
He’s right. I don’t hate him. I just wish I could. “There are moments when I want to. But no. I don’t hate you.”
“I don’t hate you, either.” He replies, though it’s not something I was actually concerned about. I don’t think I’ve ever given him a valid reason to hate me. He adds, “And I don’t want to be cruel to you.”
“Then don’t be,” I tell him, and I lean my head on his shoulder.
To my surprise, he rests his cheek against my forehead and inhales deeply.
His whole body goes rigid.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, suddenly on full alert. “Is someone in here?”
I’m about to shout for the guards when Nathan grabs me and kisses the breath out of me. He pulls back, leaving me to reel in confusion for a moment before he kisses me again.
“What are you doing,” I gasp, pushing him back with my hand against his chest. “Was this whole thing just you trying to get laid?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head vehemently. But then he kisses me again.
“Stop it!” I jump to my feet and take a few steps back. “I’m serious, what the fuck are you doing?”
“You smell different,” he says. “And you taste different.”
I don’t understand what he’s getting at.
“Will you just…just trust me, all right?” He’s flustered and confused, and I’m slightly concerned and turned on by the fact that he can remember how my mouth tastes just as well as I remember the taste of his. He reaches out and hooks his fingers into the waistband of my jeans, popping the button on my fly.
“Okay, I trust you, but this genuinely seems like you’re trying to get into my pants. Because your hand is actually in my pants.” And my panties; a gasp slips from me as he works his fingers over my slit, down to plunge into my vagina.
He withdraws his hand and sniffs his finger before sucking it clean, while I pretend to be disgusted.
I’m not disgusted. I’m confused and readying to pull my jeans off and tell him to finish what he started. Instead, I say, “Seriously, what are you doing?”
