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Nothing makes me feel like Cam does.
And as my stomach sinks like a stone, I tip over into the visceral delight of being bad.
So, so bad.
But bad feels good.
So, so good.
The groan of frustration that comes out of my throat, my mouth, my nose, makes me reach back and run my fingers through my hair, my hand curling into a fist as I tug lightly, imagining it’s Cam pulling my hair, Cam’s hands on my breasts, Cam’s mouth moving down my ribs, kissing my thighs, going places where only my future husband is allowed.
Despair has a physical state. It rests between my navel and my heart, a tug of war that is fruitless.
Because there is no way to win.
Tap tap tap
“Princess?” It’s Malcolm. “Is something wrong? I heard you make a sound.”
“No,” I call back, my skin on fire, some of it a burning rage that makes me choke. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? May I open the door for visual confirmation?”
Maybe Cam is right. Maybe I am a prisoner. I cannot make a sound without being interrogated. What kind of life is this?
“No.”
“Princess.” He sounds nervous. Good. He should be nervous. He’s speaking to his queen. An anger I didn’t know I carried in my bones begins to seep out into my blood, stronger than any emotion I’ve ever felt before.
Even stronger than my desire for Cam.
Because they’re keeping me from him.
What else are they keeping me from?
And from me?
“Leave me alone, Malcolm.”
“How do I know you aren’t being told to say that by a captor?”
The laugh pours out of me, mocking and sharp. It feels so good.
“If a captor were in here, forcing me to say all the right things to make you go away, you’d have failed to do your job. You fool,” I spit out, enjoying the power of being mean.
Who knew it could feel so good?
If Malcolm is keeping me prisoner here, then he is my captor. Not some nameless, faceless man. I need to ask Cam so many questions. He seems to know more about me than I ever imagined.
My stomach is swirling with anxiety, and my face feels flushed.
“Princess. Please.”
“GO AWAY!” I scream. Now Jason will come, of course, because if I scream, the bodyguards come rushing.
But the tiny sound I made a moment ago got as much attention as a full-throated shriek. Why is that?
“I CAN’T!” Malcom shouts. “YOU KNOW THAT!”
