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“And you have to trust that I’m okay. I’m more than okay. I want you, Aslan. I want the real you. The sensitive you. The violent you.”
My eyes flared wide, locking with hers. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do.”
Pressing my nose against hers, I growled, “If I gave you the real me, you’d jump off this boat and never stop swimming.”
“Watching you beat Ethan last night was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. Not the violence. Not the blood. But you. You protecting me. You honouring me—”
“I wouldn’t be protecting you today, Nerida. You put yourself in harm’s way. Harm that I couldn’t save you from. You’re the one I’m angry with, no one else.”
“Then show me how mad you are, husband. And perhaps, I’ll apologise.”
“You’re literally going to be the death of me.” My bones cracked as she sent another white-hot wave of lust through me. I tried, one last time. My last-ditch effort to keep her safe...from me. “I’m not touching you, wife. Not while I’m seconds away from spanking you instead of loving you.”
She tipped her head back and moaned. Loudly. “Do it. I made you worry for me today. I made you watch me do something dangerous. Punish me.”
My vision went black. “Another one of your fetishes, canim?”
“A fantasy.”
“A nightmare.” I shook my head, planting my hands on her shoulders to push her away.
Only...
My fingers dug into her.
I held her tight and trapped.
“A nightmare that I can’t seem to wake up from,” I breathed, unable to look away from her mouth. Her pretty fucking mouth that’d sucked me off on this very boat. Her mouth that I’d kissed a thousand times and would always want a thousand more.
Another bolt of energy burned through us.
My hands turned to shackles on her shoulders.
Marching her back to the table, I wedged her against the edge and yanked at the bows of her bikini on her hips. “If I get too strong, you stop me. If I take too much, you scream. If I fuck you too hard, you—”
“Seahorse,” she whispered. “I’ll say the word seahorse and—”
I didn’t let her finish.
I grabbed her chin, held her prone, and kissed her brutally hard.
She moaned and linked her fingers in my hair, her tongue waging war against mine. She didn’t submit. She didn’t apologise. She fought me.
And I snapped.
Knocking her feet out from under her with a swipe of my leg, I caught her and lowered her to the deck. Tourists were close, but they wouldn’t see. Not if we stayed down. She gasped as I splayed her, wet and dripping, on the very same deck where I’d given her CPR. In a similar position with her on her back and our lips fused together in life and death.
That memory tried to blend with this.
The terror I’d felt at her blue lips. The horror I’d felt at her limpness.
I’d been so full of panic, so full of illicit love, of fear and loss and need.
She’d never apologised for that incident either.
In fact, she’d never said sorry for all the shit she’d made me feel. For all the ways she’d made me fall. All the inevitable, unfightable ways she’d made me hers.
