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“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I said, dropping my eyes to the floor. I wanted to convey deference to him, subservience. I had a feeling Alexander needed that. He needed me to be the kind of woman who enjoyed the classes we were given, who didn’t see how fucked up it was that I ate his crusts while he dined at lunch. “I’ll try not to do it again.”
“I’ll talk to my father and see if there’s anything we can do about it,” he said, still gripping my shoulders. “We could give you a chip. A tiny implant, so I would never lose you again.”
My eyes widened, and I looked directly at him.
“A tracking device?” I asked, not disguising my horror very well.
“You wouldn’t even know it was there,” he said as if that would reassure me. “My father would arrange it, and you know how adept he is at things like that.”
I nodded vaguely, but in fact, I didn’t. I didn’t remember anything at all about Mr. Remington other than being observed from a short distance when I’d been in the clinic after my coma.
“He developed the medication that’s keeping you from slipping back under,” he said and relaxed his hands at last. He moved one of them to the back of my neck, where Luke’s hand had been just a short time before. Instead of making me melt, it made me ice up, and I suppressed a shiver that threatened to snake up and down my spine.
Alexander ran his other hand around my neck to my jawline, where he stroked it with a single finger. He surely meant for it to be sensual, but I didn’t want him touching me like that. Every fiber in my being screamed against him, touching me with anything other than purely functional motions. This desire was foreign and unwelcome.
And yet, he was my fiancé. A man who came from the most powerful family in the country, whose own father controlled the very substances put into my body and into the bodies of half the patients in North America.
Who was I to look down my nose at Alexander Remington? Who was I to question Mr. Remington’s sheer genius?
These thoughts ruled my head, but those damned intrusive images came, unbidden, to the surface again.
An image of me having sex with Rome, but we were both younger. And an image of me writhing in pure bliss at the end of Luke’s massive thickness. And I knew it was thick. I knew they both were.
How could I know what they both felt like if I’d never been with either of them?
These kinds of questions tormented me and left me breathless in confused distress.
“You need your pills,” Alexander said and pulled me against his body. He was muscular and well built, but again… he was the wrong man for me. “But first, you need to remember who you belong to, Willow. Who owns you.”
Before I could respond, his mouth crushed mine and silenced any words I desperately wanted to cry out. When he kissed me, it wasn’t like Luke. It was fierce and determined. There was no hesitation from him. He owned me, at least that’s what he thought. I belonged to him, or at least I belonged to his family.
He squeezed my face in his soft, long fingers and pulled away.
“Fucking kiss me, my little sparrow,” he rasped. “Kiss me like you mean it. Like you love me. Let me know how much your hot little cunt needs me.”
Fuck. I didn’t love him, and my cunt, hot or otherwise, wasn’t thinking about him at all. But I had to fake it, either until I made it or I could escape. Once I got the lay of the land and figured out what was going on, I could take the chance of angering him.
Until then, I was forced to play his game.
And so I kissed him back. His mouth was cruel, and he didn’t stop squeezing my face as he jammed his tongue into my mouth and stole my breath, sucking it into his lungs as if he claimed the very air I had in my body.
Tears sprung to my eyes, and I squeezed them shut, hoping to stop them from spilling down my cheeks. I feared his reaction.
But I wasn’t able to hide them, and he paused with his mouth still on mine, pulled his hand free, and released my face. I felt him smile against my lips, then slip his tongue along them, across my cheek, and under my eye. He licked my hot salty tears, then repeated it on the other side.
“I love it when you cry,” he breathed out in a quivering voice as he finished drinking my sorrow. “I love it when your tears paint your face, my sweet little sparrow.”
And that’s when I understood who owned me, truly and fully. Alexander Remington owned my hand and my tears, my body and my cunt.
But he would never own my heart.
And that’s why he maybe tried to kill me once.
And would maybe try again.
I had to make sure he didn’t succeed.
CHAPTER10
