“Ooh,” I muttered. “Emery.” Not lass. Ormacushla. Or even girl, with that rolling urr that sounded so sexy.
Stripping swiftly, I sank down into the hot water, letting the water run over my toes as I laid my head back against the curving porcelain.
“Em.”
“Go away.”
Even with the water running, I could hear his heavy sigh. Then athunk. Once, twice, three times. His head, most likely.
“I will not make love to you when you’re not there with me, Emery Lane. You have to trust me enough to let some of that infernal control go—”
Turning the water off, I sat up in affront. “You’re middle naming me now? This just keeps getting better.”
“You were in your head, and you know it. When we make love, I want you thinking of me and me alone or not thinking at all. But I’ll not have you thinking of bad memories, or that bastard who hurt you.”
“Go away now, Kidnapper. I need to get myself off, no thanks to you.”
Stillness from beyond the door. I sloshed the water in a deliberate manner, smirking to myself when I heard his roar. It was followed by a final bang against the door—his fist, I thought—and then the sound of his receding footsteps.
Closing my eyes and holding my breath, I sank beneath the surface.
There, the water hid my tears.
Some hours later I punched my pillow and closed my eyes for the four hundred and thirty-second time since I’d gone to bed. I couldn’t sleep. The remainder of the evening had been tense, with Brodie sitting in disapproving silence at his laptop and me sticking my nose stubbornly between the pages of a book. I turned pages without reading a single word, until finally I’d tossed it down and gone to bed.
Brodie was on the other side of the bed, lying on his back with his arms folded beneath his head. Since I didn’t think anyone could actually sleep in that position, I figured he was probably staring into nothing, as I was.
I was still pissed at him.
I’d given him everything I had. Every ounce of the tiny bit of trust I had developed. I’d bared myself to him, both literally and emotionally, telling him honestly that I just needed something good, dammit. I just needed to feel something good. How difficult was it to help me out with that?
Instead, he’d climbed off me and walked away.
Refusing me, like I was someone’s sloppy seconds.
It hurt.
“You awake?”
I thought about not answering him. “I just punched my pillow, Brodie. You know I’m awake.”
“We should talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Why are you so pissed at me?”
I flipped over to look at him in disbelief. “Gee, I don’t know. I practically throw myself at you and you reject me! Don’t you think that would make anyone mad?”
“I wasn’t rejecting you, dammit, Em! Would you just fecking listen to me?”
I flung myself against my pillow and crossed my arms over my chest. “Fine. Talk.”
He blew a single hard breath out through his nose. “I care about you, Emery. And you’re making me fecking crazy.” I started to speak, irritated, but he stopped me with a sharp motion of his hand. “Just…don’t. Let me speak. Hear me,macushla.” After a moment he continued. “I want to make love to you so bad it’s a constant pain. But I won’t do it if there’s any chance you’ll think of the man who raped you. Any chance you’ll mistake my hands for his, my mouth for his. My cock for his.”
I lay quietly, absorbing his words. I thought he was finished until he spoke again some minutes later. “I think I’d lose my shit if I saw that look in your eyes again. That one of panic mixed with distance. When you can trust me enough to be there with me, one hundred percent, I will fuck you until your eyes cross from how good it feels. But not before then.”
Rolling back over so my back was to him, I said merely, “okay.” Inside I was waging a bitter war. I wanted him. My core ached from the emptiness that had been so close to satisfaction earlier. It was wet from the echo of his words.I’ll fuck you until your eyes cross.
