“You left me,” I said.
“I did.”
“You went to see that monster.”
“I did that, too.”
“You kissed a monster.”
“He kissed me.”
“I know how much you love monsters.” I smiled, but there was nothing pleasant about it. “Being so close to the biggest monster of all, did it turn you on?”
Her eyes narrowed into lethal slits. She was about to shoot venom. That made the two of us. I slid a hand between her legs, brought my mouth to her breast, pushing the fabric down.
“Is that why you did it? Defied me? For a thrill?”
She shoved at my chest, hardly budging me. “Get off of me!” her voice trembled out. “You son of a bitch!”
“Or the son of a fucking monster. I’ll talk dirty to you, if you want.”
“You bastard! You’re touching me to see if I’m turned on—at the thought of—” She shoved at me as hard as she could. She couldn’t move me. Not even with a weapon. I’d die before I ever let her go—this way or any other.
“Or maybe you need more,” I said, sliding my hands toward her throat. The pulse in her neck was as frantic as a bird’s that had been caught in a lethal animal’s grip. “Maybe you need for me to truly hurt you to turn you on.” My hand twitched. I was barely able to contain the urge to apply more pressure.
“Get. Off. Of. Me!”
“Is that a no from my wife again?”
“You damn right it is! Open your eyes, Fausti. See what’s right in front of you!”
“Say it again,” I said, pinning her wrists above her head. “Say the word.”
Ten minutes, a hundred years, her hesitation couldn’t be calculated in time. Then her mouthed moved, the word came out, and everything went black before red surged up and blinded me.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Scarlett
One word. No.
It triggered him like a war cry on a battlefield. Even saying the word with a tremble didn't pause his reaction. But I knew I had to.
The battle between his body and mine had been about to begin. The constant crossover between pleasure and pain. He wanted to show me, make me feel how he had felt. The hurt in his eyes stole the oxygen I needed to breathe. And that’s what he would do to me with his body.
We always used our bodies to wage war against each other. I had always welcomed it, waving the red flag, ready for the battle, for him to pummel me with his passion. It was our way—we had to fight our way back to love.
I couldn’t risk it, though. I refused to risk it. He could tear me in two, almost had a few times, making me so sore afterward that I could hardly sit for days. Back then, I wanted it. Craved it. Begged for it even. Urging him to violence to bring us to peace. Not this time. It wasn’t just the two of us any longer.
No. I'd say it again.
I didn’t have to, though. Once was enough.
Once upon a time, I had asked him if a safe word was needed between us. He had grinned at me and said, “Yeah, say the word ‘no’ or ‘stop.’ That’ll do.”
When I refused this time, not adding anything else, like, “lento, I needlento,” he went to war with himself.
His fists impaled the brick next to me, the crack of either knuckles or stone ringing in my ears.
