He gathered my hair, twisted and pulled, and my neck came back. “I’m not going to break you, am I?”
I answered with a move so swift and hard of my own that a tremor moved through him.
“Wh—What I did. To make you destroy the studio.” I moaned. I wanted him so damn bad. I felt the strong urge to move, to create friction and set the whole effing place on fire. But I knew what I had done to him in my state of despair. I had denied him and walked away with another man, instead of my husband. I was so angry that he refused to give me what I had lost again. “Punish me,mio marito.”
“You want me to punish you.” He tugged on my hair a little harder.
“Yes. Please.” I didn’t know what he had in mind, but the anticipation caused me to tremble all over like a fiend.
A rumble vibrated his chest. He came forward again, pulling my hair back even further, my throat vulnerable and exposed. Our eyes met.
“You aremywife.Myheart beats in your chest.Myblood runs through your veins. This ismybody.” He slapped a hand to my hip, and the sting of it made me clench and want more. “On your back. You’ll watch.”
I couldn’t move. I knew what was coming.You’ll watch and see what you’ve done to me.He was going to show me how much my actions had hurt him. How much I had hollowed him out. He would tear the rage from his eyes and all that haunted him would rise to his surface. I would feel it with him knowing that it was me who caused it.
“Look at me, Scarlett.”
I did as he ordered. I could barely hold his stare. Looking into his eyes was like watching a ravaging storm take the man that I loved more than myself, leaving me bereft and torn in half on the shore. I made a strangled noise but didn’t cry, though my heart twisted in pain.
He drove me to the brink of madness, and when he was done, I absentmindedly wondered if I was a jellyfish swaying with the tide of the sea. No muscles, no bones, nothing solid to make me conform. Wherever he carried me, I went, on and on and on, my only destinationhim.
* * *
The room turned a soft pink with streaks of glowing fire across the sky, the air rose gold again. Night had turned into another evening. I was on top of him, using my legs for what they were worth. His hands were on my breasts, while his eyes moved me harder than I could move myself. Sweat dripped and ran off of me, my body sliding easily against his, and the heady smell of us combined with the clean smell of the beach became an aphrodisiac.
“You look like some kind of—” he took a breath, hissing it out “—exotic creature.” Though he was barely able to talk, he was determined to get it out. “Your hair is—” He lost the words, and his hands came up, outlining the inflated mass that had become my hair. It was wild and free, feral, like I was with him. “Your eyes are glowing, like when you're jealous—fuck—make that sound again.”
I did, even louder. He joined in my chorus, adding to the ongoing rhythm.
“Is that—oh!Dothatagain.” He did, and I thought I’d go through the ceiling with his force. His hips came up, jolting me, and he hit something deep inside that made me scream out in pleasure. “What kind of c-creature?”
He laughed deep in his throat when I threw my head back and made some kind of noise that could’ve come from a wild animal. Then he became solid again, eyes intent. “Mine. That’s what you are. Mine.”
His words were my undoing—I gave in then and so did he, and we crashed into each other, screaming and quivering. Well, I screamed. My head came to his chest, my ear listening to the pounding of his heart while it receded into a normal beat.
“Water,” I barely got out. “I need water.” I sat up and winced when he disconnected our physical connection by setting me to the side. It was more natural to be connected to him now than not. He stopped me before my feet touched the floor.
“I’ll get it,” he said, kissing my lips.
“No, I need to walk.” I stood and had to hold on to the bed to stop from tilting. Stepping away from Brando was like stepping off a stupefying ride. It took a moment to realize it had ended. It was rare that he gave me control, allowing me to be on top. That had something to do with it too.
Brando stood next to me, watching my face, hand on my arm. “All right, Ballerina Girl?”
“Yes. Just regaining my equilibrium. I think you knocked it loose.”
The smile on his face was too smug, but so was mine. Moving reminded me of the satisfied ache that accompanied so much sex. My muscles turned to water, my bones jelly. My husband’s brand had been made, his scent following me like a fragrance. I found it all highly erotic and I started to get turned on again.
Instead of water, there was fresh cranberry juice in the fridge—Brando must’ve requested it. I drank straight from the jug, tart with a sweet twist. Before heading back to the room, I grabbed a bottle of water for Brando, and mango pieces for us to snack on. Standing at the threshold of the kitchen, I threw him the water. He caught it with one hand and began to chug it.
“I was just thinking,” I said, munching on a piece of fruit.
He sighed after he drank, wiping a hand across his mouth. “Have mercy.” He opened his mouth and caught the flying mango I hummed at him.
“I think Agwe is right—about me, I mean—but not exactly. He forgot to add a vowel to nymph.”
Brando’s eyebrows drew down and he cocked his head to the side. “Are you overheated? Maybe you should come and sit down.”
I smiled. “I’m all right. Better than all right, in fact. I think Agwe forgot an ‘O’.”
