The desperation in her words hit me harder than I expected. Everything about her hit me in ways I didn’t see coming or know how to deal with.
She was right, of course. Sex complicated things, it always had.
Even meaningless sex.
The violent fucking that we had been doing was bad enough, but then these moments of tenderness added another layer of complexity that neither one of us could deal with.
Given everything that she had endured over the last two days, her plea was more than reasonable. And I stared into her tear-filled eyes, something inside me splitting open.
A muscle ticked in my jaw. My hands clenched into fists where they rested against her back, every instinct screaming at me to pull her closer, to take what I wanted, to remind her exactly who she belonged to.
I forced myself to breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth.
Control. I needed control.
"Please, I just need to be left alone." She slid out of my arms and back across the couch, wrapping her arms around herself, making herself as small as possible.
The pain she was in wasn't the type of pain I put her in. It was not the physical exhaustion or even the physical pain that reminded us of the pleasure, or even the kind of pain that was used to teach a lesson.
It was the kind that left scars on your character, and still she bore them without letting them turn her bitter.
I stood abruptly, unable to sit still any longer. I paced to the window, then back, my hands flexing at my sides. The need to touch her, to claim her, to make her understand that she was mine—it was a living thing clawing at my insides.
I poured myself more wine with movements that were too controlled, too precise. The kind of control that came from years of practice restraining violence.
But I couldn't stay away.
I moved back to the couch, sitting at the opposite end. My hand found her ankle through the duvet, my grip firm but not painful. Just a reminder. A tether.
She looked at me with those wounded eyes, and I stared back, something shifting in my chest.
I couldn't leave her alone. I wouldn't let her suffer. Not when I could make her feel good.
I stood again, prowling toward her with deliberate steps.
Her eyes widened, and she pressed back into the couch cushions. "Darius?—"
I caged her in with my arms, one hand on either side of her head, leaning down until my forehead pressed against hers. Our breaths mingled, and I could see her pulse hammering in her throat.
"No," I said, my voice rough, uncompromising.
"No?" she echoed, confused, afraid.
"No." I slid one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back, and lifted her against my chest. "You don't get to be left alone. Not tonight."
She emitted a weak sound of protest, her hands pushing halfheartedly against my shoulders, but her body was exhausted, wrung out from everything she'd endured.
I carried her toward my bedroom, her head falling against my shoulder in reluctant surrender.
"Where are you taking me?" Her voice was small, resigned.
"To bed,maya soloveyka. Where I can keep you safe."
"Safe from what? From who?"
I pushed through the bedroom door with my shoulder. "From everyone," I murmured, setting her down on her feet. “Except me.”
CHAPTER 22
