“What about your mother?”
A loud huff spills from him, and he pushes me away, then he rolls off the bed and grabs the pillow from the bed that he had meriding.
“Azrael?”
“This”—he waves his finger between us—“is why I fuck and leave. I don’t want to talk about fucking feelings, Little Toy. I have none.”
“Well, I do, and right now, I feel like you’re being a dick!” I snap back, unable to help myself.
He jolts, and the confused look on his face would be comical if I weren’t so angry.
“And before you leave, I want you to know I want to go outside. I tried asking Elizabeth, but the woman refuses to speak to me. Which is rude, might I add.” I cross my arms over my chest.
He blinks, staring back at me as if I have multiple heads.
“I always imagined when I had sex it would be with a man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” The air thickens between us, but it’s like I’m invisible to the danger swirling between us, so I continue on with my tirade. “To be wined and dined, to go on a perfect date, dance, and he’d take me home and make love to me. Instead, I got this!” I shout.
He laughs, and the sound is full of mocking. “You’re in a fucking dream world, sweetheart. Let me tell you something.” He takes two steps forward, then he grabs a hold of my hair and yanks it back, straining my neck for me to stare up at him. “You gave your body to me, Hevan.” He spits the words out like acid, and I wince at the spite in them. “Your life is here until I say otherwise, so get any silly fairytale notions out of your damn head and concentrate on pleasing me in order to survive. There will be no fucking dates, no dancing, and no fucking making love.” He releases me, and I slump onto the mattress. The tears brimming in my eyes don’t come until the door closes behind him, and when they do, I cry until I can’t cry anymore.
I cry for the life I was supposed to have, and for the man I want him to be.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Azrael
My body is thrumming with adrenaline, literally alive at the thought of what’s coming. I sent Elizabeth to collect her from her room and bring her here, and I feel her before I see her. When she steps into the room and sucks in a sharp gasp of air, I try not to smile but fail miserably.
Two nights ago, her screaming and accusing me of derailing her plans had me jealous. The thoughts of her marrying someone and giving herself to them and not me catapulted my entire being into a new hell, one I have no control over, one that causes so much pain there’s no coming back from.
The truth is, she could have all of that and more, but I refuse to allow it. She’s mine; I just need her to be happy about it.
I might not be able to offer the future she desperately wants, but I can offer her simple pleasures. I can offer her gifts and, if need be, dates. It’s not something I’ve considered before now, so I’ve no clue where to start. If I wanted awoman, I just took them or paid for them. I sure as shit didn’t need to work at them or keep them satisfied. But with Hevan, I find myself wanting to.
“Azrael?” The red under her eyes has something twisting deep inside me, but I push it aside and continue with my plan. “A library?” She trails her finger over the edge of the wood, much like she stroked over my scars and tattoos, blessing me with her touch while I, unbeknownst to her, gifted her with allowing her to touch me so intimately. Not a single woman has touched me like she has. I’ve never wanted them to, but with her, I appear to want to push my boundaries. I want her exploration, however much I also hate it.
“The shelves look new.” She turns to face me, the blue of her eyes bright, full of hope and wonder.
“They are new.” I rest my hands on the back of the wingback chair, another new addition.
She studies the room again before her attention lands back on me.
“I don’t understand.”
“You like to read. I figured you wanted a library.”
Her mouth opens, then closes before she shakes her golden locks and tries again. “You created a library for me?”
I clear my throat. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure,” I mumble, turning my head away from her.
Then she stalks toward me, looking like a goddess in the black shirt that contrasts so beautifully with her blonde hair and pale complexion. She lowers herself to the floor at my feet and kneels, causing a lump to form in my throat and my cock to swell in my pants.
“Thank you,” she whispers, sending a rush of warmththrough me, and I stroke her hair. The silkiness of it gives me a comfort I wasn’t aware existed, and when her hand finds my zipper, I bask in the glory of my decision to make her happy.
Maybe, just maybe, I can keep my little toy.
