His walls are back up and he’s back to reminding himself I’m just a toy, a plaything, the same as the other women he allows in his life. I hate it, and in this moment, I hate him for ruining something that felt precious. He gave me a part of him and snatched it away just as quickly, a cruel reminder of the man he is.
The woman on the floor grabs my attention again with her heavy breath between my legs, and I hate the sensation. It feels like vile insects are crawling over me, burrowing beneath my skin, intruding where they’re not wanted. I shove my elbows into Azrael’s stomach, but he holds me firmer as I struggle against him. Another way of cementing his position of control above me. In a power struggle, I have no chance of winning.
A strangled sob leaves my throat, and I tilt my headback to Azrael and hope he can see the anguish swimming in my eyes.
I hate this.
Please don’t do this.
This is not what I want.
I’m unwilling.
His venom-filled eyes land on my face, and I refuse to let the tears fall. I refuse for those pesky tears to be the reason he stops this from going further.
With a whoosh of air leaving his lips, he lashes out, pushing the woman over with his leg. She cowers, scurrying backward, then he springs up off the couch, taking me with him.
“We’re leaving,” he declares, wrenching his phone from his pants pocket and tapping away while I wrap my arms around my middle, wondering where the hell it all went wrong and why.
Chapter Thirty-One
Hevan
He’s silent all the way home, broody and glaring out of the window as if it offended him, and I don’t know where to look, how to act. I want to cry and curl into a ball, but I won’t, and not because he doesn’t like tears, but because I don’t want to cry about the truth behind my plea.
I’m in love with him.
The man I shouldn’t want. My captor.
The thought of another woman touching him is like a knife burning through my chest with a devastating force of pain, twisting along the way.
As soon as we arrive home, he exits without me, leaving Jensen to open the SUV door for me while I slink out of the seat with my head lowered, hoping he doesn’t witness the shame on my face.
Was he aware of Azrael’s intention? For another woman to lick us both clean? A shudder racks through me, and sickness wells in my stomach as I head inside and up the marble staircase.
I push open the bedroom door, welcoming the sight like never before. Do prisoners miss their cells like this?
The door clicks shut behind me, and I turn to see Azrael is already in the room, staring down and toeing the carpet with his black-soled shoes.
“You’re mad at me,” he states, then looks up from his dark lashes. “Why?”
A muffled scoff leaves me. Is he really this obtuse? He tips his head and surveys me with a scrutinizing focus that burrows deep inside me.
The fury builds inside me. “You wanted another woman to lick us, Azrael,” I snap.
“I like the whores to clean up any mess.” He shrugs, and I jolt at his callous words.
“And I don’t!”
“You wouldn’t even know. You’ve had zero experience until you met me.” There’s a proud gleam in his eyes, and I want to beat it from him—the arrogant bastard.
“I am not interested in women!” I scream. “I know I don’t want someone I’m not attracted to, to lick me intimately.” I bite out the latter, and he at least has the decency to flinch. “I also am aware I wouldn’t want another woman touching the man I’m with.”
Something sparks behind his eyes, and he finally gives me all his attention. His chest rises, and the vein in his neck pulsates as he stares back at me.
“I don’t want to share the man I’m sleeping with,” I whisper.
He licks his lips as the electricity crackles between us. “No?” he asks, then pushes off the dresser, stalking toward me; his focus never leaves mine.
