The sight takes me aback. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to her being so kind and pleasant, not sure my heart can withstand the shock of seeing warmth in her eyes instead of hatred.
On instinct, without thinking it through, I reach for her hand on the table and cover it with mine. It’s more of a test than anything else, a way to see how she reacts to my touch. Until now, she’s always avoided touching me, unless I pressured her into it or forced her hand.
To my surprise, Tressa doesn’t pull her hand away.
When I squeeze her fingers gently, testing the boundaries of this fragile peace between us, she squeezes back. I feel a rush of adrenaline go through me, feel my blood heating and my cocks beginning to harden from this simple touch, from the knowledge that she’s allowing this connection to exist between us.
Before I realize what I’m doing, before I can stop myself or think about the consequences, I open my mouth, and the cruelest words spill out.
“It makes sense that you’d want to keep your end of the bargain. I hear you’re easy when money is involved.”
Tressa pulls her hand away, as if my touch has scalded her. She gets up from the table fast enough that her chair scrapes against the floor. She scowls down at me, her face flushing with anger and hurt.
“What did you say?”
I shrug my shoulders, affecting an indifference I don’t feel.
“The servants talk all the time. They love gossip, and sometimes it reaches my ears.”
I watch her blush furiously. I know I’ve just destroyed whatever fragile thing was building between us.
“I can’t believe you.”
She turns to leave, walking away from me just like I knew she would.
Something inside me snaps. I grab her wrist harshly, feeling the gold cuff cold beneath my palm, and pull her onto my lap.
Tressa gasps as she falls over me, unable to get out of my grasp. She’s stunned by my strength and the way I’ve trapped her against me. I press her down onto my lap, so she can feel my two cocks, fully hard for her, as they always are.
I pull her close and whisper in her ear, my breath hot against her skin.
“How about I give you more money to send to your friend? Instead, all you have to do is kiss me and maybe rub yourself on me a little.”
The words are deliberately degrading and cruel. I’m being self-destructive. I know I’m saying the wrong thing, but I can’t stop myself. I’m watching myself ruin everything from somewhere outside my body, watching myself push her away because I don’t know how to do anything else.
Tressa twists violently in my arms and slaps me hard across the face, the crack of her palm against my cheek echoing through the dining room.
“Why do you insist on being so horrible? Why do you always want to prove to me how much of a monster you are? Gods, Altair, it’s so hard to do anything else but hate you.”
She pushes herself to her feet, and this time I let her go. I watch her storm out of the dining room, watch her disappear through the doorway without looking back at me.
I sit there alone, still feeling her weight on my lap, her scent still lingering in my nostrils. My cocks are hard and aching, despite the fact that I just drove her away with my cruelty and my inability to accept anything good.
I wonder, indeed, why do I insist on being so horrible?
Chapter Eleven
Tressa
I sit with a blank page in front of me and a pen in my hand. The words don’t come easily. Because I don’t know how to explain what I’m about to do. Alana deserves the truth, but I’m not sure I understand it myself.
I start writing, telling her that I’ve changed my mind and I won’t be coming home after all. The pen glides across the page as I explain that the monster who bought me at the bride market is Altair Aurellion, the boy who got Brandon killed.
I try to justify my decision to go with him, to explain why I accepted his obscene bid when I should’ve refused no matter what. The money helped her and her family, helped my father, and that has to count for something. But even as I write it, I know it sounds hollow.
The hardest part is explaining why I’m staying now that he’s given me permission to leave. My pen hovers over the page. I close my eyes, thinking about last night, when I saw him curled up on the floor with his back torn open. I can’t tell Alana about it. I can’t put it into words.
Instead, I write the only thing that makes sense.
