The question hangs in the air then dissolves into the steam. Fear doesn’t begin to describe what happened in the woods, and terror is too weak. I’ve never come so close to the edge of mortality, not even when Brother Matthew beat me unconscious. Not even when Gil and thegangsters pressed that syringe into my hands and turned me into a cop killer.
What Rowland did was savage, raw, and a primal part of me enjoyed being taken to the brink of death, even though inside, I was screaming for escape. I think about lying, about playing it safe. But after what just happened, I can’t afford to say the wrong thing.
“What the hell was that about?” I ask instead.
He sighs, his breath warm on my neck. “I used to watch Edward with women through peepholes in the ceilings. They always liked it dirty and rough, and I thought that was what you wanted.”
Chest tightening, I picture him locked in that attic, forced to witness his brother’s sick games. Forced to learn about sex from a psychopath.
“Did I hurt you?” His voice is small, uncertain.
My throat thickens then convulses as I figure out the right words. “I was terrified. I thought you were going to kill me.”
He stiffens, every muscle going rigid. “I… I just wanted to give you pleasure. Edward always called it la petite mort. And Mrs. Fairfax used to enjoy that with Father.”
My stomach plummets at the mention of his biological mother, the original housekeeper. Of course the woman was fucked and choked. She birthed that man’s children while being relegated to domestic servitude. This whole house is built on twisted relationships. At least now I know where he learned his techniques.
“You can’t just grab a woman’s throat without getting her permission in advance,” I say.
“You didn’t like it?” he asks.
My pussy clenches, and sensation floods my clit.I shift uncomfortably in his embrace. “That’s not the point. We need safe words.”
“Safe words?” His voice lilts with confusion.
I twist in his arms to meet his dark eyes. They’re shadowed beneath thick brows, his beard unkempt and wild. But it’s the look in them that stops me cold. Stricken. Shaken. Like he’s scared of himself. My heart clenches.
“It’s a word we can use if things go too far,” I murmur. “If I say it, you stop.”
He cocks his head. “But why would you want me to stop if you’re enjoying it?”
My shoulders sag. Shit. He really doesn’t understand, and who can blame him, being locked up his entire adult life under the control of an unhinged father and a serial killing brother? Of course his views on sex will be warped.
“Rowland, sometimes fear and pleasure get mixed up. What feels good in the moment can be dangerous.”
His eyes fill with something that looks like shame. “You think I’m a monster.”
“No.” The word comes out fierce. “You learned about sex from two abusers. It’s only natural you’d be rough.”
He searches my face as if he’s looking for lies. “Have you done this before?”
I almost laugh. “Are you asking if I’m a virgin?”
“No, I mean...” He swallows hard, his gaze dropping. “I’ve never made love before. What we did today was my first time. With anyone.”
My breath catches at the thought that he believed that animalistic, terrifying fuck in the dirt was love. The worst thing is that some part of me wants to fold this madness into something tender. Something real.
Rowland isn’t just a broken man but a shattered soulraised on pain. And he’s trying to build love out of the scraps of someone else’s violence.
“That explains a lot,” I murmur. “You did fine.”
He pauses, his lips turning downward. “Will you think badly of me for killing Edward?”
I rear back, the change of subject catching me off guard. I place a hand on his cheek, my chest aching at his vulnerability. He’s asking for permission to be a killer. Like I’m some kind of moral authority.
“Why would you think I’ll judge you for murder?”
“Because you hate my brother, and he’s a killer.”
