To makemebeg?The woman with self-respect pushes her elbows into the bed, ready to tell him off. But the flash of longing in his gaze as his fingers grip tighter, helping me sit up, has the words dying on my tongue and the two other words I’ve wanted to say to him for a year slip out.
“I’m sorry.”
No matter the choices I made, I see now, leaving how I did hurt him. He’s my MA thesis personified. The lonely prison inmate wanting a connection, even if lessening everything Cade is to such a definition doesn’t feel right. This fascination he has with me, chasing the friendship once found in letters, is simply the conclusion to my essay.
His fingers tighten around my throat, but nothing restricting. “For?” The age-old betrayal combined with the flash of heartbreak found within his expression erases the Cade who kissed me when he arrived. His voice is a few degrees colder—closer to what I imagine his cell being. As cold as he had to be to leave prison mentally stable.
“Cutting you off.” His fingers lift from my throat one at a time as he straightens back to his full height.
“Why’d you do it then?”
Admitting the past should only benefit me. Guilt will finally leave me the hell alone, and if he hates me, it’ll drive him away. No more stalking. No more breaking in.
So, explain the twist in my stomach at the thought of all that.
“You’ll hate me.” My gaze flits to the laptop plugged in by the corner of my room. It hasn’t been used much lately; after doing years of research for my thesis, it’s nice to not be chained to a computer. Until I start working towards my PhD anyway.
He follows my gaze with a quirk of a brow. “Somethin’ over there you wanna tell me, sweetheart? Nothing you say will change what I’m about to do to you but enlighten me.”
“I’ll explain if you admit what you know about today. About whom you are.”
His tongue runs over his teeth once, and then again a few seconds later, before he finally agrees with a tip of his head.
Here goes…He lets me by to retrieve the computer where I find the file saved right on my desktop, where I moved it months ago for ease of locating. Even as my screen flashes with the way-too-familiar title page, I remain in the corner of the room just in case. As much as I want to trust he won’t hurt me, I truly don’t know this man. Not really. Not enough to predict how he’ll react to what’s in the document.
“Do you remember I once mentioned completing my MA in psychology? Well?—”
“I remember everything you ever wrote. Every fuckin’ word. I memorized them because they were all I had of you.” As his hands come up to cross over his chest, his knuckles withmy name—still processing that one—rest over his heart.
Disclosures like that certainly don’t make this easier. “Okay, well…okay. Yeah, so my thesis—the final capstone project, in case you didn’t…” My explanation trails with his smirk, but at least he doesn’t seem insulted over the insinuation. “Nevermind. Mine was all about the long-term psychological effects of loneliness and focused on different groups within society to support my points across a spectrum. Elders living in retirement homes, kids in school struggling with social expectations, adults living alone…and prison inmates. During research, one of my profs mentioned a pen pal program from the local prison, so I signed up.” I stop, gripping the laptop screen as I drag my gaze from it to him, finally meeting his eyes, following the firm line of his jaw to the iciness.
His chin lowers a fraction, like death incarnate. I grip the computer tighter and count my steps from here to the doorway, wondering, if needed, if I could make it.
“You signed up,” he begins, chewing each syllable and dragging out my nerves, “and got paired with me. The entire time, I was your li’l project.”
Oh, god, this might be worse than pictured.“Your letters gave me the information I needed for my research, yes.”
“Show me.”
It’s a full circle. There was a time I never wanted him to read my words, afraid of how he’d react. But now, if it prevents strangulation and my death, I’ll read him the whole damn thing myself.
I cross the room and hand him the laptop after scrolling to the parts about him. He takes it after a considering stare, almost reluctantly shifting his attention to the device. His eyes dart over the screen, and the room falls so silent that I swear my thrumming, nervous heart breaks through.
My torment lasts forever before he shuts my laptop, tosses it onto the bed, and commands, “Come here.”
THIRTEEN
CADE
While I wasoff hunting for leads, she was getting more notes left inside her house. I’m murderous with how close they keep getting to her. How she’s being targeted because of my claim on her. How this shouldn’t be the start ofus. And how helpless I feel right now.
After a really shitty day without finding any—because the fuckers seemed to go underground at the most inopportune time—ending it by reading words likeloneliness, requests for further visitations, desperation,andeagernessonly hammers home my growing dislike of education. This isn’t how it should end.
After not being able to guarantee her safety the way I must, I longed to arrive, dismiss Bones, and then finally delve into her cunt. If I had my way, she would have already come on my tongue last night, would have woken in my arms when I could have dragged her into the shower, fucked her clean, and then back to bed to test out what a few compliments can do to her pussy.
But she needs time, which I respect. What I can’t respect is how she believes a research paper will alter my fixation with her.The iron claws of death wouldn’t change anything. She could pull the trigger herself, and I’d still only crave seeing her eyes before the endless night.
She’d set up the document to the part relating to prison inmates—me—but I read straight to the end because there was nothing but admiration for the work she clearly put in. She poured her heart and soul into her research, and it shone through in her writing. My girl is smart, and I can only hope she quits the flower shop and does something with this brain of hers.
