His jaw clenches as he looks to my left, staring at the image of Chantel hanging in silence.
“Shut up,” he growls as he pulls down my zipper.
Belatedly, I realize that I can’t. I’m finally breaking through, pushing him into a place he doesn’t want to go, and I’m relentless. Like a bloodhound, I can smell when I’m close.
I stop his busy hands. “Tell me.”
Glaring at me fiercely, he spits, “Fuck you.”
I know he’s lost. He’s not thinking about anything now except losing himself. The only way he thinks he can purge the memory is by fucking it away.
“So what, Phillipe? Are you going to rip down my pants and fuck me against the wall right beside her?”
His eyes flame. Twisted as it is, I find that I’m getting off on his fury. The angrier he gets, the more aroused I become.
“You’re going to fuck the blonde right in front ofherto finally prove that she had a right to be angry.”
He slams his fist against the wall near my head. “Shut the fuck up, Gemma.”
Reaching out to press my hand against his pants, I grip his cock hard.
“Is that why you hurt yourself? Do you think you let her down that night? If she were here, would I even exist to you?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
“And you want to fuck me anyway. Why?”
Tearing my pants apart roughly, he pushes my hand away from him, slamming it up against the wall beside my head.
“Because I can’t fucking help myself.”
He takes my mouth with all the violence I can see swirling in his eyes, and I can feel his teeth on my lower lip. He bites it right before thrusting his tongue deep inside. Moaning againsthis lips, I arch my hips toward him, trying to get him closer. I raise my free hand to touch his side, but he clutches it, securing it on the opposite side of my head.
He tears his mouth away from mine, and I tremble at the lust burning in his eyes.
“Now what, Gemma? You got anything else you want to say?”
My breasts strain against the fabric of my bra as I think about my next question. He thinks he’s won. He thinks that he’s pushed me beyond my questioning—but not this time. This time, I want to know. This time, I want an answer.
“I want to know why you left her.”
Releasing my hands immediately as though I’m a hot flame, he steps away and drops his eyes to where I’m propped up against the wall, half undressed. He looks beside me, trailing his eyes overherin theSacredpose.
I feel my own anger rise. “Why did you fucking leave her, Phillipe?”
He swallows. “I wanted to see if I could.”
Making it crystal clear that he has no problem doing so with me, he walks quietly out of the room.
Left standing in the shadows while the music from the next room still filters through, I clasp both sides of my blouse, covering my body as I crouch to pull my pants back up. I can feel tears threatening.
I can’t believe that I let him reduce me to this—a person who is aroused by anger, who almost willingly let a man have sex with me just to find release. I hate what is happening to me, yet I can’t stop myself.
Sucking in a breath of air, I try to compose myself and step away from the wall. I walk over to the journal lying on the floor and bend down to pick it up. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something move in the shadows.
Somewhere deep inside of me, I know that if she were to be anywhere, it would be here, but thinking it and feeling it are two different things. Gripping the leather-bound book, I stand and turn to face the wall. The six images hanging there silently mock me.
“He wasn’t with her that night,” I say aloud.
