I turn and drive my fist into the water. “Fuck!”
January gives a soft little sob that twists in me like the point of a blade.
“Fuck off!” I repeat. “Fuck you and your pretty fucking face! You can’t do this to me!”
Her crying becomes muffled, and I know she’s put her face in her hands.
I said she couldn’t do this to me.
And yet.
And yet the way she looked at me when I first surfaced… Watching me from the other side of the pool, that soft smile on her perfect puffy lips… I could have died and I’d have been happy to go. I grip my hair in my fists and pull it hard enough to hurt.
I hate it. Feelings. Memories. Hopes and fears. I don’t know how to care for anyone let alone a soft, weak, little girl. It’s wrong that January lives outside my body. Anything could happen to her there. She could get killed by Parker, the Baskerville twins could snatch her, her stepmom could pressure her back home and sell her to someone else…
As I drove with Basher to collect January from Dreams I had one thought in my mind—chain her to my workbench and make her regret ever evenimaginingshe could get away from me. But now she’s here practically begging me to hurt her and I can’t. What I want is to surge out of the water and pull her into my arms. Take care of her or something equally stupid.
I turn and look at the girl who’s torn me apart. January’s not crying. She doesn’t have her face in her hands anymore. Instead, she’s looking at me with that infinitesimal softness. That sweet fucking sympathy that hurts worse than any hatred. I hold her gaze for a second and my chest cramps up.
“You’ve broken me,” I mumble, letting go of my hair. “You’ve broken me. You’ve fucking broken my head.”
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry for everything. I really like you, Domenico.”
She said my fucking name again. A tiny smile is playing on her lips. To my fucking horror I feel an answering one spread across my face.
It was an excuse. Hurting her. Locking her up. Punishing her. Just a rationalization to do what I wanted, which was to chain her up in my workshop, so nothing could ever get to her.
But you’re not supposed to lock girls in cages. Not when you like them.
My arms twitch, and I want to punch something hard enough to break my own bones. Instead, I take a step back into the depths of the pool.
“I’m going to swim,” I tell her. “Don’t you fucking go anywhere. This isn’t over.”
She should look scared. Cry again. At least look pissed. Instead, she smiles at me as though she knows every single thought I’ve ever had. “Okay, Domenico.”
I shake my head, amazed and pissed at about a million other things. “You’re a fucking brat.”
Her smile fades. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I wish you were more of one. That way I might be able to fucking hurt you.”
Before I can see her reaction, I plunge back into the water.
I thought I was pretty burned out from swimming before, but I tear through the pool like it’s silk, ripping the water to shreds. Soon my breathing is ragged and my lungs ache but I keep going, pushing harder and faster. Purging myself of my rage. I’m not a man who believes lies when the truth is staring me in the face.
And the truth is I don’t want to hurt January Whitehall. I can’t fucking hurt January Whitehall. She’s too beautiful. She’s too mine. I might want to slap her ass and make her cry around my cock, but actually cause her pain? Inflict revenge on her for the horror she put me through? I don’t have that in me. I gave it my best shot and I failed. Now I need to rearrange the world. Figure out how to live in a place where an eighteen-year-old Manhattan princess has so much fucking power over me.
When the last of my energy runs down and my limbs feel like concrete, I surface again. January is right where she was, staring patiently into the water.
“Hi,” she says shyly and gives me a little wave.
Again, I feel the strange churning contradiction. I want to hurt her for being able to hurt me. I want to wrap her up in clouds and keep her safe forever. I do neither. Instead I watch as she slides her long smooth legs back into the water.
My cock gives a hard throb at the thought of them wrapped around my hips. That might be a good compromise. If I can’t chain her up and I have no idea what I’m doing, then I want to finish what we started on the motel couch. It was hell watching her sleep last night, all her soft sighs as she rolled around. My cock has been hard all day thinking about it. And I’ve been nothing but a prick to her, but she still said she liked me. So the odds of me getting some compensatory action are good.
I rise out of the water and let her get a look at my chest. “You lonely or something, Tits?”
Her hand rises to her cleavage. She acts like she hates the name but whenever I call her that, she gets a blush down her cheeks and right into those flawless tits.
