“I didn’t feel free, Lex!” I shout back. I stare at him, fuming. He’s so conceited sometimes, it’s hard to remember why I love him so much. “I might not have been physically locked up, but I was mentally in there with you, every single day. I wasn’t just getting you out of jail. I was gettingusout. And now you’re finally back, but you seem to be even further from me than you were in Sheridan,” I continue. “At least we talked, at least you looked at me like you loved me, like you wanted me!”
“You think I don’t want you? That I don’t love you?” he roars.
“It certainly doesn’t feel like it. Not when I’m practically begging you to fuck me, and you decide to handle it yourself in the shower!”
Taken aback, he frowns. I’m pretty sure that if he weren’t already red from the screaming match, he’d be blushing slightly.
“Don’t you fucking knock?” he grumbles.
“I did, but you didn’t hear. I guess it really does make people deaf.” He doesn’t like my sarcastic tone, his eyes darkening.
“At least now I know,” I say, resentful. “I know I’ve been a moron for not touching myself, for feeling too wrecked to even consider it.”
When he understands what I’m saying, he confusedly asks, “You haven’t…”
“I didn’t want it if it wasn’t with you. It felt like a betrayal.”
“The real betrayal was committing a crime that could have you in prison for the rest of your life. But you drew the line at orgasming. Noted.”
“Go fuck yourself, Alexander,” I hiss. “Oh, wait, you already did that. So I’ll do it this time.”
I walk up to the nightstand on my side of the bed and pull out Idris and Jensen from it. I throw them into the second bag, which is nearly full. I shove a few handfuls of clothes in it, and as I grip the zipper, Lex grabs my wrist.
“I said stop packing,” he domineeringly repeats.
“And I don’t give a shit what you want or not anymore, Alexander. I’m spending the weekend with people who actually love me and then moving back to a place that feels like a home, not Cold War Berlin. I’ve suffered enough.”
“And me?! Can you imagine how much I suffered? I was alone in there. You stopped coming to visit because you were doing God knows what with fucking Oliver.”
“How—how do you know about Oli?” I ask, writhing my wrist into his hold, trying to get free.
“Kevin told me. He doesn’t know what happened with him back then, so, unlike you, he didn’t hesitate to tell me you were doing better and spending a lot of time with him.”
“We were working together to get you out,” I tell him, infuriated by his insulting assumptions. When I try to use my free hand to get him to release me, he grabs it as well.
“I did everything I could to protect you!” I remind him.
“And I couldn’t fucking protect you. Do you know how desperate I was? Weeks of worrying about what you’d do, watching the news, expecting to see you on there.”
“Do you have so little faith in me?”
Again, I try to release myself from his hold, but it’s useless. Being held like I am, I can’t not think of his bare torso right in front of me, of the dark hair scattered on it, the tight muscles under the skin… and below, the towel that would be so easy to tug away. Those aren’t emotions I want to feel right now. I want to stay angry, to use this momentum to put an end to this bullshit.
“Let go of me,” I demand.
“No.”
“Alexander, let me go.”
He seems determined and contained as he says, “Never.”
That only makes me try harder, and when my attempts do nothing but bring us even closer, I mutter, “You’re such an asshole. Let me—”
“And you’re the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met,” he cuts me off. I scowl, ready to throw the insult right back at him, but he then says, “But, God, do I fucking love you.”
I freeze in his hold, looking up at him in stupor. My breath is a little ragged from the effort, my mind frenzied. No, I didn’t hear him right. He didn’t just say that. But I must have heard right because his gaze expresses exactly the same thing, full of want, adoration, and… love.
This moment, really?! He chose this moment to say it?!
