“Stop.” His jaw tightens, and his lips firm, but his eyes? They tell another story.
They covet.
“You want me. You want this,” I hiss as I press my hand between my legs. “Don’t be scared to touch me.”
“I’m not—”
“Liar.Ahh…” I drop my head back and undulate into my hand. “Come and feel how I ache for you.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, what you’re asking for.”
“I know you think I’m broken, but I’m not.”
“That’s not true.” He swings away, half pivoting back. “I don’t think that.”
“Then give me a reason to stay, Raif.”
“You’re going nowhere,” he growls. “We have a contract.”
“We don’t have shit. But we could.”
“My life was so fucking simple before you.”
“Sorry you got the wrong sister,” I whisper as my eyes flutter closed—not because I’m touching myself, enjoying myself, but because it hurts. It all hurts.
I control the situation. I control the narrative. I say what happens.
I repeat my silent mantra, not really sure I believe it at this point.
“I got the right sister,” he says eventually. “I just don’t deserve her.”
My heart quickens. Maybe I’m hearing things. I know I’m not. It was an inadvertent truth, a piece of himself, of his feelings, that he hadn’t meant to share.
I turn my head and look at him, really look at him. Poor Raif. He looks so wretched.
“You owe me,” I whisper, my eyes never leaving his. “And I want my wedding night.”
35
RAIF
I want my wedding night.
I want it, too. More than she’ll ever know—than I can ever let her know. She deserves better than this. Better than me.
“I owe you shit,” I grate out, turning from all that is lovely.Spread out on my bed.
“You’re a coward,” she whispers.
And she’s right. I’m afraid if I have her—have her under me—I will crush her. I can’t be her rock, the thing she leans on. But I will be her launching pad. I’m her building, and I’ll point her to the sky because she deserves so much better.
But for now, we have this, each of us fulfilling our roles.
“Think what you like,” I say, reaching the door as I fight the instinct and allow my feet to carry me in the opposite direction.
“You won’t touch me because you’re afraid. You think I’m damaged.”
My heart halts. Calcifies. As do my fingers on the handle.
