Ellie shakes her head sternly, completely unconvinced.
I huff. “Fine.” She wants to do this, then we’ll do this. “I brought you here to reclaim what’s mine,” I tell her straight out.
Her jaw drops. “You still think I’m yours?”
“Not think,” I correct her. “Know.”
Ellie looks at me beyond irritated. Her mossy-green eyes flashing with disbelief.
“I was never yours.”
“Now, we both know that’s not true.” I take a sip of the Pinot noir arrogantly.
Ellie’s irritated expression morphs into anger.
“What do you want from me?”
I laugh, more to myself than at her. “What do I want?” I muse. “Probably too much.”
“And what exactly is too much?”
“What did I want before?”
Ellie frowns. “My obedience, my submission, and my body.”
“And your love,” I stipulate. “What I want most is your love. But what I want is irrelevant. It’s what you’re willing to give me that’s important.”
“Why should I give you anything?” The question sounds more sad and hurtful than anything else.
I shrug. “Maybe you shouldn’t. But I’m holding out hope that one day you might consider forgiving me and let what was happening between us continue into something more.”
“More?” she says exasperated. This conversation is going beautifully. Exactly where I hoped. Right down the fucking toilet.
“Yes, more,” I continue.
“And what exactly would be more?”
“I already told you. Love.” I add ardently.
“You use that word quite freely.”
“It’s because I know what I feel. And even though I’m terrified of it, I’m not going to run from it.”
“You have no idea what fear is,” she replies bitterly.
“Of course, I do. I’ve lived in fear my whole life, and I’ve caused it. I knowexactlywhat fear is.”
“No wonder you were so good at dishing it out.”
“Do what you know,” I respond sharply, echoing a conversation we once had forever ago.
I can actually feel the rage radiating off Ellie. I don’t mean to be so petulant, but when I feel threatened, my defenses go up, especially when it comes to a woman; and Ellie is definitely gunning for me tonight.
I have to keep reminding myself that she’s different from all the rest, that her anger is warranted, but I’m afraid it will consume her. Consume us.
“Ellie, I don’t want to fight. I want to talk.”
“About love?” she fumes. It’s like that word is acid to her.
