Page 111 of Unlock My Heart

“If you already know you’re not going to like the answer, then why ask the question?” Something awfully close to shame colors my cheeks. I shift to a downward dog to avoid looking at him, frustrated with myself.

Not only is this man a danger to my life, but he’s a danger to my headspace.

There’s a presence behind me, and with a squeal, I’m yanked up by my ponytail, my back plastered to Fabien’s bare chest. Catching our reflection in the mirror, his eyes are twin blue embers, one hand gripping my ponytail as his other is around my waist. “Hate me all you want, but it was you who chose to ignore my letters from prison. You who chose to marry that asshole. You who chose⁠—”

“To be kidnapped because of your fucked up family? Yeah, I’m not taking responsibility for that one,” I inform him coolly.

Fabien leans in, and I freeze. He inhales deeply, and with a growl that does unwanted things to my body, he releases me.

My chest heaves as he watches me, and I fucking hate that my I’m reacting this way.

“Do you hate me, baby?” His eyes pin me to the yoga mat.

“I’d have to care to hate you, Fabien,” I tell him with disinterest, forcing my breathing to return to normal.

“You hate me.” He grins. Fucking grins as he rolls out a yoga mat of his own. Silently, he shifts to plank and begins thrusting his hips. Over and over and over, with graceful fluidity.

It’s obscene and ridiculous and juvenile, and yet here I stand rooted in place, watching him. This can’t be the grounding my therapist had in mind.

My body thrums, knowing exactly what it feels like to be underneath Fabien when he’s moving like that.

“Fine line between love and hate. Wouldn’t you love to hate me this way?” He cranes his neck, his eyes locked on mine as he shifts to his forearms and continues to thrust his hips, his cock nearly touching the ground beneath him on each pass.

“If you’re trying to rile a hate fuck out of me, you’re wasting your thrusts,” I inform him, spinning on my heel and marching out.

Reaching the safety of my bathroom, I lock the door before I strip and turn on the shower. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I do a double-take. I’ve never looked more like eighteen-year-old Sienna than I do now, with my flushed cheeks and, oh my God, is that hope in my eyes?

“Stop it!”

Not waiting for the shower to warm up, I climb in and grab the spray, bringing it between my thighs. Last time I did this, I was washing away Michele’s cum. This time, I’m washing away my desire for a man I refuse to want.

My head thunks the shower wall, the water clearly not getting the job done. I’ve been sexually frustrated since I halfway fucked that client. And I one hundred percent blame it on Fabien being the world’s worst cuckold.

A moan escapes my lips, and there’s a masculine groan to match it.

My eyes snap to the shower door, to where Fabien’s watching me.

“Get the fuck out,” I snarl.

His hearing must be off, because he opens the shower door.

Moving the nozzle, I spray him in the face.

Fabien charges, and I squeal, his body caging me against the wet tile as the shower head falls and sprays wildly. I grab my razor, holding it out like the feeble weapon it is.

He easily wrangles it from my hand, flicking the blade from the handle. The sharp piece of steel is now held between his fingers as the handle drops.

“No,” I cry, as he turns the blade and slices a line down his pec. Red dribbles down his chest, and he gathers the blood with his fingers.

I’m frozen in place as he moves his bloody fingers to my chest, and we both watch as the crimson moves down my tits, my stomach, and lower.

“Just when I think you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, now I have an image of your perfect tits covered in my blood.”

“You’re sick,” I hurl at him, my clit throbbing with hypocrisy.

And the huge smirk on his face tells me he knows it. Fabien places the blade flat in my palm. “Get a little taste of bloodlust. See how revenge feels in your hand. Make me bleed for you.”

My eyes meet his as I position the blade between my fingers, and he doesn’t flinch as I slice his other pec. Blood rivets down his chest, and I watch in morbid fascination as I run my finger through it. “And what if I moved this blade lower?” I dare him, moving it down his stomach without drawing blood. The metal hovers at his happy trail, and the huge erection just beyond it.