Page 198 of Captive Ruin

But damn it, I’m going to make him work for anything more. I’m going to keep saying no as long as I can. Even if, ultimately, it won’t have any effect.

It never has.

He’s winning me over with a combination of charm and mind-blowing orgasms, and one of those is new.

Forty-Three

Amelia

As usual, he’s gone when I wake up.

I’m not surprised, but I am a little disappointed. At first. Then in the cold light of dawn, I remind myself I haven’t forgiven this man.

As an excuse, it sounds more and more hollow with each passing day. I have to remind myself what he’s done, and even then the anger takes a while to return, like it’s dormant. It’s the abandonment that always hurt the most, but that’s been replaced of late. The gun, the dinner, the swim. That charismatic wink. Those dimples. The mind-blowing, body-melting orgasms.

Damn it, Amelia. Your mind rules you, not your pussy.

But what of my heart? Doesn’t that get a say?

Great, I’m arguing with myself.

Wait… heart? Do I love him?

I pause, reflecting on that confusing thought. But after a moment, I shake my head. I don’t love him. How can I? But… is it wrong to like him? Maybe a little?

Since he apologized, he feels more deferential, cautious around me, and quick to accommodate anything I say. I can’t push him anymore; he doesn’t resist, he caves. I don’t like that at all, but I don’t know how to explain it was our dynamic.

You know when you used to cuff me to the bed and not give me a choice about how many orgasms I had? Hot.

Yeah… I just can’t find the words, and it seems a complete reversal of all the things I’ve made him promise. After all, freedom isn’t being cuffed to my headboard.

Or is it? There’s something wonderfully uncluttered about it. Maybe, ironically, I’ve been most free when he pins me down. Free to feel, to experience pleasure like I’ve never experienced before.

And in my insistence for freedom, I’ve lost that too.

But I don’t know how to tell him, and it’s my problem, not his.

He’s not in his office when I walk past, nor in the kitchen, where I snag some fruit for breakfast.

It turns out he’s in the sunroom, sitting in my favorite chair, waiting for me.

Reading my book.

“This isn’t from the library, is it?” he asks without looking up.

I cross my arms, glaring at him, but it’s wasted. “No. I ordered some.”

He begins reading aloud. “‘I know he’s chasing me, but I can’t look back. It’s too dark, and I need all my wits to—”

“Stop,” I say, my cheeks flaming.

“‘—the branches whip at my naked body, leaving marks that he’ll only add to when he catches me—’”

“Enough. Please.” I’m about ready for the ground to open and swallow me.

“It’s quite good,” he says dryly.

“It’s also mine, so be a good boy, put it back, and fuck off.”