Page 53 of Cross Me

I was cocking things up left and right.

“I came for you,” I repeated gruffly. Advancing on her, I pushed her against the wall. That part was true. How could she question that? Clara ducked out from underneath my arms and put a healthy distance between us.

“Are you testing me? Because that doesn’t seem like a very good idea.”

I made my way closer, prowling like a panther across the room. She knew better than to expect me to heed her warning. In fact, I thought that might be the point. Of course, that could also be the Scotch thinking. I caught Clara in my arms and lifted her off her feet. Taking her to the bed, I dropped her on it, recalling how the previous evening we’d made love. That wasn’t what I wanted now. I wanted to possess her.

“This isn’t going to change anything,” she breathed as I pounced on top of her.

I bit down on her shoulder, pushing aside the strap of her nightdress while I reached down and undid my fly.

“Believe me, Poppet, I know that.” Shoving up the gown, I pushed inside her with the one thrust. Clara let out a breathy cry, her fingers sinking into my back, raking across the fabric of my shirt, as I began to pound inside her. I needed to make her mine. I needed to remind her that she belonged to me. No one would question that. Not even her. She panted, groaning with every sharp jab of my hips. My hands sought hers, lifting them over her head and pinning her against the mattress until she was helpless beneath me. A strangled moan spilled from her, releasing me and I came with a violent shuttering burst. A moment of relief quickly swallowed by regret. I stared down at her, but there were no tears in her eyes tonight. Instead, they were full of challenge. The flush of satisfaction on her cheeks deepened into a furious red.

“Clara, I…” But I could find no words. I lowered my mouth, needing to make this okay. Needing to show her that I was sorry. But before our lips met, she whispered one word.

“Brimstone.”

My reaction was instantaneous—involuntary. My hands released hers and I recoiled, falling back onto the bed, and staring at her. Why had she let me take it that far? How had she felt? I was a monster. She sat up, pulling the straps of her nightgown up to cover her breasts which had spilled over.

“What is this about?” she demanded.

“I was drinking,” I said, trying to find the right words to apologize. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re lying,” she accused. Before I could respond, she continued quickly, “I know you’re lying. I’ve known you were lying—for weeks. I thought you would tell me the truth. I thought if I gave you space.” She pushed off the bed and made her way across the room, disappearing into the closet.

“It’s complicated,” I called after her. Where was she planning to go at this hour? I couldn’t stop her from leaving, not after she’d used her safe word. That was the deal—the one promise I would never breach. If only I’d been able to keep myself from crossing other boundaries.

“It really isn’t.” She stuck her head out the door. When she reappeared, she was carrying my bag.

“I think it’s time to go,” she said.

“I’m glad you agree. We should go back to London. We can work this out. Away from all of this—”

“No,” she said firmly. “You should go back to London.”

“Clara, I’m not leaving you here.”

“You don’t have a choice. I’m staying. You’re going. End of discussion.”

I opened my mouth to argue with her, but I didn’t get another word out before she threw my bag at my feet.

“Get out,” she repeated before she turned and walked into the bathroom. The lock clicked behind her.

I hadn’t brought much with me to Silverstone. I’d only planned to stay a few days, so it only took me a few minutes to pack up my belongings. Clara didn’t reappear. I paused at the door, considering my options. Part of me wanted to knock. Another part of me was willing to plead with her to see my side of things. The other part of me wanted to break down the door and drag her out. I couldn’t allow myself to do any of those things. Not when she’d made her wishes so clearly known. Instead, I listened for a moment until I was certain that she wasn’t crying and then I made my way downstairs.

Brex and Norris were still sitting in the kitchen. Norris hadn’t touched the glass of Scotch I’d poured for him before I left. I raised an eyebrow. Brex blinked rapidly. He had clearly thrown a few back.

“We thought you might be needing us?” Norris said. He’d known exactly what was about to happen.

“Plus, it sounded like the house was about to come down. You two were so loud.” Brex finished his glass and poured himself another.

“If you’re going to keep drinking, call Georgia and let her know she’s on point tonight,” I barked at him.

Brex sat back, took one look at me, and took another drink.

“I’m quite capable of handling matters,” Norris began, but I held up a hand.

“We’re heading back to London.” I didn’t explain further. I didn’t have to. If either of them were surprised, neither showed it.