Page 17 of Daigo

Feeling like a coward, he swore under his breath and made his way up the curved staircase.

His heart bounded against his ribs when he entered the bedroom to find her curled up in a ball on the bed. Her hands were clasped under her left cheek, eyes dark and staring. Standing inside the doorway, he felt fresh anger coursing through him as he continued to stare at her.

He still had no idea what to say to her.

He approached cautiously, his footsteps the only sounds echoing inside the otherwise quiet room. She had lit a fire in the hearth, and the logs were turning to ashes. Sparks flew upward when a log fell apart.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stroked her cheek, brushing back tendrils of hair that had fallen on her cheek.

"I promise that she will never speak to you that way again."

She did not respond, nor did she move. Despair and panic flooded him as he wondered if his mother had done irreparable damage to their marriage. "I'm sorry. You know that nothing she said is true. She does not speak for me. You know that." He waited a beat, and when she did not answer, he gripped her shoulder and shook her. "Please look at me, darling."

She did, her eyes stark with pain. "She might be right."

"No, dammit."

"I'm desperate." She blinked at the tears. "When I listened to her, I found myself wondering if that's the main reason why I'm fighting for this. I don't belong-"

"That's plain bullshit, and you're going to piss me off if you continue in this vein." His fingers bit into her skin. "We belong together. She's bloody wrong. Christ, darling, how can you even think anything else?"

"Why did you choose me? I've always wondered about that. You're who you are, and I'm- I come from nothing. Yes, I went to college, community college, and I lived in crappy apartments and lived in my car at one time. I asked myself the first time and agonized over why you're with me. Why not someone in your own society?"

She pushed his hands away and sat up against the mound of pillows, bright reds, blues, greens, and golds that she had placed there when she started living with him. Everything in the room spoke of her love of bold colors. "I'm also asking myself if I'm trying to bind you to me by giving you children. Maybe-"

He had heard enough. "What the hell are you talking about?" He rose from the bed and started pacing. Anger was vibrating from him in waves. His heart was breaking. It wasn't just the words; it was the look on her beautiful face, haunted and hopeless. He couldn't stand it.

Swinging around, he pierced her with a look. "Do you think I'm an idiot? Answer me. Do I look like I'm addled in the brain? Well?"

She blinked as she realized he honestly needed a response.

"No. I-"

"Then don't sit there and tell me what I should need or what you think is good for me. I love you, Shelby-Anne. You. No one else. You're the first woman who made me look deeper than the physical. The only one to touch my bloody soul."

"I was dead before you came into my life, barely existing. I took women for pleasure of the flesh. Until you."

He came to stand at the side of the bed, his eyes burning. "Until I met you. So, don't you dare sit there and tell me that you're not enough. Do you know what you do to me to see you like this? Do you?"

"I-"

He didn't give her a chance to answer. "It tears me to bits and pieces. I stood there listening to my own mother tear into you, and I wanted to strangle her. I love her, and when she said those things to you, I wanted to rush in and defend you. I can't forgive her for saying those things to you, for hurting you like that."

He sat and jerked her forward. "I love you. If you don't believe anything else, believe this." He crushed his mouth to hers.

She tasted anger and frustration. She didn't resist. Desire, love – overwhelming, powerful in its intensity, swamped her.

He felt when she succumbed. He had wanted to punish her; instead, she was soothing him, submitting to the furious edge of his anger. It dissolved, like so much vapor, and had him changing the angle of the kiss. He tasted her sweetness, one that had captured him from the very first moment he touched her.

When her arms came around his neck, he heard the groan deep inside his throat. Desire poured through him like a flood and had him changing the angle of the kiss. The fingers that had been biting into his back gentled as he started to roam restlessly. Impatient to feel her flesh, he dove under her sweater, his knees going weak when he felt her naked flesh.

Hunger clawed at him with fierce, sharp edges. It took just the touch of her, the feel of her, to send him over. He had spent the entire time in New York impatient to get back to her. On the flight back, he had willed the plane to go faster. The nights he had spent in the hotel suite had been pure torture. The bed, big and luxurious, had felt cold and lonely.

Now he was here with her, and he wanted to taste and devour. Laying her back on the pillows, he lifted his head long enough to drag the sweater over her head. A cry escaped her when he savaged her throat. His hands were everywhere at once. It was as if he couldn't get enough of her.

"Now," she whispered hoarsely, tugging at his clothes.

"Wait." He did not recognize his voice or realize that his hands were shaking. Stepping back, he dragged off his clothes and resumed his journey down her torso. His teeth nipped at the flatness of her stomach, which was quivering. For him, only for him. The thought of it maddened him.