He’s sitting up beside me, looking at the palm of my hand. At the smear of blood on his blade.
“You were going to kill my father,” I say. “If I hadn’t stopped you last night, you’d have done it.”
He neither confirms nor denies it.
“What would you have told me this morning?”
“Ivy,” he starts, reaching for the dagger.
I snatch it away and shake my head. “What would you have told me, Santiago?”
His eyes harden a little, but it’s not to shut me out. I know this now. This thing, this vengeance, in a way, it’s separate from me. Or at least it has become so to him. It has to be because how can he be how he is with me one moment and in the next be walking out of this house on his way to the hospital to kill a helpless old man?
Well, walking isn’t quite right. He’d been staggering. Did he need to drink so much to be able to bring himself to do it?
I think about what he told me about his own father. I knew already, at least a little of it. I knew he was a cruel man. But I guess I can’t imagine someone with that much power over you who is only ever cruel.
“You have to let this thing against my father go.”
“That’s not your concern. Give me the dagger.”
“Would you have lied?” I ask instead of giving him what he wants. “Climbed into bed beside me and maybe made love to me after murdering an old man?”
“Murder?” he snorts. “An eye for an eye, Ivy. Give me my knife. Don’t test my patience.”
“Patience?”
“I’m not asking again.”
“No.”
“Be reasonable.”
“Because you are?” Can I tell him what Colette told me? Would Marco help me? Would he hold him down until I made him see reason?
His expression changes, his body relaxes a little, and he smiles that one-sided smile. “You manipulated me last night.”
“I stopped you from committing murder. Tell me what you would have told me this morning if you’d gone through with it.”
“You want to know if I’d lie to you about killing your father? About taking my rightful revenge?”
I falter. He is painfully honest. It’s just that truth has many, many sides. And believing yours too fervently is dangerous.
“I—” I start, and I’m not expecting him to move so quickly. To grab the wrist of the hand that’s holding the hilt of his blade and squeeze until my fingers uncurl so he can take the dagger from me. I’m not expecting him to drag me onto my back and straddle me, the steel of the knife hard against my wrist as he holds it and me, spreading my arms to either side of the bed, face dark as he looms over me.
“You’re going to stop hovering outside my study door.”
“It’s the only way I get any news,” I say. I’m not scared of him. He won’t hurt me. “And I wasn’t hovering,” I say as his gaze runs over me, over the nightgown that’s slightly ripped where he yanked at it last night. At my partially exposed breast.
“No?” he asks, dipping his head down to flick his tongue over my nipple, the sensation sending a charge straight to my clit.
“No,” I say, feeling his grip ease a little, watching as he leans over to his side of the bed, opens the nightstand drawer, and drops the dagger inside it before returning his full attention to me, eyes dark now, pupils dilated. He’s aroused.
“I knew I’d have to safeguard the house for my child, but for my wife, too? That dagger is not a toy, my dear.”
“I know that.”
“Then you know it’s not to be played with.”
“I wasn’t playing. And neither were you.”
He leans down to graze his teeth over that same nipple, and I close my eyes as my body arches into his. “Don’t get me wrong,” he says, releasing my wrists to slide down between my legs. “I don’t mind that sort of manipulation.” He spreads my legs and pushes the nightie up. “I will never tire of fucking my wife.”
He licks.
I bite back a cry and weave my fingers into his dark hair. I know it hurts him when I pull, but he only groans, dips his tongue inside me before finding my clit and sucking, and only when I’m panting, when I’m moments away from coming, does he stop. Does he climb back over my body to settle between my legs, that wicked grin on his face as he keeps his cock just out of reach.
“That’s your punishment for eavesdropping,” he says. “You don’t get to come this morning.”
“I told you I wasn’t eavesdropping,” I say as he straightens and gets off the bed. I see the length of his erection. I know what it’s taking for him to walk away. “Come back to bed, Santiago.” He turns to me. “Finish what you started.” I open my legs and watch his gaze dip down.
I slip my fingers down, and he lets out a low growl.
“Finish what you started, or I will,” I add.
He drags his gaze back to mine and considers, then sets one knee on the bed. “Turn over.”
I look from his eyes down to his hand, which is fisting his cock. He wants there to be no doubt that he is in control. That he’ll have the last word. But he can’t resist. So, I turn over, get up on my knees, and keeping my head between my forearms, I offer myself to him.
“Fuck, Ivy,” he says, voice thick with arousal.
I have just enough time for a victory grin he doesn’t see before he’s got my hips and is sinking himself into me. Within moments, we’re panting, the sounds of sex filling the room as he leans over me. When I turn my cheek into the bed, he pushes the hair from my face. Sweat drops from his temple onto my forehead as my knees give out, and he’s on top of me, careful to keep most of his weight on his elbows, and I watch him as I feel him push deeper inside me, feel us together, feel us so close.
“I love you,” I blurt out, not even aware I’m doing it until it’s too late, until I hear the words myself.
Santiago falters, losing his rhythm. He looks at me, and I stare back at him. Is that shock on his face? Is he truly shocked?
The furrow between his eyebrows deepens, and he puts a hand over my face, my eyes, and his thrusts come harder, just once, twice, the third time he comes. I feel him shudder, feel him pulse and throb inside me. Feel him empty, and when he stands, I turn to look at him, and I feel my chest tighten at the grim expression on his face.
“Guard your heart, Ivy,” he says, jaw tense. “I will do what I must.” He pauses, and I swear I see the battle playing out inside his head. I swear it. “I am bound, don’t you see?”
I sit up, drag my knees to my chest and hold onto the blanket to cover myself. There’s a weight inside my chest and something I can’t quite swallow in my throat.
“You can choose.” I remember my words to him about Mercedes. About it always being a choice. About how one day he may choose differently. I had no idea how much those words meant. How true they were when I said them.
I dip my head to wipe a tear on my knee.
He reaches to take my hand, and I realize it’s the bloody one, although it’s not bleeding anymore. His fingers trace the line of dried blood.
“No, Ivy. I can only hurt you. No matter how much I don’t want to.”