I sit up on one elbow when he rolls onto his side away from me. “It’s not so ridiculous. She’s a beautiful woman. Closer to your age. More sophisticated than me. More experienced. More—”
I don’t get to finish because he rolls back, grabs my arms, and has me on my back, straddling me.
“That woman is a pariah. The only part of what you said that’s true is that she’s closer to my age and it wouldn’t take much to be more experienced than you, would it?”
“Why do you always have to be a jerk?”
“The rest is bullshit. You? You’re honest. You bring light. You are light. It’s what this house needs. What I…what Angelique needs.”
I blink, watch his expression change as if he just processed what he said. I don’t know who is more surprised, him or me. But then he ruins it.
“You said you weren’t jealous,” he taunts sounding like his usual dick self. “Were you lying?”
“I just—”
“Don’t tell me you want me all to yourself, Isabelle.”
“If you’re fucking someone else I need to know. It’s to protect myself. That’s all.”
He lowers himself to his elbows on either side of my face and rests one hand on top of my head.
“You’re my wife. I’m only fucking you. I have no interest in fucking anyone but you. And speaking of…” he trails off, dips his head closer and brushes the scruff of his jaw over my cheek. Nudging my head a little so his mouth is at my ear.
“You’re drunk,” I manage weakly. I’m already aroused.
“Not that drunk,” he says and licks the shell of my ear as he slides one hand over my stomach, into my panties, and cups my sex. “Not so drunk I can’t make you come. Because you know what I love?”
“What?” I ask on a breath. He’s doing that thing with his fingers that drives me crazy.
“I love watching your face when you come. I love hearing you breathe my name and bite your lip when you come.”
I close my eyes and bite my lip. Do I always do that?
“Yeah. Like that,” he says and pushes my top aside to take a nipple into his mouth.
I cry out as soon as he does it, teeth and lips and tongue wet and hard and soft all at once. When he draws my nipple out and curls his fingers inside me. I find myself panting, clinging to him, wrapping an arm around his neck to pull him closer. I hold onto him when the wave of orgasm begins to take me under.
My anchor.
“One more, sweetheart,” he says when I can breathe again. “Turn over.” He doesn’t wait for me to do it. He lifts himself up just enough to roll me onto my stomach. His hands are on my hips and he’s on his knees, drawing me up to mine.
I arch my back as he settles between my spread legs and splays me open.
“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” he says. I look over my shoulder to find him looking at me, a raw hunger in his eyes. “Perfect,” he adds and dips his head to run the flat of his tongue over my sex and then my ass, before straightening to draw me to him, entering me in one long, deep stride.
I suck in an audible breath. It feels so good to have him inside me. To be stretched by him. For him.
“Are you going to watch me fuck you?” he asks, breathing ragged as he moves inside me.
I nod, resting my cheek on the bed, mouth slack.
“Good. Don’t look away. I need to see your face. Your eyes,” he says. A moment later, as he thrusts into me, I feel him at my back hole, pushing a finger inside me.
I moan.
He hooks his finger, pulling me up a little, his other hand tight on my hip as he thrusts harder, faster. Sweat drips down his face onto my back and I rise onto my elbows to brace myself for his thrusts.
I like this. Him taking me like this. I shouldn’t. I should hate him. But when he slides one hand between my legs I stop thinking about that. Stop thinking altogether. I need this. I need him like this. And I let myself have this moment, this reprieve from reality.
I’m his. And there are moments I want to be his. Even after everything. To let him be my anchor. To let go and give myself to him.
10
Isabelle
When I wake several hours later, I’m alone in the bed.
“Jericho?” I ask but he’s not in the bedroom or bathroom. I push the blankets off, pull on the shirt he discarded earlier and open the door. The hallway is dark. It’s the middle of the night. I creep downstairs barefoot, buttoning two of the buttons on his shirt and wrapping my arms around myself to keep warm. The house always feels cold inside. It must be the marble.
Inside the large fireplace in the living room are the remnants of a dying fire. I smell it and can see the deep red glow as I walk past. If he was here, he’s not anymore.
“Jericho?” I try again quietly. Nothing.
I walk through the rooms on the first floor, but still don’t find him until I get to that heavy steel door leading to the cellar. It stands open and I can see the dim light from a single, naked lightbulb downstairs. He’s left his key in the lock. It’s not like him. Too careless. He wouldn’t risk Angelique coming down here. Especially at night.
Although he was drunk earlier. Maybe he got up and drank some more. What do I know?
I take the first step hugging myself tighter as I descend into the cellar, the memory of the night I spent down here making me shiver. I should call out to him. Let him know I’m coming. But I don’t make a sound, my steps careful.
I recall the other time I was down here. How he threatened to leave me in that room or bring me back to punish me. I remember the man I’d met that first night. My horned devil. I remember him stripping me naked but giving me his shirt to wear. But I also remember him locking the door and walking away when he knew I’d be terrified.
That was the point. I shouldn’t forget it.
“What are you hiding?” I hear him say just as I near the bottom of the stairs. The way the stairs are walled in you can’t see in either direction of the corridor until you’re properly in the cellar. The light overhead blinks but the hall to the right is dark. That’s the side I’d been on. I remember the other side. How dark it was.
I wish I’d put on shoes, or socks at least, as I take a step toward that other corridor. It’s several degrees colder down here and the only dim light is from the open door of a room at the very end.
“Jericho?” I say, my voice too quiet to be heard.
Nothing.
Nothing but a noise behind me that makes me jump. Makes my heart fall to my stomach.
Just the house settling. It’s an old house. That’s all it is.
I keep going. I know he’s in the room at the end. I hear his mumblings. See his shadow fall across the hall as he walks from one side of the room to the other. And I find myself hurrying, too far from the stairs to run back up, too terrified to stay where I am. Because we’re not alone down here. I feel it. Feel the icy presence with us.
But when I get to the door of the room, I stop. I see him inside, his back to me. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of sweats so I have a full view of the twin dragon tattoo. It’s huge and spectacular but that’s not what has caught my eye. For the first time since I’ve known Jericho St. James, I see him at a loss.