“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asks, the cockiness in his voice immediately irritating me.
“No.” I look away, but he grips my chin and forces me to meet his intense glare.
“Yes, you fucking are.” His fingers now fall to my jaw, where he tips my head back against the wall. “You’re thinking about my cock and how delicious it feels thrusting in and out of you. You’re thinking about the control, the command I have on you. Tell me I’m fucking wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, my hands pushing at his chest. Even though he’s stronger than I am and would normally be unfazed by my push, he steps back, giving me space. “None of this matters.”
“The fuck it doesn’t,” he says. “You’re my wife. Therefore, you’re not permitted to even think about another man, not until those papers are signed.”
“Permitted?” I fold my arms. “Where do you get off acting like you control me?”
“You took vows, Myla,” he says in a low growl. “And until those vows are severed, you will respect them.”
“Uh-huh, and would that apply to you as well?”
“They don’t need to apply to me.” He closes the space between us and, this time, takes both of my hands in his and pins them above my head. He leans in so his nose grazes my cheek. “I don’t want anyone else. I don’t need anyone else. It’s you I think about. It’s you I want in my goddamn bed. It’s you I want wearing my ring.” His lips skim my ear. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Myla.”
“Don’t,” I choke out. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“Tell me you don’t love me.”
I shake my head. “No, because that would be a lie.”
His lips brush against my cheek. “Tell me you don’t want me.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t want you.”
“And that you can lie about?” he asks as his hand travels to the hem of my skirt and his fingers slip under the tight fabric. The calluses from many years of holding a bat drag over my sensitive skin as he smooths his hand all the way up to my hip, pulling the hem of the dress with it.
“I don’t want to want you,” I say.
“But you do.”
“You can’t . . .” I take a deep breath as his fingers toy with the strap of my thong. Jesus Christ, I shouldn’t be allowing this. I should put an end to this, push past him, and go find Nichole, but for the life of me, I can’t. And this is what has gotten me in trouble in the past, this raw need I have for the man. “You can’t fix this with sex,” I finally say as he pulls on the strap of my thong so it falls down my legs.
Fuck.
I kick it to the side and then spread myself wider for him.
What is wrong with me?
Why am I letting this happen?
Probably because I’m still desperate for him.
Because I know I’ll never stop loving him despite our problems.
And this, this is one of the reasons. When he touches me, when he’s this close, I feel guarded, protected, and comforted. And comfort is what I seek right now.
With his lips pressed to my ear, he whispers, “Are you wet?”
My head drops against the wall as I wiggle out of his pinned grasp and move my fingers between my legs. I drag them along my slick clit then bring them to his mouth, where he parts his lips and sucks them in.
His eyes remain on me as he sucks, as his tongue runs along my digits, lapping up every inch of them until I pull them away.
“Fuck,” he moans right before licking his lips. “You still think I can’t fix this with sex?”
“I know you can’t,” I answer, betrayed by the hitch in my voice.
“What if I tried? Would you let me?” he asks as his fingers trail along my inner thigh, his knuckle grazing my sensitive flesh.
Yes.
I would.
At this moment, with this blistering feeling of need pumping through me, I would. And I know I would hate myself after, just as I hated myself the morning we had sex before I gave him the divorce papers. It’s next to impossible for me to deny him, especially when he’s this close.
“Your silence tells me you would.” He presses his fingers along my slit, briefly sliding across my clit.
Fuck. Me.
My brain screams at me, telling me to stop him.
But I grip his shoulders, looking for support as he swipes again.
And again.
And again.
“You love this,” he says, leaning forward, his lips right next to mine. “I’m the only man who will make you feel this good. Who will make you come the way I can. I’m the only one who will ever understand your body the way you need.” His thumb presses against my clit, and I moan loud enough for Nichole to probably hear me.
I’m surprised she hasn’t come knocking on the door yet, looking for me.
“Tell me we can work on this, Myla.”
My eyes fall to his as he pulls away, so our gazes lock. “Don’t do that,” I say to him, my throat tight as my body pulses with need. “Don’t use sex to change my mind. That’s not fair.”
“None of this is fair.” His thumb rubs my clit softer now, so soft that I almost don’t feel him. “If this was fair, you would tell me how I could fix this.”
“There’s no fixing it.” I tilt my pelvis, searching out his touch. “It’s . . . it’s over, Ryot.”
He pauses, his hand stilling between my legs as the anger he exhibited only moments ago reappears. “Your drenched pussy tells me different.”
“I might want your body, but that doesn’t mean I want to be married to you anymore.” Because I think we’re irrevocably broken. And that is the most devastating thing in the world to me.
And that must be the proverbial cold bucket of water to him because he shoots away from me, his chest puffing with irritation.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my need to orgasm clouding my mind.
“Do you really think I’m going to finish you off after a comment like that?” he asks. “Fuck, Myla, you’re killing me here.”
“So what was that?” I ask. “You using my body to get what you want?”
“No.” He looks away, and I know that’s exactly what he was trying to do.
“That’s messed up, Ryot. That’s manipulative. That’s you trying to get your way without putting in the actual work. And I’m done. I’m sick of it. You are no longer going to sit back and get your way, not anymore. I found my voice, and I’ll be damned if you’ll silence it.” I bend down, pick up my thong, and reach for the door’s handle just before he slaps his hand on the wood, keeping it shut.
“I have always lifted you up, Myla. With all of your endeavors. Always. Don’t make me out to be a monster.”
“Step away from the door,” I say through clenched teeth. He’s not a monster, but trying to manipulate me just then was not fucking okay.
To my surprise, he listens and moves away, but as I reach for the handle, he places his hand on it and says, “Do not fuck around on me. Understood? If you want to go out and meet men, fine, but at least give me the respect of waiting until after the papers are signed.” He flings the door open and charges up the stairs without another word.