She thanks me and leaves us standing and staring. And that’s what we do as the seconds pass, getting our first good look at each other as the haze of hurts we’ve been harboring finally clears and for the first time, see the other past it.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come, but I just wanted to see…” A lone tear slides down my cheek as I fail to gather myself and shake my head. I glance down at the book and fold his fingers around the charred pages. I give a self-deprecating laugh as tears cloud my vision again, and I admit my greatest truth.
“Je suppose que je serai toujours la fille qui pleure à la lune.” I guess I’ll always be the girl crying for the moon.”
Tobias is still standing at my deserted table with the book in his hand when I push out of the doors and into the freezing wind.
I shoot up in bed, my latest dream leaving me exhausted as my limbs protest, remaining heavy with sleep. Attempting to clear the haze, I see the tell-tale double flash of lightning out of the French doors.
The thunder must have woke me.
Breaths evening out, I try to remember the dream and am thankful when I come up empty. But the air around me, the heat in my cheeks, the fast breaths coming from me make it clear it wasn’t harmless.
My dreams seldom are. I’ve failed in every way to free myself of them.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
That’s not thunder.
Leaping from the mattress, I search the room around me and come up empty.
Now isn’t then, Cecelia. Get the door.
Rattled, I slip on my robe and grab my gun from my purse, trying to shake myself free of the fear.
Now isn’t then, Cecelia.
The longer I stay, the distinction of past and present are becoming clearer, and I’m relatively safe. I’ll never be the girl incapable of fighting or attempting to save myself again. I’ve been an armed woman since I left Triple Falls. Collin and I got into a ton of fights over my selection of small guns. I always won.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
Rain batters the house, washing the new snow away as I keep my gun lowered, padding down the staircase.
Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong.
“Dominic, no!”
I inhale a calming breath as I reach the front door and look out to see headlights shining through sheets of rain. I can’t make out the car.
I scream out as the bang sounds again, and he hears me.
“Open the fucking door, Cecelia.”
I flip on the porch light as the hairs on my neck rise. He pounds once again, and I open it to see Tobias drenched from the rain, his eyes glossy, his expression stone. He’s dressed in the suit he was wearing at dinner, the tie around his neck pulled loose and hanging, his glossy dark locks drenched.
His eyes drink me in pausing on the gown he bought me years ago before he takes an aggressive step forward, and then another, until I’m backed against the foyer table, my hand outstretched behind me for support.
He glances down at the gun in my hand and in one swift move, slaps it out of my grip. It slides across the floor and lands with the barrel pointed against the wall.
“You idiot! The safety was off!”
“You’re unarmed now, and that’s what you’re worried about?” He staggers forward, his posture searing with intimidation. He’s been drinking, and he’s furious.
“You won’t hurt me.”
“Won’t I?”
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“You happened. Why haven’t you left?”
“Why does it matter? I’m not doing anything to you. I’m not bothering you.”
“Your presence bothers me!”
He’s soaked through, the water dripping down his profile. I lift my chin.
“Tough shit.”
He glares down at me as the sky lights up behind him, and thunder rolls in the distance.
“You won’t hurt me.”
“Think again,” he grips my face so tight I know I’ll have faint bruises tomorrow. “I told you to leave it alone. But you just couldn’t. When are you going to understand we were nothing but a weak moment?”
“So much of nothing you’ve been at the bar rehearsing this speech for how long?”
He jerks my robe open, and I slap at his hands.
“Go take your shit out on your girlfriend. I’m not dealing with this.”
“Not dealing with this?” He hisses, sliding a thick finger down the strap of my nightgown before jerking it free and exposing one of my breasts.
“Think of Alicia, Tobias. This isn’t right.” I push at his chest to no avail. “You aren’t that man.”
“No, I’m not. You made sure of that.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“She was a good woman who deserved all the attention I could give her.”
“You broke up?”
“She seems to think we have unfinished business. I agree. I say we finish this.” He rips at my gown and unveils my other breast before roughly cupping it.
“Stop it, Tobias, we’ve played this game before.”
He knocks the empty vase off the table behind me, and it shatters on the floor. I jerk my chin from his grip. “Stop it, you bastard! Stop it. We’re better than this.”
“No, we’re not. This is who we are,” he presses me against the table, his weight and strength pinning me. “This is all we are. And this,” he pinches my nipple painfully, sending a shot of lightning to my core. “This is why you’re here, right? Waiting for me?” He rubs his hard length along my stomach as I hold in my whimper. “Well,” his voice drips acid, “here I am.”
“This is how you want to play it? Fine.” I push at his chest, and he stumbles back. I lift the hem of my nightgown, unveiling myself in nothing but panties and toss it down. His eyes roam freely, lust hazing out some of the anger. His nostrils flare as his thick hair drips, the droplets falling over my breasts and sliding down my stomach.
“You don’t scare me, Tobias. You never have. That’s what pisses you off the most.”
“No,” he leans, and I inhale leather, citrus, and rain. “What pisses me off the most is that I let you go because I don’t want you anymore, and you’re too blind to see that.”
“No, what pisses you off the most is any woman you find won’t ever be me.”
He releases my jaw and dips his head, biting into the flesh of my breast, and I cry out, ripping at his hair as he pierces the skin, before drawing me into his mouth.
I don’t have time to blink before I’m pushed onto the table, and he’s jerking my panties down my legs. I gasp as he runs his erection along my thigh, his fingers tightening around my throat.
“How many nights have you touched yourself thinking of me, closed your eyes and thought of me while your fiancé was fucking you?”
“Every night,” I hiss, clawing at every part of him to get him closer, “every night.” He pauses his assault, glaring down at me.
“You’re right. You’re sick. This, we, are fucking sick. And it isn’t going to end the way you want it to,” he seethes.
“I know,” I gasp as he presses a finger inside me, his grip on my neck tightening as I hoarsely cry his name. I’m soaked, so much so that I feel his cock twitch through his slacks when he finds me needy.