Twisted Little Games

by Dee Palmer

  “I loved you.” Her eyes are closed, and tears burst from the corners to run freely down her cheeks, into her hair, and soak the pillow. I swallow the thick lump in my throat and take the hit from her use of the past tense.

  “And I love you.” My lips meet hers, and my own tears drop from my face to mingle with hers. I move my mouth lightly along her jaw, over her cheeks, her brow, the tip of her nose and back to her lips, kissing until the salty rivers are dry.

  I can’t breathe. My chest feels tight, and my head is too dazed to try and pick through the carnage of the last twenty-four hours; hell, make that the last five and a bit years. I can’t believe I’m here again. The cuffs were easy enough to slip out of, he’d left them far too loose and I struck lucky finding the letter opener in the writing desk. I just didn’t factor in his strength, his agility, his damn body…I didn’t factor in him.

  I know I can’t trust him.

  I know he’s lied, and it’s not a massive stretch to assume he knows I have too. His hands feel unbearably good exploring my body with urgency and purpose, which is not helping. I arch against his body as he rolls me on top and then over again until he’s pressed his full weight on me. His mouth hasn’t left mine, his tongue deep and twisting with my own, stealing not only the breath from my lungs, but my sanity and my soul too. I mentally try to push him away even as my hands ignore my most basic command and grip his shirt, pulling him closer. He moans into my mouth, grinding his hips and his impressive erection against my quivering core.

  “Tell me you want me.” His gravely voice rumbles over my face with his hot, sweet breath.

  “No.” I exhale and watch his eyes crinkle with a knowing smirk. He’s got me.

  “Tell me you need me.” He drags his nose along mine, over my cheek until its buried in my hair, and his lips are just a breathy whisper at my ear.

  “I don’t.” I manage to push the words out as if reading from a script for the first time, unsure and confused.

  “I know you don’t.” His wolfish, wicked smile sends a thrill running the length of my body and peppers it with goosebumps. This is a game for him, a hunt, and I’m the prey.

  He thinks I’m his prey.

  “Atticus, this is all wrong.” I have to close my eyes. He’s too close not to see right through me.

  “It’s been wrong since the day I left you, what’s one more day? What’s one more hour?” His voice sounds harsh and broken at the same time, and I look up into his face, so handsome, so familiar. I know I could draw each line, each icy fleck in his deep blue eyes, each curve of his high cheekbones. Fuck, I could draw every hair on his damn head from memory alone. It breaks my fucking heart we’ve come to this.

  He let us come to this.

  However, with his weight on me, his heat and very nearness, it’s making it very difficult to think of anything other than how fucking good he feels, right here, right now.

  “Will enjoying each other make any difference to this being all wrong?” he asks softly.

  “Will it make it any better?”

  “Damn right it will,” he confirms without hesitation. “I want you Tia. It’s always been you. You know it. You feel it.” He punctuates each statement with deep, increasingly seductive kisses making my body thrum and my heart ache.

  “And it changes nothing.” I can hear there is no longer even a hint of resistance in my tone.

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” His eyes darken, and his sensual, rough tone sounds more like a threat than a statement.

  Its like a match has been struck, a spark in a powder keg.

  I feel it, and he acts on it, tearing at my clothes, with a fierceness in his movements that makes me shiver tip to toe. His hands are everywhere, burning my skin where they touch, and making me cry out. He grips, moulds, and possessively squeezes my soft curves and heavy breasts.

  I’m on fire, and I easily match his desperation, ripping his shirt from his chest, buttons popping and material ripping in my fingers as I clearly lose my mind. I put my hand around the back of his neck and yank him to my mouth. His lips are like nectar and I’m the queen fucking bee. I drink him in. Full, soft lips cover mine, and my own tongue duels with his divine tongue. Every whisker of his day-old stubble scours my face and feels heavenly. It’s a sensory overload, and I can’t get enough. I want more. I want all of him, and I don’t care what that is going to cost me.

  He kicks his jeans down his legs as soon as I’ve loosened his belt and slips the rest of his clothes off as I do the same. The second our bodies aren’t touching feels like an eternity, and I exhale with blissful pleasure when his scorching body once again covers me. His legs prise mine open, wedging himself securely in-between and nudging them wider. His heavy cock feels like a branding iron of heat against my entrance, and I want to scream when he hesitates. His ragged breaths mirror my own, his chest heaves and strains against mine, and his glare is so hungry I can feel my own tummy rumble with need. I close my eyes, and he growls low and husky.

  “Keep them open, princess. I want to look into your very soul when I take you,” he demands.

  “What makes you think I still have one?”

  “Oh that’s right…your soul belongs to me,” he declares, and I don’t get the chance to argue his statement.

  “Ahh!” I cry out as he slams into me, fast, furious, like his fucking life depends on this. I cling to his broad shoulders, my fingernails anchoring myself to his flesh. I feel every thrust shatter me, drive deeper than I ever thought possible. My stomach muscles tense, and I brace my battered body for each punishing pounding from his hips. His eyes are wild, and I swear he has no more control over this situation than I do. He grinds and positions my body this way and that, lifting one leg high over his shoulder and angling himself to push just that little bit deeper. I swear he’s so deep I think he’s checking on that ownership of my soul with his cock. I cry out his name, screaming to the heavens as he relentlessly drives me to my climax. I’m helpless and high at the same time, soaring the crests of each wave, breath-stealing, life-affirming, as pleasure saturates my already sweaty body and leaves me limp and melded to Cass like a limpet to a rock. I suck in large gulps of air, unaware if he came until I feel his unsupported weight sink onto me with a satisfied grunt.

  I can’t seem to move from under his dead weight, even if my body was listening to me, which it clearly isn’t. But why would by body listen, when my mind clearly left the fucking building the moment my libido parked her arse in the driving seat? I groan again and wonder if this is, in fact, how I’m going to die, suffocated by a sexy, sadistic Nordic God. Is Atticus a sadist? He rolls to the side, and I cough, splutter, and drag in much needed oxygen, pondering the question for real as I take in his glorious nakedness. I guess it would depend on whether he knew everything back then and whether he got off on my pain.

  Time to find out.

  “Did you know?” I ask, effectively killing the sexually satisfied and sleepy atmosphere. He doesn’t reply. He sits up and swings his legs off the bed. I shiver from the icy chill the instant and shocking loss of body heat creates. I want to take it back. I want to lie back in his arms and keep my stupid mouth shut. However, contrary to what he said, what he might actually believe, what we just did changed nothing.

  “Get dressed. I need you in the library,” he directs, and I get another full body shiver, only this time, it’s from the impassive, detached, emptiness in his gaze. I can see his barriers start to rise around him. His body seems to stiffen before my eyes, and I draw in a heavy breath. I guess it’s time to reinstate my protective shield too.

  “Will you answer my question?” He twists his head to face me. His eyes sparkle and flit over the length of my naked body before he snaps his head back around, but not before his face flashes with an expression of turmoil. This is all so fucked up.

  “Will you answer mine?” he practically snarls, anger now radiating off of him in sizeable waves I can almost feel crashing against me.

  “You h
aven’t asked me anything.” He’s so fucking mercurial I’m going to get whiplash.

  “Oh I think I have.” His words drip with venom, and I’m stunned; after everything, we’re actually back to square one.

  “Where’s my fucking money?”

  He stands by the door watching me as I gather my clothes and get dressed. I don’t bother to look his way. I can feel his eyes on me, their heat and intensity is like a flame scorching my skin. I know he’s up to his neck in this shit and doesn’t know how to get out. I heard him say as much last time he was in here and thought I was unconscious. The fucking stupid thing is if he were honest with me, I would help. I have the power and not just the fucking money.

  He’s too much of a fucking Kruse to ask.

  I just want to know why. I know he knew I was innocent. I just want to know why he left me. What did I ever do to deserve this level of betrayal?

  I would’ve given him anything. I would’ve given him everything.

  I slip my feet into my Vans trainers and stand. I take a moment to look around the room, and I don’t know whether to smile with the fond memories or curse them.

  So many secrets, so many lies.

  Turning to face Atticus, even though I can feel him watching my every move, I don’t make eye contact. I have to acknowledge this weakness if I’m ever to conquer it. Without rhyme or reason, this man has a hold over me, and it’s pretty clear it’s as strong now as it was when I was fifteen. I was unbelievably naive to think a several years’ absence would change that.

  True love may lay claim on your heart, but first love brands your soul.

  He holds the door wide, and I duck under his arm, the scent of us thick on his skin. I draw in a deep breath through my nose, savouring what must be the last time. Even if I do give him his money, I can’t let ‘us’ happen again. I have to believe my self-preservation will kick in at some point because, looking at him now, I know if I let him, he’s going to destroy me all over again. He strides off along the corridor we used to race down as children, and I find I can’t follow. My feet just won’t move. He stops ten paces ahead and turns. A dark scowl alters his face so much, I barely recognise him. Only the eyes look familiar, but I can’t get a read on them.

  “Need me to carry you, princess?” He arches a brow, his tone holding a sliver of amusement.

  “I…I can’t seem to move; maybe it’s the drugs.” I know this is a lie. I don’t want to go where he’s leading me. I don’t want to open that particular Pandora’s box. I’m not scared; I’m suddenly terrified.

  “I didn’t give you that much.” He sighs and stalks back toward me. He swoops me in his arms, and I hate that my body is instantly at ease.

  “Why did you give me any at all?”

  “It’s complicated.” He dismisses my question with a derisive sniff, and I ignore the brush-off with my heavily sarcasm-laden response.

  “Then use small words. I’ll try and keep up.”

  “Cute and funny.” He lets out a heavy breath. “You said some things that I needed time to assess.”

  “So did you? I wasn’t exactly offered the same level of courtesy.”

  “You’ve had plenty of time to process, princess,” he retorts with an accusatory raised brow.

  “Tia. Call me Tia, and lets not pretend this is anything other than you getting exactly what you want.”

  “I hope that’s the fucking case. My money would be a great start to the list.” He pushes.

  “You have a list? See, I only have one thing on my list,” I counter, and money isn’t even on the horizon of things I care about.

  “At the moment you have one thing. Trust me, that is going to change.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Patience, princess.” He purses his lips like he’s placating a small child, and my hackles rise at his condescending tone.

  “Tia,” I snap.

  “Princess, you’ll always be my princess. I thought you would have accepted that by now.”

  “Things change, Atticus. People change.”

  “Love doesn’t change, and whether you like it or not, I love you, and you love me.” His reply would leave me speechless if it wasn’t true. However, my considered reply is all that matters here.

  “And that means shit.”

  “We’ll see.” He effortlessly takes the stairs with me in his arms as if he’s carrying no weight at all. He strides down toward the west wing of the Hall and only puts me on my feet when we reach the library.

  “Ready?” He turns the oversized iron ball and claw doorknob and pushes one of the double doors open. The rush of stale air hits me hard, bombarding me with more memories than I’m in any state to process. I’m not remotely ready, but I give a sharp nod and walk forward with more confidence than I feel. I curl my hands into tighter fists to steady my shaking fingers.

  “Sit.” Atticus’s deeply demanding tone makes me jump. He motions to the high wingback chair, which has been moved from its position by the fireplace and is now facing the oil painting on the far wall. Only one of the eight pairs of thick velvet curtains is drawn open, and the light in the room is limited to one splash of sunlight blazing in a stripe across the rugs and highlighting that one painting. The rest of the room is in pitch darkness despite the daylight pouring in. I have to blink to adjust to the stark contrast across the room as I try and take in what’s changed. Something feels off, only I really can’t see much more of anything, other than the chair and the damn painting.

  The painting hiding the family safe.

  I lower myself and take the seat as directed, watching as he carefully lifts and removes the painting, exposing the safe.

  “The money isn’t in there?” I blurt and curse myself for offering any information so freely, even if he knows it isn’t. He knows I’ve taken it. I told him I had it just before he injected me. I wonder if that’s the reason he did? His question stops my own internal interrogation.

  “And how would you know something like that? I mean I know you have it, but how do you know what’s in here exactly?” He places his palm flat on the steel door, just above the dial, and lightly drums his fingers as he fixes his icy blues at me and draws out a slow, knowing grin.

  “I don’t. It was a stupid thing to say.” I shrug lightly and try in vain to hold his gaze.

  “Oh, you’re anything but stupid, Tia, so how about you tell me…everything.” His tone drops and softens, coaxing and seductive. He’s bringing out the big guns, and despite my tittering resolve around him, I try and focus on the pain he caused. It’s kept me on this path for so long, and I need to remember that, now more than ever.

  Being in this place, where I was once truly happy and being with him, it’s an impossible task to ignore my feelings. I know this now, and I have to embrace them if I am going to stand a chance of getting out unscathed. It’s a coin twirling through my fingers, waiting to be flipped high and land in my palm. One side, my love, and the other side, my pain, both with the head of the man before me.

  “You first. You said the money wasn’t yours; what did you mean? Why did you leave me in prison when you knew I was innocent?” I fire the two questions racing across my mind, both fighting for resolution. He leans back against the wall and crosses his long legs at ankles. His jeans hang low, and he hasn’t bothered to button his white shirt all the way down, so there’s a glorious glimpse of his happy trail. He smirks when he notices my wandering eyes, and folds his arms across his chest with a causal ease I find unnerving.

  “How about an exchange?” he offers, and I let out a bitter laugh.

  “Ha! For the first time in your life you’re not going to get what you want.” I lean over and rest my head in my hand, momentarily enjoying the irritation as it flashes across his face.

  “Not for the first time, Tia, not by a long fucking shot.” He pushes off the wall. His frame rigid and looming with rage. “I saw the Will. I fucking signed it, and there was no mention of you in it!”

  “I know.�
�� My voice is so calm, I’m surprised. Cass is stunned for an entirely different reason.

  “You know…how?” His eyes flit to the safe and back to me.

  He follows my gaze to the safe. “The one I signed wasn’t his last Will was it? The one in the safe is his last Will, but you know that too, don’t you?”

  I answer since there seems little point pretending, he must know I’ve seen inside the safe. It’s why he’s brought me to this room. Still, judging by the irritation dancing in his eyes, I think it’s a very recent discovery.

  “I didn’t, but I do now. How do you?” The lines in his forehead deepen with confusion, and his expression darkens with pure fury. He doesn’t know.

  “I think I’ve known for a long time. I just didn’t believe it then.” I calmly shatter his reality and sit bolt upright, holding his unwavering gaze.

  “What?” From his stunned whisper, I wonder if he knew any of it. I thought this would give me a rush of pleasure, but he looks utterly broken. I wonder which betrayal hurts the most, mine or his grandfather’s.

  “Your grandfather told me.” I say this with no enjoyment. This game has run its course. It ceased being fun, if it ever was, when the truth hurt more than the lies.

  “When?”

  “He was sick, on drugs, and he told me about my real father and about yours.” I watch as he flinches, and my heart breaks. His jaw clenches, and he recoils as if hit with something physical. The pain strikes him hard, and he takes a moment to compose himself before he speaks.

  “So you knew this was all yours when you went to jail?” He sweeps his arm wide across the room and beyond. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I didn’t know, not really, not until I read the actual Will two years ago. Besides, who would’ve believed me?” I tilt my head at his redundant question, astonished it actually requires an answer, but judging by the silence, he’s expecting more than a roll of my eyes. “The one person I thought would help never fucking showed up. I didn’t stand a chance against your mother and her corrupt cops.” He acknowledges my accusation with a tight-lipped nod.