I slam the door behind me and lock it firmly then I check it again. It would be just like him to sneak in and disable my anger with sex and it simply isn’t going to happen any time soon. Twisting the lever on the shower up, I don’t give myself time to think about going back out there to talk to him and immediately rip off my clothes. Heat - that’s what I need and lots of it. Cold irritated and disgruntled - that’s exactly how I’m feeling and dare I say, indignant.
Stepping into the water, I tip my head back and let the water wash over every piece of me. I scrub at my face with the sponge just to make sure that every one of the tears I nearly shed a thousand times on the journey home are firmly removed from my eyes. My fingers yank at my hair as I try to massage the headache away from my scalp with the lemon shampoo. It doesn’t work, but as I continue to let the water fall, some sense of logic starts to wash over me again, even if I am still irked at his behaviour.
What the hell must that have been like for him?
His mother was killed by his father, his aunt was raped by his father, he has a sister and an aunt that he never knew existed and his father has hidden it all from him simply because he must be an arsehole of the greatest proportion. He’s probably standing out there in complete turmoil while I’m in here licking my own wounds like a child because he didn’t prepare me for any of it. Well, he did a few minutes before we went in, but that wasn’t nearly enough and he knew it. I saw it in his eyes the minute she said his real name. I wanted to run at that moment, but when his hand gripped onto me, I couldn’t do it, and regardless of how much I disliked him at the time, I simply couldn’t leave him to do it on his own. He’d taken me because he needed me and so I gripped back and smiled at him through it all.
When Mrs Peters raised her brow at him, I was completely overcome with emotions for him. He was with his family again and he must have been so overwhelmed by the prospect. The way her face changed around sentences was so much like him, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her and every expression had me thinking about his mother and what she must have looked like. Eventually, though, having smiled my way through most of it, I couldn’t take the tension in my hands anymore and excused myself to the loo, just for a bit of space to process everything. He’d sat there the entire time with hardly a flicker of emotion or sentiment. It was as if he were treating it as a business meeting. How on earth he wasn’t in tears throughout the whole thing was beyond me because I struggled to contain them and it wasn’t even my family. I watched him from the corner of my eye throughout their conversation, trying to gauge his reactions and make sure he was okay but his complete lack of enthusiasm or reaction to her emotions was unnerving to say the least. I couldn’t make up my mind whether he was hiding his anxiety or if he truly was being completely heartless with the woman.
She was so sweet; I could see it in her every move. She was probably the perfect mother who’d given everything to her child and loved every minute of it. He had made her nervous and uncomfortable and hadn’t done a thing to help her feel at ease with the situation, but I suppose he didn’t have to. She hadn’t lived his life and his early years did not sound pretty in the slightest.
The panic attack had thrown me though, completely. I would never have imagined a man like Alex could even begin to think about how to have one of those let alone crumble to the ground himself. I’d watched my mum have several over the years and had learned how to deal with them, but nothing could have prepared me for seeing him in the middle of one. He’d looked terrified, as if he didn’t know what the hell was happening to him and it had taken everything in me to say strong and bring him back to me without falling to pieces myself. Is that what the thought of family does to him? Is the thought that others might love him or need him so incomprehensible, given his bastard of a father, that it reduces him to panic?
I huff at myself as I step out of the shower, shaking my head, and look at myself in the mirror. What the hell do I do now? Regardless of my tantrum, I still love him and he probably has his reasons for not telling me any of it, although what they are, I have no idea. Has he been trying to protect me from something again? Why couldn’t he just have talked to me about this so I would have had a clue what I was walking into with him?
I look down at my make-up and start the process of making myself look something like me again. If I am going out there, which I am because I can’t stay locked in the bathroom all night, I’m going out there with full war paint on.
He hadn’t spoken on the ride back, and at the time, I’d been so angry that I hadn’t cared, but now I know he was probably just struggling with his new information and trying to find his way through it. As I pick up my mascara and swipe across my eyelashes a few times, I remember him clutching me and telling me that he couldn’t breathe without me. Then I remember him asking me to never leave him again. I lean on the counter and try to work out how I feel. He loves me; this beautiful, complicated man has needed me to be his strength for the afternoon and as I gaze back up at the mirror, I realise he is more than likely still going to need that for the evening, too. This isn’t going to simply evaporate for him. Whatever feelings he’s having, he’ll need to think about them, understand them and finally find a way through them. I gaze across at the door and cross my arms. How would I be feeling if I were him? A bloody mess, probably and very much alone, given his girlfriend’s silence.
Rifling through my bag to find a lipstick, I smear it on and gaze at myself again as I drag the brush through my hair. It catches a knot and somehow ignites my brain into gear as I think about his hands on me. The slight pain causes me to remember his need for control. He must feel so out of control at the moment. His world has just been turned inside out and I’m in here feeling sorry for myself and trying to find an explanation for his inability to talk to me. Suddenly I remember the photos of his mother and gasp at the thought of him sitting out there all alone looking into his mother’s face. Stupid Beth. Selfish is so not you.
I quickly drag the brush through my hair a few more times and then shake my head about in the hope that it might look somewhere close to sexy. Clearly it doesn’t but that can’t be helped as the hairdryer’s in the bedroom and rushing out the door to dry it before I talk to him is just stupid. Pulling in a long breath, I shrug into the cream silk robe and reach for the handle. He needs me so he’s going to get me. I have to help him find a way through this new problem he has to deal with. How? I have no idea, but I’ll wing it and hope. Whatever happens, I love him and I think he loves me too, so I’ll put aside my grievances and hope we can talk about them when he’s found his way back to me again.
As I open the door, I find his eyes looking straight at me from the chair by the window. I could almost weep as I see the cold look in them as they stare blankly at me. If I’d ever seen dead eyes, I’d say they’d look like this and I don’t like it in the slightest. Where’s he gone?
The darkness of the room does nothing to help my sense of foreboding as I take a step forward nervously, although why I’m nervous I don’t know because I’ve done nothing wrong. He’s slumped in the chair with a large glass of something dark dangling from his fingers, watching me as if he couldn’t care less what move I might make. I glance down to see the pictures of his mother are on the table in front of him at haphazard angles as if he’s thrown them there, and the small wooden box is placed on top of them. His hand raises and he tips the whole lot down his throat then reaches down beside him to the bottle that I hadn’t seen and refills the glass. His face is more detached than I’ve ever seen it and I’m suddenly anxious that he might not even want me here. I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe he doesn’t want my help at all. His demeanour is certainly saying he doesn’t care. Or is it? Jesus, if I could just get a slight handle on his emotions, maybe I would have a hope of reading him.
What does he need from me? Does he want to talk? Probably not, Beth.
“Good shower?” His voice sarcastically rumbles across at me like crumpled velvet. Okay, he’s pissy. That I ca
n deal with.
“Cleansing,” I reply with as much sarcasm as I can manage.
“Are you going to leave me now?” he says with no emotion at all. Okay, where the hell did that come from?
“You asked me not to so I won’t. You also told me to give you a chance to explain so I will,” I reply as I quietly move over to the chair opposite him and hope that talking a little will relax him. I definitely don’t need explosive Alex anywhere close to surfacing. He tips the next glass down his throat again and pours two more. I gently pick mine up and sip at it while I watch him brooding in his own anger or frustration. I’m not sure which it is but regardless, it’s sexy as hell and my core tightens. Maybe that’s the best way to proceed... What the hell am I thinking?
“There’s not much left to explain, is there? I think most of it’s been said today already.” He chuckles to himself and raises his glass again. Before I know what I’m doing, I grab the glass from his hand and put it quietly on the table. He scowls at me instantly but doesn’t reach for it again. I am so not doing this with a pissed and drunk Alex.
“How do you feel?” I ask tentatively as I look into his eyes and hope they warm up. He sneers as his head turns sideways and he looks to the floor. What that means I have no idea. It could be one of a hundred emotions. “Do you feel upset or angry?”
“Both,” he replies sharply as if that’s a stupidly obvious question to ask. Okay, talking is definitely a no. I instantly feel irritated at his tone but realise as his eyes darken that this has to stay on course because it’s pretty obvious what he needs by his manner. He wants his control back and it will have nothing to do with love for him at the moment. That’s what I came back for, isn’t it? I told him I was ready. Perhaps it’s time I prove it to him.
“Do you want to feel better again?” I say as I pull the silk from my crossed legs and expose my thigh to him. His eyes don’t move from mine but the small twitch of his mouth tells me he’s noticed my move.
“I’m not in the mood for pleasant, Elizabeth,” he replies with those storm-laden eyes drilling into mine as his fingers tighten on the armrest. My heart increases ten-fold as I begin to understand what I might be letting myself in for. I’ve seen flashes of those eyes before. There will be nothing nice about what’s going to happen next. Hot, more than likely. Nice, definitely not.
“I had assumed that, Alex.” Did he honestly think I thought a nice make out session was going to make this alright for him? “Do whatever you feel you need to.”
His head tilts to the side as if he’s considering his next move. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was questioning himself, but he never does in this role and I know he wants it. Even if he doesn’t, I apparently do because my heart rate is in overdrive and I can already feel the tingling between my thighs at the thought of what he might do.
Slowly I reach down and untie the belt on my robe, letting it drape open across my body for him as I watch his eyes, which still haven’t moved from mine. I reach over into the glass and take an ice cube from it. If I’m going to do this, I’m going all in and as I glance the cold across my throat, I see his mouth part slightly and I at least know he’s interested. I pull the ice down onto my chest and let the cold seep across my breasts. My nipples tighten instantly and I feel the moan leave my mouth breathily as I close my eyes. Letting my head fall back, I think of his hands and what he’s about to do with them. Will it be too much for me? I‘ve never seen him so devoid of feeling, never felt his touch when he’s been so distant. I hear his breathing change and know he’s thinking. It won’t be long now. This isn’t submissive. He’s not in control of this and he won’t be able to let me do this for long before he shows me exactly what he wants. I roll the cube down further to my stomach and gasp a little as it hits the top of my thighs. My legs uncross without me thinking about it, as if my core has a mind of its own, and I let go of every nervous feeling I’ve ever had around him and slide it across my nub. My other hand instinctively reaches for my throat but before it lands, his hand is there. I groan out at the feel of it and open my eyes to see him above me. His eyes are almost black and his neck muscles are taut. His fingers clamp hard around my neck as he pulls me upright and knocks my hand away from between my legs.
“It’s not your orgasm to have, Elizabeth, it’s mine,” he growls as he pushes me backwards and slams me into a wall. I gasp out at his ferocity as he releases my throat and drags the robe off my shoulders with violent tugs. “Undress me,” he says as he glares down at me. I stare in shock for a moment before sucking in a breath and reminding myself that he needs me, and that I offered this to him, told him he could have this his way. My hands reach out to him steadily and I can’t believe how calm I feel as I gently unbutton his shirt. I can feel him watching my every move as I push it off his shoulders and run my fingers across his chest. He’s so stunning that I can’t help but put lingering kisses all over his body to try and soothe him as I reach for his belt and feel his heart beating through my lips. Slowly I make my way downwards to push his trousers and pants down to the floor and gasp at the manhood that springs into my face. God, he’s perfect, the absolute epitome of masculinity. I gaze up at every rippling muscle and wonder what on earth I’ve done to deserve such perfection as I kiss my way back up his body.
He reaches to the floor and pulls the belt from his trousers. “Turn around,” he says. I do instantly and I feel him wrapping it around my wrists tightly. My instincts make me tug at them but they don’t move and my core ignites beneath me as realise how much I want this, how much I want him to do exactly what he wants to do.
He tugs at my wrists and drags me through the hall towards the bedroom. It’s uncomfortable to walk sideways and his speed does nothing to alleviate the strain on my shoulders as he pulls me along, seemingly not caring about my comfort in the least.
“None of this will be for you, Elizabeth. It will be for me. You’ve offered it and I’m going to take it,” he says in a monotone voice as he quite literally throws me across the bed. I scramble up as best I can with bound wrists and look at him with wide eyes. There’s no anger or love in his movements as he draws in a breath and moves to the doorway without looking at me. “Stay there,” he says as he walks away and leaves me kneeling on the bed.
Shit. I have not thought this through properly. I should be excited, and I am to some degree, but for some reason his sudden cool composure has me edgy. There is nothing flirty or fun about this. He doesn’t even appear angry anymore, which is disconcerting. I could have dealt with that. I’ve had angry Alex before. This version is foreign to me, worryingly so.
He wanders back in with the tie from my robe wrapped around his knuckles and a bottle of wine. There’s no glasses; clearly we’re not drinking then. He moves across to the bed and I flinch a little. I have no idea why but I assume it’s because I just don’t know what’s coming. He grabs hold of my hair sharply and tugs me toward him as he ties it up into a high ponytail. I can’t hold the angle and all my weight is on my hair so I move my knees toward him to hold myself upright, but as I think I’ve got balance again, he pushes me sideways so that I fall. My eyes glance over at his. They’re dead. There’s nothing in them to read at all.
“Your comfort isn’t relevant. You’ll deal with any position I choose to put you in,” he snarls, his lip curling menacingly as he stares down at me. Oh, that’s not good at all. His head tilts at the obvious shock on my face but other than that there is still no expression to define as I gaze into his unblinking eyes. Where has his beautiful smile gone? His lips are hard and flat as he continues to watch me. A vision of a hunter pointing a gun at a deer flashes through my mind and I gasp at the thought and let my eyes drift downward again, away from him.
“Better,” he says quietly as he sits on the bed next to my legs and wanders his fingers across my ankles. I pull them away sharply and scurry my knees up to my chest, suddenly feeling the need to hide from him. His hands grab at me with such force that it actually hurts as he drags
them back down and starts to turn me. I struggle against him as the beginnings of panic start to surge through me. I know it’s stupid because I do trust him but I can’t help it at the moment; he just seems so far away. I know my safe word. I know he’ll listen if I use it. I hope he’ll listen if I use it. Within seconds, his knee is forcing downwards into the middle of my back painfully and his hand is on the back of my head. It doesn’t matter that I’m struggling because I haven’t got a hope and he knows it. As my face hits the bed, I realise that this is what he wants. He’s being overly aggressive in his touch; his demeanour is distant and cold. It’s as if he wants to forget his feelings about me and just be what he is.
“Are you finished?” he says into my ear as removes his knee and increases the pressure of his hand. I can feel him wrapping my ponytail around his wrist as if ready to yank me towards him so I relax my whole body and drop onto the mattress, deadweight. His grunt of approval tells me he’s happy with my response and I instantly get the feeling communication will be kept at a minimum.
Still holding my hair, I feel his other hand land on my calf and travel its way up my leg as his knee pushes between my thighs to open me up. His mouth starts to lick and bite at my shoulder and I can’t stop the moan that escapes from my mouth at his touch. I close my eyes and turn my face to the side to get some air. Just feel, Beth. His touch is softer now. It’s still aggressive but more relaxed somehow and I begin to feel my core tightening again. His hand finds its way between my legs and he thrusts what feels like three fingers straight in with ease. I’m panting within seconds and I sense wetness dripping from me as his fingers twist and turn, opening me roughly while not giving me chance to move away from him. He releases my hair and pushes his hand underneath my stomach toward my aching nub. His fingers find it and start to circle. He increases the pressure to the point of lifting me away from the mattress and my hips rise away so that my arse is in the air.
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