by Pamela Ann
“I’m sure you would be.” He bitingly remarked.
The innuendo wasn’t lost on me. He was referring to the past. Again. No matter how we tried to avoid it, there was no way of escaping the elephant in the room. It was glaringly evident we held one another accountable for what had happened between us. I blamed him, and he blamed me. But did he conveniently have a selective memory of some sort? Because from where I was standing, those five weeks after Sweden were critical, but what did he choose to do? Instead of patching, bridging the hurt between us, he pushed me further into oblivion purposely to inflict pain. He was quite vindictive about it even though he knew I was in an insurmountable amount of pain. Yet amidst it all, instead of forgiving me after those horrible weeks of crying and pleading, he continued with the torture. Nothing stopped him. Nothing could sway him from his pursuit of revenge.
It was a month after the accident when it dawned on me, making me realize River took some pleasure in it. I was sure hearing the choked tears over the phone, the jealousy I couldn’t properly voice out after what I’d done, and the continuous begging for his attention … In some sick, twisted way, it gave him validation. It was his unrelenting daily rejection of my effort that made me finally realize that I was allowing him to treat me so unfairly, and if I continued down this wretched path, the rejection—the emotional abuse—wouldn’t cease. So as much as I loved him then, I had to walk away, or he would’ve totally destroyed what little conviction I had left.
Recalling those vile memories royally ticked me off. Fucker was a total asshole for stringing me along when he had no intention of forgiving me. For that … I doubted I could ever forgive him.
“You couldn’t wait to see me, could you?” I audaciously batted my lashes, mocking, going for the full effect. “Awww … how … sweet.”
His jaws locked as our eyes clashed. Mine, defiant. His, tenacious.
The daredevil in me simply wanted to push a little further. “You must miss me a great deal ... That’s too bad … The feeling’s not mutual.” Yes, I was a total bitch, but it was worth it.
Expecting his harsh rebuttal, I was surprised when he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he let out a sharp breath, disconnecting from my gaze before making a few strides toward the table, generously giving a great view of his chiseled side profile.
“What do you wanna drink?” his tone indicated he was close to losing his cool.
Good, I had successfully ruffled his feathers. The inner bitch in me did a little cha-cha.
How long will it take for the infamous temper to unravel itself? It wouldn’t take much, I figured as I studied his taut form.
I didn’t try to hide the sly, wicked smile hovering on my lips. “Since you went out of your way to get all these … for me … I’ll have all three, please.”
River hunched over the selection of vintage bottles. A large muscular hand gripped one of the bottles, greatly emphasizing his toned arms and biceps. “If you think getting drunk will help you get through tonight, you’re mistaken, Cara.” His clipped tone delivered such lurid promise. Such threat.
Yet it hardly made a difference to me.
“Oh, I doubt it …” I sassily countered. “You never complained before. If I recall correctly, you actually enjoyed it. Most men do. It’s easier to be in control, right?”
Dark ominous clouds began to form. The sound of clapping thunder hovered at a distance. Treacherous waters ahead.
If looks could kill, River just shot me six feet under. “Behave yourself, Cara—”
“Or what?” I taunted. “You’ll spank me?”
“Spank you? Oh, no, petal … Spanking’s reserved as a reward. You, my sweet harlot, deserve something more unreserved … or I can take the easy route to shut you up and fuck that naughty cunt of yours.”
He could try. “Oooh, I’m scared.”
He didn’t laugh. There wasn’t a crack of a smile. The air, however, felt heavy with danger.
“You should be.” He delivered crisply, menacingly.
His intimidating demeanor made my throat dry. Provoking him when his attitude was mercurial as ever, could come back to haunt me. As much as it pleased me pressing his buttons, it was time to reel it in and steer us to safer pastures.
“So, how’s your number one go-go cheerleader, Petra?” Anyone with sense could see Petra was the new updated version of Hailey. I wasn’t sure what the devil made me ask such a question. Call it odd curiosity or sinister novelty or some bizarre fascination of the inner workings of his female relationships and the lack of exclusivity on his part. But how did he successfully negotiate for a free-for-all-and-all-for-me relationship?
He made a face before disinterestedly replying as he poured red wine into a wine glass, “Somewhere.”
River didn’t have to say much; I knew that look quite well. “Don’t tell me … Are all of us sharing the same hotel?” A dry, snorting sound bubbled out of me. “How … very avant-garde of you.” I added, acerbically.
I wasn’t necessarily angry. In fact, I wasn’t even surprised. Maybe a little annoyed? I wasn’t sure. What I was sure about was the fact I didn’t feel numb at the moment.
“I didn’t invite her, Cara. She came without one.”
“Sure.” To be honest, River had a way with women. Willa and Hailey were great examples. They were like chewed gum. Once you applied it onto a surface, they stuck like a bad case of rash. Season it with a little weather and time, and they became hard as rocks, making them much harder to get rid of. They latch on until the very end. A ride or die chick. “Don’t forsake her for my benefit. I’d rather crawl back in bed, anyway.”
“For fuck’s sake, Cara, why are you being difficult?”
Let me enlighten you. “I’m honestly not. This is cheery little ole me. All in her crowning glory.”
“Fuck!” he muttered harshly before picking up the wine glass and guzzling all its contents effortlessly. He then carefully placed it back on the polished table before pivoting to face me. The menacing look written all over him simply took my breath away. “I waited three weeks for you to come to me. Now you’re here, and you want to pick a fight!”
It was always in his angered state when I could fully appreciate this man’s unrivaled magnificence. Call it the artist in me, but when he was in this exasperated state, it was when he came alive. The real creature underneath all the artifice, buried under all the niceties, this animal was the real deal, stripped of societal discipline. Here was a man—pure and unadorned, all flesh and bones, predatory and instinctive.
He’s sexy as fuck. My attraction toward him merely intensified. It did all sorts of things to me. Uncontrollable, unspeakable things.
In my attempt to hide my body’s lurid reaction, I again tried to steer away from dangerous territory. I was toying with it, but I wasn’t ready to tackle it head-on. “Guess pretty Petra isn’t a good subject, then? All right. Point taken.”
What the fuck is he thinking now?
River remained unmoving, unblinking. The man merely stared holes into me. Those menacing eyes flayed me alive, whole, penetrating the layers of my skin, attempting to pierce through my well-guarded defenses and unbeating heart.
He stood dark and proud, more handsome than any human had a right to be.
Shit.
Utter.
Total. Shit.
I needed alcohol. No, I was desperate for some. But which was more vital—a drink to steady my nerves or to make a beeline for the door, hide in my room because my instincts could smell blood in the air?
Too stubborn to be reduced to panic, I decided to make another attempt at conversing with him. “Are you going to pour me a drink since you downed the last one?”
Like a bull dead set on one goal, he’d already dug his hoof into the earth, clawing the ground as it primed itself to ram its full might into its target—me.
Cower and hide, or stay and remain dismayed?
Quintessentially, I’d be wise if I didn’t further prod his volatile temper. W
alking out was a surefire way to achieve it. Unfortunately.
Alcohol, it is, then. I settled for the silver lining.
“Gee, okay. Go on with your brooding, then. I’ll pour one myself.” Brazenly, I strutted in his direction until I had my back to him. I plucked the golden champagne bottle while my other hand held the flute. With utmost concentration, I made it a mission to accomplish a simple chore such as pouring myself a drink. Consumed by the task at hand, I was jolted frozen on the spot at the sudden touch of his thumb grazing my collarbone. The light gesture made me spill champagne on the polished table.
Trepidation seized me when I realized this could be the cue for sex. Fuck. What about the food? Better yet, we weren’t done fighting. We had to resolve that before getting down to business, surely? Besides, it’d be too soon. I needed more time to adjust … to prepare myself.
How come I didn’t recognize he was closing in on me? I felt so unprepared. I’d expected a bottle or two before letting him have me. I was so focused on trying to appear calm my entire sensory circuit had gone nonfunctional.
“You have marks...” I heard him say, a hairsbreadth away from me.
My breathing hitched. My mind fell blank … before it darkened when his question jarringly brought me back to where this clusterfuck began. A total déjà vu of my big error in judgment. A mistake I will continuously pay for over the rest of my life.
“Do I? I didn’t realize I had one.” Cautiously placing the flute down on the surface, I quickly glanced toward where his thumb remained, searing my skin. “It’s probably from filming.” I managed to say, sounding a little breathless. “The fight scenes were tough to nail.” My entire body zinged. My skin burned underneath his thumb. It was troubling to be proven how a simple touch could set my body ablaze.
“Intimate scenes,” he accurately stated without missing a beat.
Damn him for being too perceptive. “Yeah.”
“With whom?”
There, in the middle of the dining room, I startlingly felt the first knock, a thud … a sign of life. It was faint at first, but after a passing second, it confirmed my suspicion.
My mind raced, my body whirred its depleted spirit. And rightly so, terror took root and began to blossom.
Was it because this conversation was a similar parallel scenario of a time not so long ago when my heart cracked and broke in two?
Quite possibly so. I mean, it wasn’t a stretch. It had to be the reason. I could think of nothing else. Fear began to take hold after this sudden development. Not only did I feel attacked and betrayed by my own body, but I found it beyond disconcerting to fathom what the foreboding message entailed. I was, without a doubt, unequivocally rattled to the bones.
It severely plagued my mind, and it took every ounce of power to direct my thoughts toward the present and the man who appeared patient yet impatiently waiting for me to respond.
Could he see through me? Could he tell he was slowly rattling the safe, confined cage I was imprisoned in?
Feigning calm and composed, I nonchalantly gave him an answer. “It’s with … Justin Scott.” The man I co-starred.
“You’ve slept with him, too?” It came out as a question, but the hardness of his tone and the distinct sound of accusation in between those words proved just how he saw me these days.
I couldn’t particularly blame him for thinking such a thing. He was merely basing it on facts, on experience. Still, it stung all the same.
If my guards were up before, they were on complete lockdown now.
Chapter 13
Cara
Sending him a hateful glare, I felt the immediate rush of disdain when my eyes linked with his accusatory ones. “What I did or who I did it with before you is none of your business.”
“How many?”
“How many what?” I snapped back.
“Men, Cara!” he roared almost in my face. “How many men have you fucked since Sweden!”
His temper had reached its limit. It bloody erupted.
Incredulously watching him through my lashes, I licked my lips, shrugging, before I took hold of my flute and took a good sip of my drink. Once finished, I took my sweet time before facing the infuriated man again. “Watch it, River. You sound jealous, and you have no right to be. You’re the one who dropped me like some piece of garbage. I’m not your property. More to the point, I’m not your damn woman … not anymore.” My lack of emotion regarding this particular subject merely aggravated him further.
“You cheated on me!” he barked with vengeance.
“And I said I was sorry!” I did, and I was, but tonight was another matter entirely.
“Fuck the sorry, Cara! You broke my heart!” He flung the words at me, loaded with wrath and venom.
This entire time, I’d been pressing and pulling, testing the waters, but never fully engaging. But this time … It deserved my full, undivided attention. I was as furious as he was. So much so that my rehearsed composure was gone. Indifference out the damn window. The gloves were off. The man was goading for a damn fight. Then fight he shall have.
Armed with the same arsenal as he was, fire raged through me as I shot a murderous glare at him. “Spare me the bullshit, River! That’s pure shit because you don’t have a heart!”
“You used that as a good excuse to open your damn legs to welcome the Spanish Inquisition!” He growled into the tiny space between us. He fumed at all fronts. Thick veins popped out on the sides of his neck. Skin turned a soft shade of red. Dark eyes, fathomless pools of animosity. “Bet you didn’t even resist! You just let him have you! You had no fucking right!” He slashed the air between us as she closed the gap. Capturing my chin with his left hand, he pinned me with those menacing eyes. “You had no right to let another man have you. None, Cara. You were mine! You. Were. Fucking. Mine.”
“And you were mine! But that didn’t stop you from fucking around, either! So why should I when you couldn’t give me the same?”
“Damn you! Shut up, Cara.” He took me by surprise when he impulsively hoisted me onto the table, pushing my body against the bottles and glasses, making them crash on the ground. The sound of smashed glass didn’t faze him. There was nothing calm about him. He was brusque, savage as could be as he uninhibitedly pushed my dress up, exposing my thighs. Dark eyes went wild when it found I wore nothing underneath it all.
A sheen of sweat broke on my forehead. The loose chignon came apart, framing my face in a jumbled fashion. My mind was frantic while my heart rapidly thumped, pulsing my blood at a speedy rate. The need to protest was high, but based on the look River had, nothing could stop him from consuming me. He would have me, with or without my verbal consent. Might as well get it over and done with.
My mouth parted, desperately needing more air into my lungs as I begrudgingly watched him pull his zipper down. The pants slipped next. Then his Calvin’s.
A fat savage beast of a cock sprung to life, arrogantly jutting in my direction. A thick angry vein lined the silk titan. A tiny jot of cream sat atop its bulbous mushroom head, crowning its glory. Thick and so damn proud.
The brain ceased to function. I shamelessly salivated at the perfection before me just as I felt the trickle of wetness in between my folds.
Sensing my arousal, River drastically took hold of my knees before sliding me down at the edge of the table, parting my thighs as he situated himself in between them.
I swallowed what little saliva I had left.
The air was dense while I held my breath, trying my best not to give in and shut my legs as he scrutinized my exposed pussy, spread wide open with its glistening folds, all for his indulgence.
My eyes peeked through lashes, gazing at him, closely watching him lick the bottom of his cherry lips, while his dark eyes were glued to the very heart of me. The more those eyes appreciatively examined, the wetter I became.
Then he took a step, one that aligned his impatient length to my opening. But before he could manage to do so, I let out a harsh sound ju
st as he reached out to grip the side of his hip. “Wait! Condom,” I interrupted as I anxiously gazed at him.
His nostrils flared. The muscles in his neck strained. Then those piercing eyes dragged their gaze from below before meeting my own. The loud thudding of my heart became a deafening sound as our eyes remained connected. “That’s not in the contract.” With undaunted tenacity, he inched closer, bringing his face so close to mine we were almost kissing and our members brushing against each other.
I let out a sharp hiss upon contact. “River …” my hand gripped his shoulder harder, digging into his skin just as he took hold of my hip. “River!” I gasped as he entered me raw.
Holy fucking grail of fucks, I mind-numbingly thought as I felt his monstrous size expand inside of me while those menacing eyes gazed down at me. Unforgivingly. Formidably.
My heart skittered inside my ribcage, tense as ever, as I held my breath, expecting River to pull out and enter me again. But instead of doing such an act, he merely thrust farther into me, crushing it farther into my womb.
River let out a throaty, animalistic sound, like what a King would make after successfully conquering and invading new lands. Full of hedonistic pleasure and satisfaction.
My mind—my thoughts—came to a screeching halt as his gargantuan cock pulsated, throbbing, savoring as my tight walls expanded to accommodate him.
I felt … violated. Not like how Juan raped me … but in a different sense. I felt bare. Exposed and utterly naked. The darkened revolving doors, the dim crevices, and unending empty rooms I normally hid inside of were nowhere to be found. Why couldn’t I retreat? Why was it impossible to mentally withdraw like I usually did? More importantly, where the fuck was Juan? Why couldn’t I see him? I desperately needed to feel my new normal … because this—this vulnerable sensation —I couldn’t shake away, and it filled me with utter dread. It was stupefying to feel so helpless. To be visible and defenseless. It was as if I got cut off from my air supply—my drug—and I was choking, frantically grasping, hoarsely gulping, as I fought for my pitch-dark haven to return and save me from this foreign feeling undoubtedly invading my psyche.
