She steps inside the car and turns. Our gazes meet, then the door slides shut. She’s gone. I gave her a choice, and she took it. I could have commanded her to stay, and she would have. I could have asked her to strip, and she’d have gladly shed her clothes. I could have ordered her to bend over the chaise, and she’d have obliged.
Instead, something inside of me had wanted her to stay of her own accord, and she didn’t. She left. I turn and glance about the space. The sun has set outside, and the lights of the city shine up in a cloud of iridescence. They drown out the light from the stars above, so the sky is a flattened sheet of plastic. A void into which, if I shout, not even my echo will answer me back. Like my life. My heart. My soul, which is no longer mine. I head toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, then raise my arm and crash my fist into the windowpane. There’s a dull boom, then pain shudders up my arm and it feels… Cleansing.
Apparently, the only way to feel anything, other than when I’m being dominant, is by hurting myself. I stare at the fractured surface. This windowpane is not meant to crack easily. Not unless you hit it with the right pressure at the right angle and at the weakest point of the panel. All of which I seem to have accomplished. This time, luck is with me, or maybe, against me? Was it luck that had Adam come to my rescue at the right time? Was it luck that had us being captured in the first place?
The pressure presses down behind my eyeballs. My brain feels like it’s pushing against my skull. Sweat beads my forehead. I need to relieve the pressure. Right this second. I throw up my arm again, intent on punching through the glass this time, when the ding of the elevator doors opening reaches me. I look into the fractured glass surface in front of me and spot her approach in the reflection.
She sweeps her gaze down my body, and halfway across the floor, she drops her bag and runs toward me. "Knight!" When she reaches me, she takes in the lacerated skin over my knuckles.
"Oh, my god!" She reaches for my hand, and I pull it away.
"Get out."
"You’re hurt."
"I’ve been hurt before."
“You’re crazy."
Not enough. I pivot and head for the bar in the corner of the room. I reach for a bottle of whiskey and uncap it with my unhurt hand. Then, I chug down the alcohol. It goes down smoothly, leaving a burn in its wake. I take another sip, then turn to find she’s walking toward me.
"I told you to leave."
"I’m not going."
"You left earlier."
"I came back." She swallows.
"For what?"
She shuffles her feet. "You know what."
"No, I don’t. You need to spell it out."
"I…" She glances to her left, then her right, then wraps her arms about her waist. "I want you to fuck me, okay?"
"No."
"Eh?" She jerks her chin up. "You want me. I know you do."
"So?"
"You’re pissed because I didn’t choose to stay. Your ego is hurt. Is that it?"
"A-n-d there you are again with your pop psychology one-oh-one. I have news for you, I’ve fooled hardened army shrinks. You’re nothing in front of them."
"They don’t know you the way I do."
"Oh?" I take another long pull from the whiskey bottle, then lower it to my side.
"You know I’m right. I see you, Knight. I know you’re angry about what they did to you. I know you want revenge for what happened.”
"Oh, I had my revenge.” I crack my neck. “Adam and I killed those bastards before we escaped.”
She pales, then seems to get hold of herself, "You may have k-killed them, but you don’t seem any happier.”
I tighten my fingers around the neck of the bottle. "It gave me the satisfaction of knowing I made them pay.”
“And yet, you act as if you’re still at war. You’re on edge. You prefer to stay on your own. You avoid your friends and family. It’s as if you never returned from wherever you were being held.”
“Oh, I’m very aware that I returned. I made it out alive… But the rest of my team didn’t.” I set my jaw. “I don’t deserve to be here when they aren’t.”
"Why can’t you focus on the positive? You got out. Adam got out. There must be a reason for it."
I tilt my head. "Look at you. As usual, spouting your optimism and sunshine and hopefulness. I’d normally find it cute, but right now, you’re getting on my nerves."
"You’re happy I returned."
"Do I look happy to you?" I laugh, and the sound is hollow.
"You look"—she searches my features—"lonely."
"And you’re the one who’s going to soothe my brow and tell me I’m not."
"You’re not… for tonight." She reaches for her coat and pushes it off her shoulders.
"You don’t really want to do this," I growl.
She smiles, then bends and grabs the hem of her dress. In one swoop, she yanks it up and over her head. She flings it aside and stands clad in her bra, which barely contains her breasts, and a tiny thong, with a crotch that reveals the shadowy outline of her slit. The blood drains to my groin. I’m instantly so hard, the pain in my balls beats in tandem to the pain that pulses up from my injured knuckles.
I drag my gaze down her fleshy thighs, her shapely calves, her delicate ankles encircled by the straps of her three-inch high stilettos. By the time I raise my gaze back to her face, she’s flushed. Her lips are parted. Her color is so high, her dilated blue eyes are pools of desire that beckon me to dive into them, to drown myself in them. In her. To forget, for one night, what happened to me. To remember the man I once was.
"Last chance," I snap.
She pulls down the strap of her bra over one shoulder.
"Stop."
25
Penny
"Keep them on."
"Eh?" I blink.
"I want to tear them off you before I fuck you." My pussy instantly melts. Oh, god, his filthy words are such a turn on, and I don’t even understand why. I’m not a prude. Hey, I read spicy fanfiction and spicy books, but I always thought filthy-talking book boyfriends were confined to the world of fiction. I was sure I’d never meet them in real life. And definitely not in the shape of an ex-soldier who used to take on secret missions for the government and is now wounded on so many different levels. A man whose heart is so much softer than he’d like the world believe. A man who’s in so much pain, he prefers to lash out rather than confront the cause for it. A man…
I want to hold in my arms and receive into my body, knowing there’s no future for us. And that’s what bothers and surprises me but also sets me free. I always believed in the Happily Ever After and that I’d meet a man who I’d fall for and spend the rest of my life with. Seeing the happy marriage my parents had right until the day my dad died gave me high expectations. And I know he’s not the one to give me that. And in a way, that’s freeing. There’s no burden of having to be careful about what I do with him. There’s relief in the fact that I can show the filthy side of me, the dirty things my body craves without fear of being judged.