“So everything that’s happened is my fault because I traded myself to you?” she yelled. At least she was looking at him again. At least she wasn’t walking away.
“If I hadn’t taken you, you’d have been sold to men much worse than me.” He walked to her until there was only the thinnest strip of air separating them. “Men who like to see pretty girls like you bleed. Men who take pleasure in pain. Men who’d take your cries for mercy as foreplay. Every day until you died or took your own life. If I hadn’t taken you, Frankie, you would be God only knows where, a true slave, kept in a cage, only brought out to please your master—and that is if you were lucky.” Her brows furrowed at his horrifying depiction.
“I don’t understand why I wasn’t simply killed.” She said the words on a long, sorrowful sigh, one that took up all the space in his chest. Fury filled his veins again like rat poison. He could never kill her—didn’t she fucking see that? It was the reason they were in this fucking mess. Did she really wish she were dead? Did she really prefer that to him? He curled and uncurled his fingers, focusing on the skin stretching over his bones, anything to gain control.
“A beauty like you?” He laughed, but it was mirthless and cutting. “Your contract was negotiated before we set foot in the car.”
“So you could have un-negotiated it.”
The scream stuck inside his chest raged louder. He closed the distance and slid his hand around her waist, settling on the small of her back. He pressed himself into her, so his next words were a hush against her ear: “There you go again with your naiveté.”
“Fuck you.” She shoved him, but this time he stayed firmly still.
“Fuck me?” Anteros laughed, a bitter, raw sound. “Yeah, fuck me. I went into massive debt to save you, hundreds of millions of dollars to keep you out of the paws of slavers. I fucked up my entire goddamn life for you.”
“I never asked you to do that,” she snapped.
“That’s the point—you’d never have to ask because I fucking love you.”
“After what you did to me—all you’ve proven you are—how could you ever think I would believe you were capable of loving me?” she asked. “I know you aren’t.” She ended the last words on a whisper and looked down, eyelashes shadowing her cheeks in an infuriatingly demure way.
“You make me feel something real.”
“That’s indigestion from all the shit you eat,” she hissed, eyes darting back to his. A spark of hope lit in his chest. Furious Frankie, the woman who could go toe-to-toe with him, was back. He could work his way back from that. Dejected and broken Frankie, he didn’t know what to do with her.
He reached out, index finger trailing across the skin of her cheek. “You love me, Frankie, but you grew up dreaming of a brick townhouse in the Village.” She stilled. “A nice businessman and two well-behaved kids, but now you’ve lived something so raw and real that the books you used to read are dull by comparison. You’re like me, and that scares you. You’re looking for any way out.” Anteros attempted to cup her cheek but she swatted him away.
“There is no happily ever after for us!” she shouted.
“This isn’t a fairytale, Frankie. Stop looking for a fucking happily ever after.” His words were low, feverish, demanding and angry. Her eyes were like a puddle of rainwater shocked by a frayed wire. Electric. Dangerous. Another second passed, and then they exploded.
Anteros gripped her waist, picked her up, and spun her around, slamming her against the wall. In the same instant, Frankie pulled him close, embrace furious and visceral, tearing into his neck. She ravaged his mouth and he returned her kiss ferociously until her head was flat against the wall and she was gasping for air between kisses.
“You think this will make me love you again?” Her words were barely more than pants.
“I don’t give a shit,” he lied, bunching up the fabric of her dress until he exposed her. Dirty and fast, he undid his fly, sliding inside her within seconds.
Perfect. Fucking perfect.
She groaned and dragged nails across his cheek, down to his bicep, watching the lines it made in his skin. He put a steadying hand on the wall and started a fast, ruthless rhythm. It wasn’t going to be easy—he would remind her of what she was losing. Anteros fucked her deep until she cried out in a mixture of agony and ecstasy.
“You won’t leave,” he said with a low laugh. “You’re so goddamn weak for me.” But as Anteros spoke, he knew the words weren’t meant for her. The air stilled and Frankie’s mouth parted, still wet from his kiss. Then she broke the calm with a harsh slap, the collision making a crack against his cheek. Anteros growled, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth, and Frankie wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, yanking at his shirt.
The pictures on the wall rattled as he fucked her. He upped his rhythm, fast and hard, until her breathing turned into sighs. She glared at him the entire time, as if pissed that he was forcing her pleasure.
“I fucking hate you,” she said, but her voice faltered. Anteros laughed and plunged deeper, making her cry out. He drank her reactions like a junkie shooting up for the first time. The way her mouth opened, the way her eyelids fluttered—it all went directly to his bloodstream. It was too fucking poignant because with each moan, he was all too aware of what he was losing.
Frankie’s head fell to his shoulder, biting his neck until air licked at the wet blood. She came with a final cry and Anteros spilled inside her seconds later, hand pushing deep into the wall. His head fell to her neck and he inhaled her, inhaled the moment—the brief, perfect moment. Her fingers gently held the back of his neck and she breathed easily, hot on his skin. He couldn’t help but hope things were repaired. It curled in his chest like a deadly snake, biting him almost instantly.
With a violent thrust, Frankie pushed him off and dropped to the floor.
They separated like atoms, leaving a nuclear combustion in their wake.
“You…” She hastily pulled her stained dress down, tugging it past her thighs. Anger dissipated to reveal the hurt inside her, and he felt the raw wound. She looked away as a tear fell to her cheek. Anteros zipped up his fly, fighting the urge to punch the wall.
“I’m leaving,” Frankie said, voice hoarse. “Don’t try and stop me.” Frankie turned toward the garage and Anteros felt wild. He needed to run and grab her. Throw her over his shoulder. Take her back and put her in a room until she loved him again.
Only minutes before she’d been in his arms, sighing for him, crying out for him. He was probably still spilling down her thighs—but now she was fucking leaving again. What the fuck was happening?