It takes work—years of facing society and playing a part—to keep my face neutral. “You need to hear it. All of it. You wanted the truth, and it’s time you start hearing it.”
I go silent, watching the emotions roll across her features one after the other like a computer code autoloading in front of my eyes.
I wait for her to call me names or say something to defend herself, but when she doesn’t, I loosen my hold on her hands, intent on letting her up and freeing her so we can get her room cleaned up, and at least one of us can get back to sleep.
Her slap comes out of nowhere and cracks across my cheek so hard I see stars. I grab her wrists and pin her again sheerly out of reflex, my muscles going tight as if waiting for another blow. When her head lifts off the ground, I simply react again, one hand scooping her wrists together while the other circles her throat to keep her pinned and prevent her from smashing her face into mine if she were so inclined. And the wild rage in her eyes right now says she might just do it if she knew she could inflict some pain.
“What the fuck was that for?”
She grinds her teeth together, pressing into my hand, trying to break free of my hold. But she’s been recovering too long, not using her body, growing weak. She can barely move her head side to side, let alone off the hardwood.
“Stop fighting me, and I’ll let you up. This is the kind of behavior I’m referring to. You don’t have to just fucking hit people when you’re pissed. I get you’re all rage and anger at the moment, and I understand it more than you know, but it won’t solve anything. Use your fucking brain for a minute and not your heart.”
She scoffs. “You say that like you have a heart. You’re the one who has been all over me since we got here. You keep touching me, pushing me, so this fight-or-flight mode, as my doctor calls it, is your fault.”
I blink and lean in, a slow grin curling the side of my cheek. “My fault, huh? Was it my fault back in the apartment too, when I never saw you but got reports from others about broken furniture, dishes, anything you could destroy to calm your anger?”
A red wash tinges her cheeks. There. At least she’s fucking ashamed and knows, even if she doesn’t want to admit she’s out of control.
I keep pushing, though, because it’s what she needs. “Did you know Valentina is pregnant? It occurs to me that no one would have told you except me.”
Her legs which had been trying to scramble upward to buck me off her go still, and she almost stops breathing. “Pregnant? How?”
I level her a look. “You really want me to explain the birds and the bees to you? Pretty sure you can figure out the mechanics.”
She swallows hard, and I feel it under my palm. When it seems like she’s not going to head butt me, I pull my hand off her neck and brace it above her shoulder to pull some of my weight off her chest. “Now, we are going to do this slowly. I’m going to get up, and you’re not going to come at me like some crazed wildcat. Got it?”
Her nod isn’t very comforting, but it’s a risk I’ll have to take, even if it’s my balls that will likely take the brunt of her anger first.
I lean into her chest again so I can release her hands, but she’s already trying to scramble out from underneath me, rubbing the soft skin of her thighs along mine. I can smell her cunt with her legs wide open, and my mouth waters for a taste.
But I can’t touch her, not now. Not while she’s terrified of everyone who lays a finger on her. It’s as if she expects every touch to turn into a lie, each one to become darker, dangerous, hurtful.
“Wildcat, what did I say about slow?”
She huffs, her breath fanning across my face. “Well, get the hell off me, and then I’ll get off the floor as slow as you like.”
I tighten my hold on her wrists again, my hips shifting ever so slightly against hers as I try to rebalance my weight. The heat of her, fucking hell, I can’t handle this. I don’t want sex. After what I endured, hell, I don’t even want to be around a fucking woman. But Rose doesn’t feel the same to me. Even after everything, she feels safe. She feels like home. Sometimes even more so when she’s spitting and raging.
“Stop fucking struggling, or you are not going to like what happens.”
She tips her chin up, staring down her nose at me, even while flat on her back. Despite her trials and suffering, she’s still a princess to the core. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I arch into her on purpose this time and revel in the way she sucks in a heavy breath. “Because I’m hard as a fucking rock, and if you keep testing my control, you’ll learn it’s not infinite.”
I stare into her wide eyes, and for a second, I imagine the jump in her pulse isn’t just fear, that maybe, somewhere in there, she can feel me against her and want me too.
But then, as I feared earlier, her face comes up, and she smacks me right in the goddamn nose with her forehead. I release her and roll off her body to lie on my back, holding the bridge of my nose to stifle the flare of pain shooting into my eye sockets.
Fucking wildcat indeed.
I blink my eyes open to roll over and look at her, but she’s already standing, and she heads to the door. She darts one scared look my way, then bolts out the door as if she can outrun me.
As if she can fight me.
As if she can hide from me.
I check that my nose isn’t bleeding and hop to my feet easily enough. At least it’s not broken. I didn’t relish hunting down the medical supplies for the cabin in the middle of the night.