It hit me then, square in the chest, the magnitude of what I was doing. How tangled I was with him. I was going to draw both of our blood when I extricated myself. If I didn’t find the courage to tell him the truth.
While I was thinking all of this, Swiss was running his hands lazily up and down my hip, brushing my shirt up to expose the skin of my torso. At some point, his hands had roamed downward, going to my calves.
“Don’t!” I cried out, scuttling away from him.
Swiss stared at me in horror as I tried to escape his grasp. Such a thing was not possible, of course. Swiss was much, much stronger than me. And he never used that strength against me. At least, not without my permission and always for my pleasure.
“Let me go,” I demanded, wishing I was capable of sounding stronger.
“No fuckin’ way,” he shot back, not loosening his grip even a little. His eye contact was so intense and unyielding, I ached to look away but couldn’t do it. “You’re gonna tell me what the fuck that was.”
He was speaking softly. In a tone I recognized. The way that Preston used to talk when I was really in trouble. When things were going to get really bad. That was something I’d learned. Men were not most dangerous when they were screaming at the top of their lungs. That’s not to say they weren’t dangerous then, but they were most dangerous when they spoke softly. Like a cougar, quietly and gracefully stalking before the pounce.
But Swiss was not Preston. I’d come to learn that. Not once had he given me any kind of indication that he was anything like him. And I was not a naïve, young girl who couldn’t spot red flags. I had honed my instincts. But that didn’t mean that I wasn’t still traumatized. That I didn’t hold muscle memory.
“Kate.” Swiss spoke my name as a demand.
I blinked away my thoughts. His expression had not changed, had not softened. His grip had not loosened even a little.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked when I still didn’t speak.
My mouth was dry, and my head throbbed. It was clear he wasn’t going to let this go until he got an answer, and I wasn’t prepared enough to come up with an alternative that made a little more sense and wasn’t massively embarrassing.
“I forgot to shave my legs,” I said quietly.
He blinked at me in confusion. “You forgot to shave your legs,” he repeated. “And that’s why you flinched away from me like I was burning you.”
My face flushed with embarrassment. “I, um, I don’t know. I guess I overreacted” I gripped the neck of my beer so tightly my knuckles were turning white.
Swiss was still staring at me with intensity and didn’t speak for a long time. I was frozen in place.
“Your ex really fucked you up, didn’t he?” he asked finally. All hardness was gone from his voice. All danger. What lay there was not pity. No, concern. A simmering, protective anger.
I swallowed, hating that Preston had entered this conversation. Had polluted it. Beyond the fact that I didn’t want him here, didn’t want him poisoning this, I also didn’t want to get too close to the lies I was telling.
Yes, in my heart of hearts, Preston was well and truly my ex. I had severed all ties with him the moment I left our town’s limits. There was no way I was ever going to be his wife again, even though, if you wanted to get technical, in the eyes of the law, I was still his wife.
But Swiss and the Sons of Templar didn’t seem to concern themselves about the eyes of the law and technicalities. So that was how I was justifying it.
“It doesn’t give him power, you know,” Swiss tacked on when I didn’t reply. “To admit that.” He was slowly and lazily stroking my prickly legs, as if to make a point. I focused on the movement to keep me calm.
“It doesn’t give him shit,” he grumbled. “It means you’re wonderfully soft, you love with your whole heart. And there are motherfuckers who will take advantage. Who will see how pure and precious that is and will want to ruin it.”
Tears welled up in my eyes.
“I’m not a good man,” he continued. “I’m not gonna pretend to be. I’ve done some terrible fuckin’ shit. And I surely will have terrible deeds in my future too. I need to make that clearer to you, but I’ve been afraid.”
It felt like my heart splintered my ribs, it was beating so intently. Not because of what Swiss was confessing to be—I didn’t care about that—but because there was real fear, genuine feeling in his voice.
He was still stroking my leg. “Afraid that you’ll see me for what I am, the violence inside me, and you’ll want to run.” He gripped my calf. “Although you’ve taken my violence with a hunger I’ve never seen,” he said, voice deeper now.
My pussy prickled with desire, despite the subject matter.
“And that’s why I think you’re strong enough to stomach what I am,” Swiss told me, laying a gentle kiss on the corner of my mouth. “But, Kate, despite the violent, dangerous man I am, I will promise one thing. I will not ruin your precious heart. I will protect it with everything I am.” His eyes burned into me. “And I’m one wretched motherfucker.”
A tear trickled down my face at his declaration.
Then another.