Perfect Rage (Unyielding 3)

Connor. This was Connor. The man I gave myself to. Who I gave my everything. And when I left him seven years ago, I left my everything with him.

His fingers trailed a gentle path up my skin to my breasts. Across one nipple, pausing for a second to lightly pinch. Then he moved to the other.

My body reacted and I closed my eyes, “Connor,” I whispered. “Please, remember.”

I winced when his fingers suddenly squeezed my nipple hard. My eyes flew open and I was greeted by a fierce scowl. His hand shot to the back of my head, fingers cruelly bunched in my hair as he yanked my head back. “Did he send you?”

I swallowed. Heart aching as it slowly sank deeper in the thick sludge.

I put my hand on top of his trying to ease the pressure on my scalp. “You’re hurting me.”

“Answer me.”

“No. He doesn’t know. I told you that.”

“You’re terrified of me and yet you’re here risking your life to be fucked. You know as well as I that if Moreno didn’t send you, then he will kill you if he finds out. And if he doesn’t, you’ll wish you were dead. So,”—he yanked on my hair—“tell me the fuckin’ truth.”

The truth. The truth was a mess of forgotten moments. His forgotten moments. And maybe he was right and I was stupid for not running.

“I’m not scared.” I gritted my teeth and straightened my spine, despite the fact that it caused more pain on my scalp.

“Keep telling yourself that, bitch.”

We stared at one another, neither of us moving.

Then he threw back his head and laughed. It was far from the laugh that made my insides heat, and tingles to spread like wildfire across my skin.

No, this was severe and the lightness absent from his eyes.

“You’re like a quivering rabbit hanging from a wolf’s mouth.” My chest rose and fell erratically as he forced me backward until the backs of my legs hit the edge of the mattress. “The truth,” he growled, stepping so close I had no choice but to fall back onto the bed. At least he was giving into my bed demand or it was the simple fact the bed had been closer than the couch.

I managed to get up on my elbows, before he followed. Thighs on either side of me as he crawled on top of me. “What the hell do you want?”

“I want you to kiss me,” I mumbled.

It was the truth. I did. Desperately. But I wanted him to kiss me as Connor, not this man who straddled my trembling body.

He ran his hand up my bare calf, underneath my skirt, to my inner thigh. “You sure about that? I’m not going to be gentle.”

I suspected he wouldn’t be.

I nodded. “I’m sure.”

His hand was now between my legs and with one yank, he ripped my panties off. I curled my hands into the sheets on either side of me as I stared at him, refusing to look away as his fingers slipped between my lips.

He scowled, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “You wet from fear, Catalina?”

Maybe. No, definitely, but also desire. Because I recognized Connor’s touch, the feel of his weight on top of me, his voice, his smell. It was him and my body knew it. There was no question I was scared of what he was capable of, but I was also desperate to have him again.

What I hated was him calling me Catalina. He’d never called me that.

He kept his eyes locked on me as one finger slipped inside me. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back moaning.

“Fuck,” he growled.

Then his mouth was on mine. Crushing. Bruising. Forcing my lips apart so his tongue could invade. And it was invasive and I didn’t like it.

Oh, God, I didn’t like it.

He shoved another finger inside me.

I lied stiff, unmoving. Hands scrunched into the sheet at my sides, tears pooled in my eyes as he cruelly kissed me.

Connor. It was the loss of him all over again. The agony. The hurt. The pain dragging me under until I had nothing left. But this was far worse than the months after I left him. Because now he was lost, too. Connor was gone.

A tear escaped.

This was a stranger. What made me think that it would be different? That once he kissed me, he’d remember?

His weight lifted slightly and I heard the package rip and then his zipper. I stared at the ceiling, trying not to cry.

This wasn’t his fault.

I’d offered myself to him.

I gasped, tensing at the sudden intrusion. I hadn’t pictured it this way. God, he was right. I was stupid. I thought… . God, it didn’t matter what I thought. He had no idea who I was. Vault and Carlos had killed everything we’d had and that was more devastating than anything he could ever do to me now.