And I Love You the Most (This Love Hurts 3)

“What is it, Walsh? Spit it out.”

“I fucked up and if I could go back, I’d change it.”

“Was it worth it?”

I hesitate, letting the question sink in. Which part? All the way back to the beginning? Was it worth it? Were all the lies and deceit, all the murders and corruption worth having my brother in my life? Was it worth it to deliver justice to those who would have gotten away with creating more pain and misfortune than they already had? Was it worth it to fall in love with a woman who could never love me back? Was it worth it?

I can’t answer the question. The silence lasts too long between us. A look of disbelief accompanies a huff of disgust from Evan as he looks past me, shaking his head.

“Don’t call me again.” Before I can respond he adds, giving me nothing but his back as he walkw away, “I told our boss to expect your letter of resignation on Monday.”

Marcus

With her in the bathroom, I’m quick to sit up on my knees, press my shoulder against the headboard, and push on the top rail. It’s old and the metal gives against my strength. Gritting my teeth, I have to heave my weight against it once more to slip the thin cuffs up the column.

I’m quiet while I consider my next steps. Silently stalking to the dresser, I take a moment to unlock the cuffs from my wrists and the other ends that were attached to the iron rail.

She is strong; she is determined. And that does nothing but make me hard for her. However, I have my limits and my little mouse is going to learn she can’t take advantage of me in any capacity and get away with it. With the cuffs free I make my way back to the bed, right where I was. The water at the sink turns off as I slip the two cuffs around the pole that isn’t attached to the broken rail. This one won’t give like the other did, not with Delilah’s small frame.

Lying down with my hands above my head, I wait for her. I’ll wait as long as I have to in order to get her in my place instead.

Christopher. She dared bring up that name. The only thing that keeps me sane is her desire to love me with her words and her body. When she leaves the bathroom in all her nakedness with the pads of her feet against the bare floor, I focus on that. On her desire to use that strength she has, to try to heal me. To love me.

I’m already hard again for her and filled with the thrill of teaching her a lesson.

There’s not a bit of her that has any suspicion as she lies down right where she was before, content on falling back to sleep, I imagine. With her head on the pillow, her body close to mine and one hand on my chest, I know it’s going to be difficult to get both of her wrists cuffed to the bed. I decide I’ll take them one by one. The first is the crucial one. If I can get one with hardly any fight from her, I can force the other. My heart pounds in my chest. She brought this upon herself. And I love it.

I love that she has fight in her.

Making my moves as quick as I can, I snatch her hand from my chest and pull it to the cuff. It slips around her wrist as her eyes go wide.

She struggles with a yelp and a violent push against my chest, but I’m faster. I’m stronger, and it’s easy to pin her down and close the cuffs around her wrist.

“No!” she finally yells out.

“Oh no, little mouse, you started this game.”

Her body writhes against mine, her gasps undeniably filled with fear. The cuffs click as I link them together, placing her thin frame where she held me captive. The heat of her body is addictive, her curves against mine everything I’ve dreamed of for years. As my fingers trail down her soft skin, and the goosebumps travel along with my touch, she begs me to stop.

To stop.

My body’s still pressed against her as tremors run through her. For a moment, I worry I’ve hurt her; I lift my weight and account for every bruise. Even still she violently pulls away from the cuffs, with motions that do nothing but dig the metal deeper into her wrists. A moment passes, followed by another before I realize what the two of us were thinking are two very different things.

Her amber eyes don’t peer into mine with pupils dilated from desire. Instead they’re closed tight with fear etched onto her features. I hate myself.

A sudden gasp warns me of the silent sob that threatens to spill from the only lips I’ve ever craved to kiss. With the tips of my fingers just slightly brushing up her tank top, I wait for her to calm down. I let a moment pass as the seconds tick by, praying she’ll come to her senses.