Smelling her.
Feeling her sweet breath on his face.
But she wouldn’t give in, and he wasn’t going to take her captive again. If she wanted to leave, he couldn’t stop her.
“Fuck!” He punched the wall above her head, small stones falling like heavy rain.
Frankie slowly shimmied under his arm until she was free, Anteros eyeing her the entire time. Blood pounded in his skull, too loud, too fast. She tiptoed backward to the front door, watching him as if he were a bull about to charge. Then before he could blink, she ran, opened it, and slammed it shut.
Fuck.
Frankie had gone into the wilderness in nothing but a dress. The forest went on for miles in either direction—she would die out there. He ground his knuckles into the wall until the skin broke then pushed off and went after her.
Her back faced him and from the angle, the stain wasn’t so visible. The dress had been so fucking sexy—teasing, like her. When they’d danced he’d gotten peeks of her. There was probably some kind of matching underwear, but he wouldn’t want any on her.
It wasn’t about dressing Frankie up, it wasn’t about looking the part. It was about solidifying the moment when they agreed to be together.
And then it went to fucking shit.
Frankie jumped when he opened the door, turning around, eyebrows caving. “Please, don’t—”
“If you’re leaving,” Anteros cut her off, voice raw. “You need to take a car.” She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms and looked back into the forest as if hoping a path would appear; there were none. only trees. He swallowed the groan. He wanted her with him, where he could protect her.
How the fuck had this happened? Only hours before he’d been inside her, and now he was offering her a goddamn car.
“Um…” She rubbed her arms harder, not turning around. “Thank you.” He grunted and left to go find the car keys. He noted her feet were bare, fucking bare. Where did she think she was going to go with bare feet?
“Where are your shoes?” he growled when he came back out.
“I don’t have any.” She looked at her bare feet. “I came here after you stripped me naked in the parking lot, remember?”
He immediately took his off and handed them to her. She held the shoes away from her body, as if they were an animal that would bite. That infuriated him. Whatever lies he’d told had only been to protect her. No one had taught him how to love—he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. He did his goddamn best. But everything from the moment they’d met was always to protect her.
“You have huge feet,” she explained. “It would be impossible to walk in these. Don’t you have some old conquest’s stilettos or something?”
“You’re the only person I’ve ever brought here.” And the only person I ever will.
“Oh.” Silence fell ag
ain. He tossed the keys at her to allay the biting awkwardness. She struggled to catch them while holding the shoes and ended up pressing them to her chest.
“Come,” he barked. At first he thought she would argue, but her shadow followed him through the house and to the garage. Each step was a razor blade to his heart. One hallway before the garage, he stopped and turned to her. His blood screamed to stop, but the words came out anyway. Robotic. Cold.
“At its core it’s a McLaren P1, but it’s bespoke so you’re going to need to know how to handle the extra torque.” At her glassy-eyed expression, he asked, “Can you drive it?” She looked at the palm with the key inside, closed it, and then nodded at him.
“I guess I’ll be going.” She walked down the rest of the corridor. He followed her like a phantom, staying close enough to feel the air currents shift with her movements, close enough to smell her, to realize what he was losing. Her hand curled on the knob for the garage, and his blood stopped. This was it. He was losing her. She was leaving.
Without thought, he reached for her, grabbed her waist, pulled her against him, and pressed his nose to her neck. Uniquely Frankie, somehow both burning his nostrils and calming his mind. His hands roamed her waist, her stomach, her breasts. When her head fell back to his shoulder, he groaned, kissing the crook of her neck, her earlobe, her chin—anything he could find. She rubbed against him mindlessly.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck, I can’t lose you.” That broke the trance and she froze.
“Get off me,” she yelled, pushing him away. Anteros backed off and shoved a hand through his hair. His dick was punching through his pants, but all he cared about was Frankie watching him with loathing.
“Don’t you understand? You can’t fix this with sex.” She reeled around and slammed him into the wall. He could have easily withstood the blow, but he took it. “You can’t fix us with kisses and touching. We’re beyond repair. The very root of us is rotted. This”—she gestured between them—“this never should have happened. I traded myself to you and you—you—” She broke off, turning away, getting choked up.
Anteros got angry, fury boiling like a pot left on the stove. What was she implying? That he had done it all? That he’d somehow forced this love on her? No fucking way. It had been forced upon him just as much, if not more so.
Kicking off the wall, Anteros grabbed her by both arms and shook her. “What did you think would happen when you traded yourself to me?” His words were furious. “What did you think Frankie?” She gasped but before she could answer, he chuckled low, dark. He thrust her from him, and she stumbled back. “You are dangerously naive.”