Page 29 of The Castle (Endgame 3)
This time he doesn’t even seem like he’s going to play, at least not like before. He usually seats me on the white side, giving me the first turn. Last time it was enough to best him.
Now he changes the rules, moving first. In the form of his hand sweeping across the marble chessboard, heavy pieces falling to the balcony floor. The movement takes me by surprise, drawing a gasp from me, my hand to my throat. This is how he wants to play today.
I take a step back. “You’re in a mood.”
“Am I?” he says, stalking forward.
“And I don’t like it.”
“True or false. Avery James doesn’t like when I’m rough with her. When I’m cruel and hard and dangerous with her. But how will we test the theory?”
When I hit the railing, I curve to the side. My hands grasp the stone, sightless. “We won’t.”
“Maybe we’ll test your sweet cunt. See if you’re swollen and pink, hungry for my cock. See if you’re wet for me. Are you?”
“I don’t like you when you’re like this.”
He touches my throat, in that hollow point where my hand flew in surprise, that vulnerable place that my body understands instinctively. He understands it, too. “I think you do, but more to the point, I don’t care. Not right now. Because I don’t like you lying to me.”
“I didn’t lie,” I protest, feeling my pulse thud against his fingers.
“What were you afraid of? In the room just now? Something happened. I can see the knowledge in your pretty eyes even if I don’t know the details.”
And he never will. I lift my chin. “I had a nightmare.”
“Well, well. Maybe the little virgin really has grown into a woman. Little liar, that’s what I’ll have to call you now. You looked right into my eyes while you did it.” The eyes that glow with ferocity.
I shrink away, looking to the side. “We’re not going to play tonight.”
“We’re already playing, little liar. That began when you said nothing happened.”
It’s not only that I want to keep my secrets—it’s that I don’t fully understand the confession. I’m afraid of Gabriel, afraid of myself. Afraid of the unknown voice that spoke to me. It isn’t the voice that feels like a dream. It’s this. Life. Death. Only the sex grounds me in anything real.
“Please,” I whisper. I grasp his hand, which only makes me feel smaller. Powerless. He’s so much larger than me. Sometimes it feels like his presence takes up that space, but no. I feel the muscle beneath my touch. I can’t even circle my fingers around his wrist, not completely.
“Please what?”
Please don’t make me tell you, don’t make me explain what I don’t even understand. Please touch me so that I forget all about being afraid, if only for an hour.
“Please, Gabriel.”
His eyes flare. I feel the tension in his body. He likes the word; I knew he would. We’re playing this game, and this was my move. He pulls me back to the metal table with its empty chess set. We both ignore the beautiful pieces strewn about. They’re casualties in this war. We’re the ones left standing.
His hands circle my waist, gently touching, measuring. Feeling me. That’s the only warning I have before he lifts me onto the table. I shriek and grasp his arms. “I’m too heavy.”
“Hmm,” he says, keeping me there. “Marble pieces, triple weighted. Almost six inches high, wouldn’t you say? Altogether I think they weigh more than you.”
“Unlikely. Sixteen pieces? They don’t weigh ten pounds each.”
He smiles. “Then I’ll have to admit I made sure the table could hold a person.”
“Did you have this set made for us, too?” Like the wood set in the library.
His gaze flicks over the intricate marble sculptures as if seeing them for the first time. “No, that would be extravagant. These came from an ancient royal family in Southern Italy, passed down through generations.”
“Not extravagant at all,” I say drily. “How did you come by it? Pillaging? Thievery? Or did you find it in the bargain bin at the Tanglewood pawn shop?”
“As a matter of fact, this was a gift. Does it shock you that my business interests are international?”
“It shocks me that someone would give you a gift.”
A low laugh. “You have quite a mouth on you.”
“I thought you liked my mouth.”
“I love your mouth, even when it’s telling me lies.”
My lips press together. “You aren’t going to offer to put my mouth to better use?”
“Especially when it’s telling me lies,” he muses. “How perverse of me.”
“Or maybe you’ll give me something to hold in my mouth instead of talking back to you.” I don’t know what’s gotten into me, only that we’ve moved past sparring with wooden pieces, with marble. All I have left are words, and it’s a fight to the death.
