Page 75 of Betrothed
His laugh matched mine, both joyful and unbelieving and as we clung to each other, it was easy to feel as if the two of us were one.
But that couldn’t happen. We weren’t destined to be together no matter what fate had in mind. Unless the story was tragic, ending in death and destruction because that’s the only way this wicked tryst could meet any conclusion. We both knew it.
He lifted his head, locking eyes with mine. So soulful. Full of questions.
Ripped with rage. Not with me but with the circumstances. Even I wanted to hunt down this Ghost.
In the remaining minutes of time spent in the shower, the last specks of blood were washed down the drain, leaving our bodies squeaky clean.
But not our souls.
No matter the number of people’s lives I saved or healed, it would never be enough to make up for the horrors inflicted by my family. I’d just need to face that once and for all.
I grabbed a towel as soon as I left the shower, curious as to the different layer of heat coursing through me. The kind indicating shame. Why now? We’d fucked before. I’d begged him to do so. Why now?
As I moved in front of the mirror, I was grateful steam blocked any reflection. Right now, I couldn’t look myself in the eyes. I’d never felt this way and once in my life I’d thrown caution to the wind, indulging in a one-night stand.
That had led to something else altogether.
Gabriel.
Even as I shuddered from the thought, noise captured my attention. With a slight turn of my head, I watched as the man who’d taken me captive in more than one way yanked his thick belt from the loops on his jeans. I laughed softly to myself.
Always needing control.
Always punishing me for being a bad little girl.
Well, he better get used to the fact I didn’t like to follow anyone’s orders. I’d lived for eighteen years being forced to do so. Now Iraked my hand across the steam on the mirror, desperate to see my reflection. And why? Because an epiphany came to me. I was more under my father’s thumb now than ever before.
My captor had been right. I’d allowed my father to win. The realization was almost laughable except for me, it was close to being tragic. I was twenty-eight years old, pretending since I’d turned eighteen that I’d been a free woman.
What a crock of shit.
What in the hell was wrong with me? As the steam began to settle again, I made faces at myself. Never again. I had to break completely free. As the handsome, sexy as hell kidnapper appeared behind me, the muted reflection given the continuing steam was a perfect representation of our strange, sinful relationship.
We were both toxic and perfect together.
I lowered my gaze, accepting what he had in his hand. The belt. Of course I knew he felt the need to punish me. Men in his position handled every infraction with acts of corporal punishment.
If you could call killing a man in cold blood a corporal act.
Perhaps I was losing my mind, but Kirill was better helping me understand what it meant to grow up in a privileged household. One that did the work of the devil.
He didn’t need to say a word nor did I argue. I gripped the edge of the counter, leaning over slightly as I spread my legs farther apart.
If he was surprised I was not only accepting but also a willing participant, he certainly didn’t show it. A man of many masks.
But I closed my eyes just before I caught the whooshing sound floating through the air, a split second before the thick strap of leather smashed against my buttocks.
Shuddering, I dug my nails into the granite, almost wishing I could leave scratches. He rolled his fingers down my spine before repeating the move, my entire body jarred from the brutal smack.
I breathed deeply, shifting from foot to foot from the discomfort, but refused to make a sound.
After another two strikes, tears threatened to destroy my resolve. I tried to keep my eyes on him, especially since the ghostly fog was beginning to fade from left to right on the mirror.
Exposing the frailty of the woman behind the mask.
His weakness.
