Page 52 of Ruined Wrath
I lean forward and brace my hands on either side of her, practically bending her in half.
Her top has fallen down, exposing a bra that can barely contain her breasts, but not once do I touch her, no matter howbadly I want to. Not even when I turn my head and my mouth is less than an inch from her bare thigh or when Fiona’s moans grow louder as she reaches her climax.
Even as we’re both coming, I keep my hands on the bed, gripping the comforter so tightly my knuckles turn white.
Fiona does the same. Where she once would have pulled on my hair or clawed at my skin as she climaxed, she sinks her fingers into the soft sheets and turns her head away from me.
The relief of my climax fades in an instant, and I quickly pull myself free.
I turn my back on Fiona as I tuck my cock back into my pants, the tip still leaking, but I don’t care.
Fiona gets to her feet and starts getting dressed, and I sneak a glance at her over my shoulder.
Immediately, I notice her hands are shaking as she pulls on her leggings.
It’s subtle, anyone else might have missed it, but not me. I’ve learned her tells, whether I want to admit that or not.
She finishes dressing and steps back instinctively, putting space between us without being told.
I don’t expect it to sting, not when I’ve been trying so hard to keep that space from shrinking until it no longer exists, but it does. And when she leaves the room without giving me yet another apology, it makes me pause.
That’s new.
At first, Fiona said it constantly until the words blurred into noise. However, somewhere along the line, the apologies stopped. Not because I don’t think she’s sorry, but because she’s learning that they don’t change anything.
I wonder then if I’ve finally broken her.
The idea should satisfy me. In some twisted, ugly way, I think it does. This is the consequence she has to face. She lied to me,betrayedme, and whether she meant to or not, she put Scout in danger. And yet…
The door clicks shut behind her, and the silence feels louder than any argument we’ve had.
I exhale slowly and finish adjusting my cuffs, my jaw tight.
I tell myself this distance is necessary, that if I let myself feel too much, I’ll forget what she did. Or worse, decide that I don’t care.
I head downstairs and nearly collide with Ronan coming out of the living room.
He stops short when he sees me, a deep crease appearing between his dark brows. “You look like shit.”
“Good morning to you too.”
It seems the release I found with Fiona only moments ago has already worn off. Perhaps I’m more tightly wound than I care to admit.
Ronan folds his arms and leans back against the wall. “Are you sleeping?”
“Enough.”
It’s a lie. Sleep comes in short bursts now, broken up by memories of those dark hours when I didn’t know if my son was alive or dead. Most nights, I sneak into his room and watch him sleep, but even when I can see the soft rise and fall of his chest, it’s not enough to ease the gut-wrenching pain that follows me around like an omen.
Ronan studies me for a long moment, his gaze sharp in that way of his that makes people nervous.
“Are you sure about this plan?” he eventually asks.
I know what he’s really asking. “You mean, am I sure about Fiona?”
“Yes.”
I clench my jaw. “She’s agreed to help us.”
