That’s it? He says that he’s done nothing wrong and I’m supposed to just blindly accept it? I don’t think so it.
“Then neither do I,” I say firmly, grabbing my bag off the counter and slinging it over my shoulder, more than ready to make a hasty exit.
I make it two steps before it’s yanked off my shoulder and tossed to the floor.
“What the hell are you doing?” I gasp as his strong hands grip my hips and lift me onto the counter.
Desire swirls in his eyes as if he likes me like this, and my heart leaps as I recognize traces of the man who once couldn’t get enough of me. My pulse quickens as my fight-or-flight instinct fails me. I shouldn’t allow him to do this, to touch me and confuse my senses, yet part of me wonders . . . What if he’s right? What if it was just a mix-up?
Then you’re a fool, Gabriella, my conscience tells me as a battle wages in my mind.
My sanity loses as he pushes my legs apart and his hands slide up the bare skin of my thighs. Goose bumps rise to the surface as his thumbs tease my flesh right before he rips my panties off. It’s been so long since he’s touched me like this. How can I say no? How can I say yes? Instead, I just say nothing and allow his hands to do the talking as he unbuckles his belt then unfastens his jeans.
When he pulls his cock out, it’s agonizingly hard, sending a glimmer of hope through me that I do still turn him on. He does still want me. He positions himself at my entrance before pausing, and I wrap my legs around his waist, trying to pull him in, ready to lose myself all over again.
“Is this what you want? One last fuck before I leave you here all alone? Is that it? Do you miss my cock when I’m gone? Must I remind you of whose * this is before I leave?” he growls, slamming into me with such force that I fall back against the counter. My head bounces off the granite, which sends waves of pain throughout my skull.
Pleasure quickly masks the sting as he viciously pounds into me. His large hands grip my hips too tight. I’m sure there will be bruises later, but I don’t even try to fight it. I can’t. My body betrays me as his relentless thrusts bring me to the brink.
But just as the waves crest, right before I’m pushed over the edge and into carnal bliss, he groans and pulls out of me. His hand quickly strokes his erection, and before I can protest, his release spills out onto my bare belly, thanks to my shirt, which has ridden up. As quickly as it arose, my orgasm dissipates. I whimper at the lost contact as my release subsides.
My thighs clench as my * throbs in a dull ache. As my hand moves between my legs so I can finish myself off, Adrian grasps my wrist and hauls me up until I’m sitting straight up on the counter with him hovering just before me.
“You are not leaving, Gabriella. You are mine. This * is mine. I will be the only one to fuck it until I say otherwise. And until I want to fuck it, it will wait for me. No one, and I mean no one—not even you—will touch it. Your pleasure is mine and mine alone.”
The ache between my thighs pulsates as he drags me up and gives me a hard kiss. Defiance rises in me. I want, need, to touch myself, but I know that it’ll just make it worse. Instead, I whimper, hoping he’ll take pity on me and give me pleasure before he leaves.
It’s wishful thinking. He tears his mouth away all too quickly. His eyes bore into mine as his jaw tightens.
“You will not come until I return. An appropriate punishment for your ridiculous accusation. And for trying to leave.” He turns his back and begins to walk away.
Punishment? Is he freaking kidding me? I am not a child, and I will not be treated as such, no matter how much I care about him or how many glimpses of the man I fell in love with he gives me. As much as I want it to be, I’m not sure that that’s enough. I can’t stay in this limbo, wondering if Adrian or his evil twin is going to show up.
Anger wells up in me. Both at myself and at him. How is it that, just moments ago, I was wet for him and now I want nothing more than to get him out of my sight? To get off this rollercoaster ride before it comes crashes down at a hundred miles an hour, with me its willing victim.
“I am leaving,” I insist, my voice calm and only slightly quivering as it echoes through the kitchen.
He stops in his tracks and his shoulders heave with each deep breath I assume he takes. Slowly, he turns, the menacing look on his face a mask of fury and disbelief. He stalks back towards me, and when he’s directly in front of me, he shocks me by fisting a hand in my hair, tugging not so gently. His other hand wraps around my throat, covering every square inch from my chin to the base of my neck. For a split second, fear washes over me, and my eyes widen with panic. I suck in a deep breath as I await his next step.
However, he doesn’t squeeze.
He merely holds his hand there in warning. His eyes darken, a cloudy storm of rage playing out before me, and he closes them briefly, as if to regain control. As if he’s forcing himself not to choke me. Of all the things Adrian’s done, he’s never laid a harmful hand on me, and he’s never given me cause to believe he would. But right now? I’m not so sure that he won’t.
“You. Are. Not. Leaving,” he spits out through clenched teeth. He sighs and shakes his head as if to assuage his temper. When his eyes reopen, the storm has calmed. “Who gave you the bag you packed to leave me with? Who took you to those designer shops and watched as you gleefully picked out enough clothing that could last you years without wearing the same outfit twice? Who handed over his card to pay for them each and every time? Who, sweetheart, paid off your student loans, replaced that shithole piece of junk you called a vehicle, and has kept a roof over your head?”