Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Gwen
A queen? What the hell is that supposed to mean? That’s the big question running through my mind as I sit on Emmett’s king-sized bed while he waits for me to respond.
Problem is, I don’t know what to say. His bare torso is not helping to keep my thoughts organized at all. For being in his late thirties, his body is remarkably toned. My eyes are drawn to the intricate tattoos painted across his taut skin. The artist must have drawn on him directly; the artwork is moving so perfectly with the shape of his physique.
There is a large skull on the center of his chest with a snake swirling around it and coming out of one of the eye sockets. Around it are wilted roses that are so detailed and realistic-looking that I want to run my fingers over them just to see what it feels like.
Emmett clears his throat and folds his arms over his chest.
Shit, what was the question again?
“I’m tired,” I rasp out, flustered. “I want to go to sleep now.” I get up from the bed to stand on my wobbly legs. “Where is the guest room?”
“You are sleeping here… with me… in our bed.” I open my mouth to protest, but he is faster. “Trust me, it’s not worth fighting about. You are not going to win. So save your energy and get comfortable.”
“Fine!” I yell, throwing my hands up. “But I’m not sharing a blanket with you.” I climb back into the bed and lie down on the edge farthest away from him.
This is probably the most childish thing I have done, but I couldn’t care less. The truth is, it’s not worth the fight. He is right about that. I know I’m not going to get past him, but I don’t have to make it easy on him either. Just because he’s decided he wants me now doesn’t mean I still do.
Emmett sprawls out on his side of the bed, pulls the comforter up to his chest, and flips off the light. “Suit yourself, but this is the only one I have, I’m afraid.”
Sure it is. I roll my eyes in the dark. He lives in a fucking mansion with only one blanket.
Turning onto my side, I curl up, pulling my legs to my chest in an effort to stay warm. It’s not particularly cold in here, but lying still, on top of being exhausted, makes it difficult to get comfortable.
At least I won’t have to worry about falling asleep, which I’m not planning on doing. I need to stay up, so I can leave before he wakes up.
For a long time, I remain in this position, forcing myself to breathe evenly to make it sound like I’m asleep. As time passes, it gets harder and harder to stay still and not shiver.
Did he turn up the air conditioner on purpose?
With a deep sigh, Emmett moves around beside me. He is not touching me anywhere, but I know he must be closer now from the way the mattress has dipped slightly. My own body wants to get closer, seeking out the warmth he would provide.
Just thinking about it has me shivering a little more. Exhaustion has made me weak, and I turn my body toward him out of instinct.
He is closer than I thought because I only move a few inches, and I’m close enough to feel his body heat.
I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. Moving the last couple of inches, I find myself pressed against his side. The heat of his body resonates through me, and I bite back a sigh.
Now that I’m warming up a little, my courage starts to build, and the exhaustion fades a bit. No matter what, I can’t fall asleep here. I have to escape, find a way out.
The minutes tick by at a snail’s pace, but Emmett’s breathing finally evens out enough that I’m certain he is asleep. I have no idea where I’ll go once I’m out of this room, but I’ll figure that out later.
I shift against the silk sheets, like I’m rolling over in my sleep. My heart hammers against my ribs, the fear mounting deep in my gut.
What if he wakes up? What if I can’t escape the room? The questions compile, and before I let myself wallow in the fear of what-ifs, I scoot closer to the edge of the bed.
I’m teetering, a breath of an inch away, when I finally do it. I roll out of bed and onto my feet, the mattress dipping ever so slightly as my weight shifts off it.
Once on my feet, I pause for a moment, my breath escaping me like I’ve run a mile. Emmett remains sleeping, his eyes closed; his gorgeous features appear almost serene.
Like a mouse trying to escape a mousetrap, I back away slowly, my steps small and quiet. Every few seconds, I look over my shoulder to check if he is still sleeping. By the time I make it to the door, the bed seems like it’s a million miles away.
Air escapes my lungs as I take the brass knob into my hand and twist it. It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Peering over my shoulder one last time, I see Emmett sitting up in the bed, and the invisible rope around my neck tightens.
“Did you really think escaping me would be that easy?”
His voice sends a shiver down my spine, and instead of doing the sensible thing, I do the only thing that makes sense in my mind: I run.
I’ve barely made it over the threshold when I hear his heavy footfalls behind me. Each step forces me to move faster, my muscles burning as my fight or flight instincts kick in.
One step, two steps… I can do this. I panic at the last moment, trying to decide which way to turn in the dark hallway, giving me a poor sense of direction. It’s that indecision that gets me caught.
The air swooshes out of my lungs as a thick, muscled arm wraps around my middle. A scream rips from my throat, and I’m hauled backward against what could be considered a wall of steel.
His hard muscles press against my backside as he lifts me up and carries me back to where I ran from. “There is no escaping me, Gwen. No fighting this. You’re my wife, and it’s time I made good on that transaction.”
Every word rumbles out of his chest and into me as I struggle against his grasp, my legs flailing and my fists forced to my sides.
The bedroom gets closer, and the window to escape disappears. Once we step back into the room, he releases me and slams the door; the sound echoes through the space, rattling my insides.
Chest rising, he growls, “Strip.”
I lift my chin, wanting to defy him, all while knowing I’ll end up doing it anyway.
“And what if I don’t want to…” I’m not sure how I get the words past my lips without sounding weak, but somehow, I manage.
Emmett lurches forward, his fingers grasping the front of my shirt, and he pulls the fabric tightly. The cotton rips at my shoulder from the force, and cool air kisses my skin.
This man might be my husband, but he’s not the same man who showed disinterest in me two years ago.
“Take off your clothes, or I’ll take them off for you, and believe me,”–his hot breath fans against my cheeks–“you don’t want me to be the one to do it. I’m not in the mood for pleasantries. I want you naked, my willing wife, and your pussy ready for me to use.”