Chapter 20
20
Samantha
With that statement, Ramone tugged me against his chest, gripping the hair at the nape of my neck, and pressing his lips firmly to mine. He kissed me deeply, his mouth dominating my own, chasing the oxygen from my lungs and weakening my knees. He thrust his tongue between my lips, tasting just like the beautiful, wicked thing that he was. His fingers lingered along my hipbone, tracing my curves as if committing them to memory.
Heat surged through my veins from the assault on my senses as he weaved his fingers through mine, trapping my arm over my head. My free limb traveled to his waist, clasping his firm waist right above his belt. The motion drew him in closer, leaving no space between us, the warmth of his torso radiating around the two of us like a blanket.
My suspended arm dropped free when he moved his grip back to my neck, bending my head. I felt his nose and his lips skate along my column, the scent of roses filling the air so strong the taste of the petals was on my tongue. His breath electrified my skin until all I wanted was the contact of his mouth, his teeth scraping my flesh. I moaned my frustration and was answered by him flattening me against the wall, his erection grinding against my lower belly, and my own fingernails digging into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood.
No.
Pressing my hands to his chest, I tried to push him away. He was immoveable. “You have to leave; I’m not doing this with you. You hurt me, badly.”
He drew in a breath, leaning over me, caging my head with his arms. “You think you have a choice in the matter?” He tilted his head, and I watched the color of his eyes change. Change. Everything that had anything to do with this man made me doubt my sanity. “You saw what I did to Tim for you; I set you free. You belong to me.”
It was all too much for me. The tricks, the authoritarian attitude, the loss of my own will, and the compulsion to rip his clothes off and have my way with him. I lifted my arm and slapped his face, the sound echoing through my bedroom. The violence in his gaze took my breath away and left my hand suspended mid-air. He lifted his hand as if to grab me, and then disappeared. Vanished. Like he hadn’t just been here making my blood sing and my core pulse with need, my own personal devil.
I slid to the floor, shaking and clutching my head. Was I really this unstable? He didn’t deny trapping me in my dreams. I knew it was him, I knew it as much as the fact the sky is blue. How it was possible—that I didn’t understand. It shouldn’t be, it defied explanation.
Then, it hit me. It defied explanation because there was none. I’d had another mental breakdown and imagined everything, just like the last time. The pressure had been getting to me, that was true. My store had been busier, my parents were relentless with trying to marry me off, Matthew had ghosted me when he’d looked so promising, and Timothy had been coercing me back into a relationship. Just like the imaginary tiny cottage in my dreams, I’d been making things up again. My brain was simply trying to protect me, and it’d sent me into a fantasy world. My life had always been easy, uncomplicated, and the sudden appearance of these stressors had sent me off the deep end. My little sister had suffered from some emotional problems—maybe it was genetic? I couldn’t make my parents live through that again. I’d simply had a nervous breakdown.
But I would be okay. There was no other choice but to be okay.
After I shoved myself off the floor, I walked into my kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water, setting it on the island. My brief puzzlement over so many varieties of bottled water appearing in my refrigerator just like in the dream cottage was interrupted by the memory of Ramone slicing Timothy’s neck open. The visual came over me and I squeezed my eyes shut.
Stop.
I ran to the bathroom where I lost the contents of my stomach. My knuckles turned white, holding the edge of the toilet bowl while I heaved and gagged.
None of this is real.
Unsure if Timothy was really dead or not, I scurried back to my room for my cell phone. We’d exchanged text messages earlier, and there was one call from him before noon. His body may very well be on his kitchen floor. I scrambled for a reasonable explanation, one in which Ramone wasn’t the main character. He was the owner of one of the biggest companies in the world, there was no way he’d risk everything, especially not for a man as inconsequential as my ex.
It was merely a regular, interrupted burglary gone bad, if he was truly gone. Thieves always outfitted themselves in black. They knew their way around a home’s utilities. Normal people knew all these small, regular, stereotypical details that defined a criminal. There was no reason to believe anything else.
But why would I have been there? How did I get home? Fresh panic seized me all over again and I forced the thoughts away, locking them up tight. If I don’t think about it, it didn’t happen.
I’m a full-grown, completely healthy normal woman.
I am not losing my mind.