Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
April, back in Dallas
MADS
"I think we should have Moira over," I say, after we've gotten home, unpacked our bags, and eaten an early lunch.
The words taste strange in my mouth, like I'm speaking a foreign language.
The house feels both familiar and alien---like everything I touch has been shifted slightly to the left while we were gone.
But then, I haven't been here since January, have I?
My hand trails over the kitchen counter, the soft back of the couch, and then, as always, Donny.
Domhnall's shoulders tense at my suggestion, muscles bunching beneath his shirt. "Where is this coming from?" His voice is suspicious, blue eyes narrowing as he turns to face me. The perfect mouth I was kissing at the luxury resort just yesterday now twists with mistrust.
I shrug, feigning a casualness I don't feel.
It hurts, having him so close but feeling so far from him.
Always secrets between us now. I free myself of one only to be anchored down with another, worse one.
It was better when he had me in his dungeon, even though I was shut in Anna's box.
I could see out, and we were safe. We were with Donny finally, and we were safe to finally just be.
But now I have to put on a mask with him. The queen of pretending everything's fine. "I want her to be one of my bridesmaids. It's time the two of you made up." I slide my fingertip along the kitchen counter, drawing invisible patterns on the marble. "I don't even know why you're fighting."
A lie. Of course I know. I may not have all of Anna's memories at my disposal, but I know enough.
Brother and sister are locked in a cold war because Moira fucked up---again.
When she put Anna in danger by fucking our father, Moira betrayed Donny's trust---again.
But right now, the estrangement is actually useful to me.
Domhnall finishes loading the dishwasher and slams the door shut, the bang reverberating through the kitchen like a gunshot.
"She might be at Kira's baby shower tonight," he bites out first, and I might feel relief at the thought of getting to talk to Moira if he didn't then turn to me with his mouth in a tight, unforgiving line and glacial eyes. "You've been keeping secrets from me."
How does he know?
My heart stutters, but my face remains impassive. Which secret, exactly, is he referring to? The carousel of horrors I've kept hidden would make his blood freeze in his veins.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, inspecting my nails with exaggerated boredom.
"Who am I even talking to right now?" he demands, voice rising, the brogue thickening as it always does when he's upset.
I pop a hip and give him a deadpan stare, deliberately provocative. "Does it matter?"
"Yes, it fucking matters!" he explodes, fists clenching at his sides. His face flushes with anger, veins standing out on his neck. "You keep talking about the wedding and being my wife, but sometimes I feel like I don't even know you anymore!"
The words land like blows---precise, targeted, and devastating.
It's what I want---what I need---him to think, yet somehow it still hurts.
The irony isn't lost on me. I spent years---decades---wishing he'd see me, know me, recognize me for who I am.
Now that he finally does, I'm doing everything in my power to push him away.
I'm picking this fight. I know I am. But it's been brewing since I stepped out of that gangster's car at Amangiri. Sweet Donny just didn't know it.
I huff out in frustration, shoving any weakness down. "What do you need to know? I thought we were Donny and Anna, meant to be since time immemorial. Isn't that the pretty fairytale we've spun?" The mockery in my voice is thick enough to choke on.
His eyes narrow, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "So it's Mads after all."
"Please," I huff out with an exaggerated roll of my eyes. "Anna isn't so saintly anymore. I've never tried to hide who I am or what I want." Unlike precious little Anna, collecting a treasure-trove of secrets.
"Then tell me what she's been hiding," he demands, closing the space between us, his height forcing me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The heat radiating from his body makes my skin prickle with awareness.
"Oh, I don't know," I say with theatrical casualness. "Maybe how she tried to yeet me out of existence with that quack hypnotist." I tap my chin, pretending to consider. "Or how another alter showed up and she still hasn't told you."
The shock that washes over his face is almost comical---eyes widening, mouth slackening, color draining from his cheeks.
Yup, Anna definitely didn't tell him about Red.
Frankly, I was wondering if I was going to meet our murder-happy sister personality back in that car with Pavel, but nope.
Where's the new bitch when I needed her?
"What?" he all but yells, his voice cracking on the word. "When? What are they like? Have I met them?"
"No," I say with a laugh that doesn't quite reach my eyes. "And be grateful you haven't."
His hands are in his hair now, tugging at the dark strands like he might pull the answers directly from his skull. "Have you talked to Dr. Ezra about it?"
"Me?" I laugh, the sound brittle and sharp-edged.
"No, not me. I mean, Anna's been trying to raise me like she was resurrecting the dead.
" I pace the kitchen, running my fingers along the edge of the island.
The marble is cold and so, so smooth. "All during Amangiri, all that scary shit she was doing?
She was trying to get me to come back out to help her deal with the new little maniac that was pulled from the depths when she buried me. "
"What the fuck?" Domhnall asks, hands at the sides of his head like he's trying to physically hold himself together.
I suck on my straw---when did I even grab a drink?
---the ice clinking against the glass like tiny crystalline bells.
"I know, right? Anna's angel wings are getting a little singed now, huh?
" I cock my head. It's probably wrong that I'm enjoying the way his reality is unraveling in real time.
"I'm starting to look like the sane alter. "
His eyes narrow, connecting dots, piecing together the puzzle. "So asking me to fuck her while she was asleep..." He starts, eyes shifting left and right as he works it out. "That wasn't a fantasy. It was to..."
His eyes finally stop back on me, realization dawning like the first hint of sunrise after the longest night.
"Bingo." I shoot finger guns at him, injecting as much vulgarity into the gesture as I can. "You fucked me back to life, baby."
He stands taller, shoulders squared and jaw set. "Let me talk to Anna."
I frown and suck on my straw harder, the liquid long gone, just air and melting ice.
"Aww. Why bring her back"---I drop to my knees in front of him in one fluid motion, the hardwood floor cool against my skin through my thin leggings---"when you could get your dick wet right now?
I'll let you take out your frustration on both of us.
How about that? It always was your favorite way to release aggression, wasn't it, baby? "
His eyes darken as he looks down at me, conflict written across his beautiful face. Desire warring with anger, lust battling betrayal. I watch the struggle play out, wondering which will win.
Then his hands drop to his pants, his movements sharp and decisive. He harshly unbuttons and unzips, the sound loud in the otherwise silent kitchen.
He grabs his cock, and within a few rough strokes of his fist, he's hard, thick and flushed and perfect.
Then he grabs the back of my hair in a fist, fingers tangling in the strands, pulling just hard enough to make my scalp tingle.
I grin up at him, then open my mouth and stick out my tongue in blatant invitation.
I've barely got my mouth open before he's stuffing my throat full of cock, the taste of him flooding my senses---salt and skin and that indefinable essence that's purely him as a little bit of precum escapes.
"This is how you want it," he growls, and I both hear and feel his anger as he forces himself deeper down my throat, swelling thicker with each furious word. The vibration of his voice travels through him and into me, a dark electricity I can't get enough of.
Fuck, I love it when he gives into his dark side and handles me rough. When he stops pretending to be the hero and embraces the villain that lives inside him. The one I always knew was there, waiting to be unleashed.
I hum my assent around him, the vibration making him twitch against my tongue. I reach up and squeeze his balls, letting the tips of my fingernails dig in just enough to teeter on the edge of pain.
"Fuck!" he shouts, the word tearing from his throat like it was ripped out of him. Then he drags out of my mouth until saliva's dripping from my lips in obscene strings before shoving all the way back in and down my throat.
Choking me with his cock.
I all but squirt in my panties at the roughness, the controlled violence of his movements, the way he's using me like I'm nothing but a receptacle for his rage. My pussy clenches around nothing, desperate and aching.
Anna's the one who over-psychoanalyzes why we like this shit. Why pain becomes pleasure and submission feels like freedom. Why being used makes us feel whole.
I'm just the one who gives in.
My lips have been over my teeth, protecting him, but as Donny pulls out this time, I allow my teeth to just barely scrape along his cock---not enough to hurt, just enough to remind him that I can.
He groans as he pulls all the way out of my mouth, the sound primal and raw.
"Spit on it," he demands, voice thick with lust. "Then beg me for more."
His hand in my hair grips tighter, and the pull at my scalp is right at the edge of being too much. It's just perfect. So fucking delicious.