Chapter Twenty One
S erge's eyes darkened even more. Aubrey's skin tingled as she backed away from him. Her retreat only egged him toward her.
She ran around the back of the couch, giggling in nervous laughter. "Stop."
He stalked toward her. She sidestepped the furniture, keeping the object between her and Serge. "I'm serious. I need to stay at my house tonight."
"Not happening." He vaulted over the back of the couch and captured her.
She screamed, though a jolt of arousal flooded her. "You're not listening to me."
"I want you here."
She sighed, allowing him to pick her up, and then wrapped her arms and legs around him. "But you're not going to be here, and I want to go home, clean, check on Mrs. Sullivan, and throw out my plants because I'm sure they all died since the last time I went over there."
"Move in permanently with me." He leaned against the couch, holding her. "There's no reason to keep your house. You don't need to hold on or have the expense when you're here with me."
"That's not true," she said. "I have reasons. Valid ones."
He ran his hands down the slope of her ass and hitched her higher, readjusting his hold. "You go there once a week at the most to grab clothes or check on your neighbor. Everything you need is here."
She buried her face in his neck. It wasn't like she wasn't prepared for the conversation they needed to have. They'd spent every spare moment together when they weren't working.
Her dependency on him grew each day, each week, each month, and it scared her. She had relied on herself for so long, and now she found herself obsessed with him. It probably wasn't healthy, but it felt real. With him, she was happy.
The thought of being away from him, whether at his house while he worked or at her house, almost made her feel physically sick. She shouldn't be that dependent on him, and she continually fought against feeling this way.
To rely on him at that level revealed more about her than about him. She detested what she perceived as a weakness infiltrating their relationship. Everything else in her life demonstrated her independence. She ran the shelter, owned a home—granted her mother bought it—and managed the passionate relationship with Serge without anyone instructing her on how to navigate it.
At twenty-four, she was proud of herself.
Serge was thirty-five years old. He had already passed all the milestones she was experiencing, and many more she'd never encounter because of their differences. Still, he had to accept that she needed to go at her own pace.
"Give me time," she said.
"There's no reason to wait." He moved his shoulder, nudging her to look at him. "It's black and white. Either you're here or you're not. You're with me or you're alone. Nothing's changed from the beginning. I'm all in, Bree. I need you to be there right with me."
She gazed into his eyes, and her stomach settled. She took his words for truth, but she couldn't help the healthy dose of fear lingering behind. "Don't you ever wonder why we need each other so much?"
"No," he said.
"Serge...it's not normal," she whispered. "Just thinking about you being gone until after midnight, leaving me alone, leaves me questioning everything I'm doing. I don't want to need you to function. Because the fact is, I was doing fine on my own until I met you. I don't want you to think this is me." She patted her chest. "I want to be me with you."
"I see who you are." His gaze warmed. "I do."
She couldn't look away. He'd grown from a paradox to counting on him to balance her life. There were times late at night when she pretended to sleep, and he held her with a desperation that confused her. For how much he led their relationship, she was afraid he needed her with the same validity she was feeling.
What would happen if they broke up? Would they both survive, or would they forever reach for something more, always craving that all-encompassing passion that ruled their relationship?
How could she separate need versus true love?
There were so many questions that needed answers. She still needed time to explore their relationship. Serge jumped in blindly and swore to protect her with his life. They were two different people. Two different personalities. She was more cautious.
"I think we need this break." She let go of him and slid down his body. "It's only twenty-four hours. You can think about what we're doing and where you plan for us to go from here. I can take a deep breath and absorb everything that has happened between us."
"No." He stepped away. "You're staying here."
She shook her head. "Serge, I need to—"
He grabbed her, hauling her toward the wall, and pinned her there with his body. "I want you here."
"Do you see the unfairness? You have no one telling you when you can come and go while you dictate my every move. And if you can't be there, you send Antonio to watch me. While I love that you want to protect me, I can't breathe and think about us at the same time."
"Bullshit. You don't have to think. You can feel what we have."
She quivered against him, but her mind refused to shut down. "You can make me beg for one night at my house, and I will," she whispered. "You know, I'll do anything to please you. Do you want me here because you demand me to stay, or do you want to know I'm willingly living here because I want you ?"
"Doesn't matter." His mouth captured hers. Not gently, not to excite her, but greedy and possessive. He punished her for standing up for herself.
She moved her head side to side, but he reached up and held her by her hair, forcing her to open her mouth and take his tongue. The instinct to bite, scream, and push him away still came. Still bothered her. And, damnit, still went away as quickly as it came.
He distracted her with his tongue, stroking hers, until his lips eased back, and he took his time to please her. He forced her legs apart with his knee and shoved his thigh up into the apex of her jeans. She panted at the contact with her sex, and her legs relaxed until she sat on his thigh, grinding against him.
His other hand grabbed her T-shirt. She clutched at his arms as the force of him ripping her shirt threatened to take her away from him. Then he dragged her top down her arms and took her with him to the floor.
To further show he was right, excitement filled her as he hovered above her, working on his belt. Seeing that strap froze her in place, knowing what it felt like against her skin. She clutched his shirt, gasping for breath.
With his jeans opened, his cock hard and ready, Serge undid her jeans and pulled them off her along with her panties. She latched on to him, bringing him back, but he shoved her hands away, pinning them above her head in one of his hands.
"Move in with me." He thrust into her. "Not going a day without you."
She screamed at the force, the shock, the dominance. Unable to move, her core warmed despite her wishing that, for once, she could finish a conversation and sway him her way.
She shuddered underneath him, weak and unable to argue. She took his hardness and begged for more. The wetness of her pussy proved what she wanted. She couldn't hide her feelings when he forced them out of her with sex and took care of her.
Maybe she defied him because she loved the position he put her in. She loved him. She'd die without this.
Her back arched. The muscles in her lower stomach fluttered, and she panted, reaching for the place only Serge could take her. His hardness stroked her exactly how she needed to find release. To find knowledge. To know what she wanted, even if she couldn't admit it out loud.
Then Serge stopped, deeply seated inside of her. She whined, wanting him to continue.
"Look at me." He growled, yanking on her hands. "Stop making excuses to leave me. Forget everything your fucking mother told you. You deserve to be happy, and Bree, I can make you happy."
His eyes hardened and darkened. A lump of emotions choked her as she realized it wasn't anger coming from him but torment. He was scared of losing her.
The curtain he held so protectively around him all the time had slipped. She lost the fight, swallowed hard, and nodded. "I'll stay," she whispered.
For several seconds, he continued looking down at her. The only movement between them was his cock throbbing and her pussy clenching him in the same timing as her heartbeat. The air was thick with tension, cracking to explode in a fiery finale.
He swiftly pulled out of her and stood. She stared in disbelief. What had she done? Why wouldn't he finish?
"Serge?" She pushed herself to a sitting position and grabbed her jeans, holding them to the front of her. "Why wouldn't you—"
"Get dressed." He swept up her ripped T-shirt and cleaned his still hard cock before tucking himself back in and zipping his jeans. "I'm late and need to go. You can shut and lock the door after I leave."
Naked, emotionally raw, and unable to comprehend what happened, she blinked at him, not knowing what to do. "But we were..."
"We were what, Bree?" He scanned her body, flaring when his gaze found the red marks left on her arms. "You need me."
She gasped. Was he telling her that he was the only one who could make her orgasm? That without him, she would never find the pleasure that she gets with him? Was he really going to leave her hanging on the verge of a climax to prove his point?
"You don't play fair." She clamped her teeth.
The corner of his mouth lifted, but there was nothing jovial about the grin. "We'll finish tonight. Here. In my house."
She glared. He'd manipulated her, knowing she'd want him again, and again. And, again.
He strolled toward the hallway. "Walk me out."
A few seconds later, she followed him silently. When he kissed her goodbye, she kissed him back without saying a word. She locked the door behind him. Without waiting to make sure he really left, she walked up the stairs to his bedroom to get cleaned up and dressed.
He'd underestimated her. She was stronger than either of them imagined.
As her arousal waned and she became more in control of herself, he wasn't there to stop her when she packed a bag. She ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks.
Her lack of confidence was a deep scar inside of her. It wouldn't disappear overnight or in six months of dating. He had to understand for how confident he was about them– she would always fear never being enough for him.
If she stayed in his house. If she allowed herself to love him. If she continued letting him have his way every time they disagreed, she'd lose herself in the process.
If she let him take everything from her, she'd never survive.