Chapter 20
AURORA
I've been at Axel's estate for five days, and I'm losing my mind.
I’m going to scream any second now, and it’s not going to be pretty.
It's not because the place is crude. In fact, it's the opposite. The estate is beautiful, luxurious, and more comfortable than anywhere I've ever lived. My suite is twice the size of my room at Dad's house. The food is incredible. The staff is attentive without being intrusive.
But I'm going insane anyway.
Because Axel is everywhere, and we can't stop fighting.
"You can't just lock me in this house," I snap at him across his office desk. It's day three of this particular argument. "I'm not a prisoner!”
"I never said you were a prisoner." His calm voice makes me angrier. "I said it's not safe for you to leave the estate right now."
I throw my hands in frustration. "Not safe according to who? You?!"
He pinches the bridge of his nose.
"According to reality, Aurora. Your father is furious. Everyone in the mafia world is unhinged right now. You are safest here."
"So what, I'm supposed to hide here forever?"
"Not forever. Just until things calm down."
"When will that be? I can’t just stay here." I'm pacing now, unable to sit still. "I can't just disappear from the world, Axel. I have a life."
"And you also have people who could use you to get to me."
"Not everything is about you!"
"This situation is!" He stands, matching my energy. "Whether you like it or not, being here makes you a target. My enemies will see you as leverage."
"Then maybe I shouldn't be here at all."
The words hang between us, sharp and cutting.
His jaw clenches. "Is that what you want, Aurora? You want to leave?"
"I want to make my own choices for once in my life!" I bite my lips to stop from crying. I hoped leaving my father and going with Axel would mean something… different.
It doesn’t, and I’m going to be damned if I let anyone treat me like a fucking bird ever again.
"You made a choice. You chose to come with me."
"Because staying with my father wasn't an option! That doesn't mean I want to trade one cage for another!"
We glare at each other across the desk, both breathing hard.
"I'm fucking trying to protect you," he says finally, his voice lower.
"I don't need protection. I need freedom."
"You're carrying my child. My protection is not up for debate."
And there it is. The real issue underneath all our arguments. The baby. The reason we're stuck together in this impossible situation.
"This conversation is over," I gale a deep breath and turn toward the door.
"We're not done talking about this."
"Yes, we are. I'm done fighting with you for today."
I storm out before he can respond.
The next morning, it starts again.
Axel brings in a woman during breakfast. She is perfectly styled, wearing designer clothes that someone in her profession should not be wearing.
"Aurora, this is Natasha," Axel says. "She'll be helping you with anything you need. Shopping, appointments, whatever you require."
I set down my coffee cup and hope I sound as infuriatingly calm as he does. "I don't need a babysitter."
"She's not a babysitter. She's an assistant."
"I don't need an assistant either." I smile.
Natasha looks uncomfortable, glancing between us.
"Natasha, could you give us a moment?" Axel says.
She nods and leaves the room, and I allow myself to lose my shit.
"What the hell was that?" I demand. "You can't just assign people to me without asking."
"I'm trying to make your life easier."
"By treating me like I'm incapable of handling my own affairs?"
"That's not what I'm doing."
"Then what are you doing? Because from where I'm sitting, you're making decisions about my life without consulting me. Again."
"You need help, Aurora. You can't just stay locked in your room all day."
"So you hired someone to what, drag me out? Force me to go shopping? Pretend everything's normal when my entire life is falling apart?"
"I hired someone to give you options!"
"I don't want options from you! I want you to stop trying to control everything!"
"I'm not trying to control you!"
"Yes, you are! You're doing exactly what my father did, just in a prettier cage!"
His face hardens. "I am nothing like your father."
"Making decisions for me, telling me what's best, treating me like I can't handle myself?"
"That's not fair."
"Neither is this situation!" I'm standing now, hands balled into fists. "I left my father to escape being controlled. I'm not going to let you do the same thing."
"Fine. You want to be independent? Be independent. See how long you last without protection in this world."
"Maybe I will!"
"Maybe you should!"
We're both breathing hard, staring at each other across the dining table.
"I hate you right now," I say.
"The feeling's fucking mutual."
I push past him, and make it to my room before the tears come.
I'm so angry. At Axel, at myself, at this whole impossible situation. I came here thinking it would be different. Thinking I'd have freedom, choices, a say in my own life.
A knock on my door interrupts my spiral.
"Go away, Axel," I call out.
The door opens anyway because, of course, he has autonomous power in his kingdom.
He stands in the doorway, looking as frustrated as I feel.
"What do you want?" I ask, not bothering to hide the tears.
"To not fight with you for five fucking minutes."
"Then stop trying to control me."
"I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to keep you safe in a world that wants to hurt you."
"By making every decision for me? By treating me like I'm incompetent?"
"That's not what I'm doing!"
“I'm so confused right now, Axel. We fight constantly. About everything. And I don't know if it's because we're wrong for each other or because we're both too stubborn to compromise."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then: "Maybe both."
"That's helpful."
"I don't have better answers, Aurora. I don't know how to do this. How to be with someone. How to balance protecting you with giving you freedom. I just know that I'm failing at both."
"You're not failing. You're just... suffocating me."
"And you're driving me insane."
We stare at each other, the air thick with tension that isn't entirely anger.
"I hate this," I whisper, tears in my eyes.
"Which part?"
"All of it. Fighting with you. Wanting you even when I'm furious. Not knowing what we are or what we're doing."
He crosses the room in three strides. "I fucking hate it too, Aurora, I hate it."
Then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is hard, angry, all teeth and desperation. I kiss him back just as furiously, channeling everything I can't say into the contact.
His hands are in my hair, yanking my head back to deepen the kiss. The pull is sharp enough to make me gasp, and he swallows the sound. I claw at his shirt, trying to get it off, needing to feel his skin against mine.
"You make me fucking crazy," he growls against my mouth.
"Good, you make me want to scream too."
He lifts me in one smooth motion, and I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively. We're stumbling toward the bed, knocking over a lamp in the process. The crash of it hitting the floor barely registers. Neither of us cares about anything except getting horizontal.
God, I want this, I’ve wanted this for so long.
He drops me on the mattress, and I bounce slightly before he follows me down. His weight presses me into the bed, his hands everywhere at once, pulling at my clothes with rough urgency.
"I'm still angry at you," I gasp as he yanks my shirt over my head in one aggressive motion.
"I'm still angry at you too."
My bra is gone seconds later, his fingers making quick work of the clasp. His mouth finds my breast, biting down hard enough to make me gasp and arch into him. The sharp pleasure-pain sends heat flooding through me. I'm fumbling with his belt, my fingers clumsy with need and frustration.
He strips me bare in record time, practiced and efficient. Then he stands, removing his own clothes while I watch. I'm breathing hard, admiring the body I'm furious at wanting so desperately.
"Turn over," he orders, his voice rough with desire and anger.
"Make me."
His eyes flash with something dark and dangerous. He grabs my hips in both hands, flips me onto my stomach with enough force to bounce me on the mattress. The display of strength should probably concern me. Instead, it makes me wetter.
"Brat," he mutters.
"Tyrant!”
His hand comes down on my ass with a sharp crack that echoes in the room.
I yelp, more from surprise than actual pain, though there's definitely a sting. "What the hell was that for?"
"For driving me insane." He does it again, and I feel the heat bloom across my skin. "For arguing with me about everything."
"You argue with me too!"
"Because you're stubborn." Another slap, harder this time. "And infuriating."
"So are you!"
He spreads my legs with his knees, positions himself behind me. I can feel the head of him pressing against my entrance, hot and hard. "And we're going to fuck like we're both furious. Because we are."
"Fine, fuck me then.”
Please. I beg inwardly, I need this.
“Oh, I will.” He pushes inside in one brutal thrust that drives the air from my lungs.
We both groan at the sensation. The angle is different like this, deeper, almost overwhelming.
"Fuck," he breathes, his fingers digging into my hips. "You're so wet. You like fighting with me, don't you?"
"Shut up." I whimper, pleasure carousing through me.
"You do. You like it when I get rough." He pulls out almost completely, then slams back in. "When I don't hold back.
I push back against him, meeting his thrusts with my own force. If he wants rough, I'll give him rough. I'm not some delicate thing to be handled carefully. I can take everything he's got.
The angle is deep, almost too much, riding that perfect line between pleasure and pain.
He's hitting places inside me that make me see stars, make my vision blur at the edges.
One hand grips my hip hard enough that I know there will be bruises tomorrow.
The other slides into my hair, fisting it, pulling my head back until my spine arches.
"Who do you belong to?" he demands, his voice ragged.
"No one."
He pulls my hair harder, the sharp tug making my scalp tingle. "Try again."
"I belong to myself!”
"Stubborn woman." He reaches around with his free hand, finds my clit with unerring accuracy. "Let's see how long you maintain that independence when I make you come."
"I'm not going to..."
"Yes, you are." His fingers work magic, circling and pressing while he keeps up the brutal pace inside me. "You're going to come on my cock while I'm buried inside you, and you're going to scream my name."
"You're so fucking arrogant..."
"And you're so close." He can feel it, the way I'm tightening around him, the way my breathing has gone ragged and desperate. "Stop fighting it."
"No."
"Aurora." His voice drops to that dangerous register that makes me shiver. "Come. Now."
The orgasm hits me like a freight train, sudden and devastating. I do scream his name, can't help it, my whole body shaking with the force of it. Every muscle locks up, and I'm trembling uncontrollably.
"That's it," he groans, never slowing his pace. "Fuck, that's perfect."
He keeps moving, chasing his own release while I'm still caught in the aftershocks. I'm oversensitive now, whimpering with each thrust, but he doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. Just keeps driving into me with single-minded determination.
"Axel, I can't..."
"Yes, you can. Give me one more."
"I can't..."
His fingers find my clit again, and impossibly, unbelievably, I feel another orgasm building. My body shouldn't be capable of this, but it is.
"You can. And you will." He's relentless, merciless. "Come again. Show me how much you hate me right now."
The second orgasm rips through me even harder than the first, if that's even possible. I'm sobbing into the mattress, completely overwhelmed by sensation, unable to form coherent thoughts.
He follows seconds later with a broken groan, burying himself as deep as he can go.
We collapse together, both breathing like we've run a marathon. For a long moment, neither of us can move. We're just lying there in a tangle of sweaty limbs, trying to remember how to function like normal human beings.
Then he pulls out carefully, and I whimper at the loss. I feel him leave the bed, hear water running in the bathroom. He comes back with a warm cloth, cleans me gently and thoroughly. The tenderness is jarring after the roughness, the care he takes making my chest ache.
He climbs back into bed but doesn't pull me close. Just lies beside me, both of us staring at the ceiling in the dim light.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we can't say.
I turn onto my side after a few minutes and study his profile in the darkness. His jaw is tight, his expression unreadable.
We're a mess, I think. We fight constantly about everything, and then we do this, and I don't know what we are or what we're doing.
We can't keep doing this. Fighting and fucking and pretending that's sustainable. That this is what a relationship looks like.
But I know we're going to anyway. Because neither of us knows how to stop. Neither of us knows how to be anything else with each other.
I should probably leave, put some distance between us. Create some breathing space to think and figure out what we're doing.
But I'm exhausted, and my body feels like water, and I don't have the energy to move.
So I just lie there beside him, not touching, not talking. Both of us stuck in this impossible situation that we've created.
We're not lovers. Lovers talk, share, build something together.
We're not strangers. Strangers don't know each other's bodies like this.
We're something in between. Something undefined, maddening, and probably unsustainable.
And I have no idea how to fix it.
Or if it can even be fixed.