Chapter 23 Viviana #2
He sits next to me, his scent intoxicating me, every muscle in my being pulling taut with desire. Every fiber is tensing into an electrically charged wire.
Fuck the asshole for conditioning my body like I am some Pavlovian dog. I’ll bite his head off and chew his cock.
I stiffen into an inflexible board, and he rakes a hand through his hair. “Really, Viviana? I had my tongue, fingers, and cock so deep inside of you, there’s really no place for fake modesty.”
“It’s rage,” I spit. “Sheer, blinding fury. Maybe I just can’t stand your presence.”
The fight with him overpowers everything else, my freak out long forgotten.
Silence only brings the demons in to mock me. I must fill it before their talons claw at my heart once again.
“Dahlia said you played Cupid. I don’t see how when you lack any loving cell in your body. And you’re not bad with children. You’re simply terrified. You should be because you hurt the people you love. So yeah, we won’t have children. And we won’t sleep together.”
“Never? Or will you let me have you occasionally?” he asks, seeking my gaze.
Is he freaking kidding me, trying to negotiate letting him into my bed? Oh, he’ll get a brutal wake-up.
“That’s all you’re interested in from my speech?” I screech, not hiding the hurt in my voice. I wanted him to react. Give me something.
His sharp features harden into stone, only a muscle ticking in his jaw betrays he’s human. “You made your decision about me, Viviana. I won’t force you into something else. I wanted you. I’ve got you. But from here on, I’ll take what you give me.”
Such a damn liar. Everything except children. I don’t know why I insist. It’s not like I would want them with him.
Liar.
“If you don’t want children, why undertake such responsibility?”
“For someone who tries to convince herself she doesn’t want my children any longer, you’re set on the topic.”
“Just wanting to understand your twisted brain.”
“It’s beneath you to dish out gratuitous cruelty, Viviana.”
I stand up, about to march back inside. He’s right. I don’t like that I don’t have my emotions under control when it comes to him. This is not me, trying to hurt him to appease my own.
He yanks me by the elbow, dragging me down onto his lap.
I let him because in this moment, the only thing keeping me together is his embrace. Also, nothing new.
“Just let me hold you. For a bit,” he says, his deep voice uncharacteristically gentle as he locks his arms around my belly and places his chin on my shoulder.
I nod, his touch soothing every fissure in my chest, the cracks he was responsible for, and the ones that were there long before him.
He strokes down my side, and I place my cheek against his shoulder. “This is not a peace offering.”
“I know,” he rasps, emotions thick in his voice. “If it were, you would have burrowed yourself into me. I thought that was my superpower. Make you feel safe. Which was strange considering the man I am. The things I’ve done,” he says, voice sounding haunted.
It hits me that even if I’d love to do nothing more than to hate him, I feel safe with him—physically at least—a dichotomy, but I can relax knowing no one could reach me in my bubble.
“We should go back.”
“Maybe they will take the hint and fucking leave already,” he grumbles, and I bite the inside of my cheek hard not to smile.
I slip from his embrace, knowing we must return. It wouldn’t even matter if someone found out how well we know each other. We’re married in the name of God and have a signed marriage certificate.
As we walk inside, I glance at him. “We would have been so happy, Tristan.”
His lips pull down into a sad smile etched in acceptance. “I’ve known hell all my life, Viviana.”
There it is again, the appearance of his past, clenching my heart with an unyielding fist threatening to strangle the fragile organ. His eyes darken as if he spars with his demons in this very moment.
I want to hold his hand and fight them along with him. My heart didn’t get the memo that he’s the one who broke it. No, that organ is loyal to the point that it only wants to heal him, ease him.
Staying strong when everything in me demands the contrary will tear me apart.
I look up at the clear sky, but there’s no message written there, no cure for my predicament, just some distant stars flickering their light in endless coldness.
For the next several hours, we mingle, dance, eat, and as the guests trickle out, I breathe a sigh of relief.
The soles of my feet throb, pulsing with pain. My feet are killing me, and all I want is to toss these sandals and put on something comfortable.
I am exhausted, physically and emotionally.
Tristan places his palm on my back, urging me into the car, and I close my eyes.
The wedding was nothing in comparison to living together. The challenge has just begun. Alone with him, I am prone to slip more often than I want. He sees through my pretense and takes advantage of it.
Rubbing my calves, I count the minutes until we reach home.
Without asking, he gets on his knees and unbuckles the straps, slipping one sandal then the other off my feet, kneading the swollen tissues. His touch feels divine, and after being in fight mode for so long, I lack the strength to stop him.
When the driver parks in the underground garage, he gathers me in his arms, my sandals dangling from his fingers.
Inside the private elevator, I slip my hand in his suit pocket and then swipe the key card on the panel to bring us to the penthouse.
Each floor reminds me that this will be my home.
That our married life has just started.
The doors slide open.
Home sweet home.
Except it’s nothing sweet. Just like us—it’s a blend of temptation and obsession, madness interwoven with love. All intense. All dangerous.
From the very beginning, I grasped that I wasn’t equipped to handle him. Yet I went for it, his pull too strong to resist, his call too potent to ignore.
Recklessness got me into this situation. I can’t escape him even if I wanted to.