CHAPTER 24
Samia
Processing the luggage of lies my husband has fed me for months gives me the most almighty headache that continues to thump pain all night, long after a hot shower and fitful dreams.
The numbing disbelief consumes me as I remain in solitude. I have nothing to say to Kian, not when he hasn’t tried to lessen the blow of the truth. Truth…ha. Ironic, really. It’s all a woman wants, yet his truth has broken me.
When I locked myself in the bedroom, I swore I was going to pack and get away from him, but pain and sleep won. Hunger is the most dominant need when I wake, as it’s been forever since I last ate anything.
This disaster is such a load of crap, and now I’m finally getting over the worst of my shock and pain. I’m just angry as hell. Plus, I’m famished.
Fueled by hunger, I stormed out of the bedroom, expecting to find my husband waiting outside the door for a confrontation, but the apartment was eerily quiet. Kian’s appearance makes my heart lurch.
Understanding now he’s a liar and how he’s manipulated me like a doll hasn’t changed my feelings. As much as I hate him, I still love him.
I’m in love with a liar and a con man.
My heart prevails over my widespread thoughts, contorting and swirling within me. I wish Kian could assure me that this is a terrible nightmare because it’s my weakness for him that longs for that reassurance.
Do connection and sizzle lie?
I thought we had so much of both, but now I don’t know what’s right anymore.
I must have been the shark from the Jaws franchise movies in a previous life to deserve this punishment.
He’s got me all mixed up. My head and my gut are saying different things.
Neither reaction makes any sense, to be honest.
What were his motives in all this?
That’s what I still can’t figure out: what Kian got out of lying to me. Lying to everybody. The guy must be a straight-up psycho to make everyone believe the fantastical script he’s had going for months. Not even my father saw past Kian’s dishonesty, and he could usually smell a conman a mile away.
I war with confusion as pressure builds behind my eyelids, letting me know a migraine is on the way at the worst possible time. I forage in my purse and dry swallow the medicine.
If it was a long con as part of a joke, then the laugh is on him because nothing is funny about the deception he’s fed me. If he’s tangled me up in deception—a whole marriage—then he’s also tangled himself up.
Telling me how much we were in love.
And then it hits me as past conversations play in my head, and my mouth gapes open.
Kian never said we’d been in love.
Never once. I only thought he did. Or it was assumed.
What else was I to think when he presented himself as the man in my life?
Many times, he got cocky and stated he’d make me fall in love with him.
The truth was right in front of me, but I didn’t see it because of that liar.
As much as I want to avoid Kian, my eyes are traitors, and I steal glances as I walk toward the kitchen. He’s sitting on the couch with a tablet in his hands, but looks over as soon as I enter the room.
The villain himself.
The way his head is tilted, I’m surprised his neck can hold up all that sanctimonious ego.
“Hey, baby. I made pasta for lunch. It’s in the fridge. There are garlic knots, too.”
My stomach gurgles, wanting a heaping of both since I eat when stressed. Kian knows my weaknesses are pasta and donuts, and I sigh when I see a selection box from my favorite donut shop down the block from us. He knows me; I accept. The small things that make me happy and the knowledge of them bite me with phantom teeth because I don’t know what’s real anymore.
“Why don’t you go right to hell and find a nice corner where deranged men like you have to French kiss a cactus for eternity.”
If anything, his burst of laughter coagulates my already boiling rage.
Is he still playing a game?
Is Kian so drawn to winning that he’ll hurt me in every way to have his victory?
He once was addicted to racing cars in dangerous situations, not caring about injuring himself or fearing the police catching him. Rumors about him were legendary, such as how he’d risk life and limb to win or to get one over on a challenger. I can’t figure out if that applies to me, too.
Has he exchanged one game for another?
I’m no one in the grand scheme of things, and I sure as hell didn’t know I was participating in any challenge. How is that fair?
Stewing on the reality for hours has made nothing straightforward.
Do I want to leave?
What other choices do I have?
How foolish would I be if I stayed now?
I glance over, and he’s still watching me. He doesn’t smile, but I see love in his eyes. Or what I once thought was love. I’m not sure now.
But he affects me, and I try to resist the emotion. Like a wildfire, my nervous system surges into sparks, crackling and sizzling.
As I heap pasta on a plate, I scan the clean kitchen to see signs Kian has eaten. He’s been awake and foodless for the same hours as me, and I can’t help but worry he’s hungry. I stifle that worry under a fresh wave of anger. He doesn’t deserve my concern or my wifely love.
“You can starve in a ditch for all I care,” I mutter, not so much under my breath, because Kian answers. “I don’t think we have ditches in Manhattan, baby.”
I ignore him. It’s that or throw a dish at his head. Or worse, fall into his lap, curl up into my Kian nook, and cry for a week because I still stupidly crave him so much, and he’s deceived me. So, whose lap can I cry on now?
He’s frowning the next time I sneak a look, and my heart twinges, but it refuses to soften or to ask him what’s wrong.
It’s been hours since the revelation, and I still have called no one. Not my parents or my best friend. It feels too much like a betrayal of our marriage to discuss it with anyone else. So now we have this awful, heartbreaking secret between us, and I don’t know how to cope with the magnitude of it.
“Will you talk to me, baby?” I hear.
“What’s the point? I wouldn’t believe anything you said.”
He’s moved silently and now stands inches from my back, and my skin prickles at his nearness.
“There’s a dark, hungry spot inside of me, Samia, that came alive when I noticed you. I’m not sorry about it. It didn’t give me any choice, I had to have you.”
“Of course, you’re not. Why would you be sorry that you’ve hurt me, manipulated me and others around me? You used me.”
“Have I used you? Or have I loved you with a single-minded obsession to make you happy? I bleed devotion to you, dreamgirl.”
I have no answer to these questions because my heart and mind are at war.
All I do for the next two days is avoid Kian.
But I don’t pack or call a divorce lawyer. I can’t even bring myself to take off the rings. Their taunting makes me feel foolish for believing his made-up words of devotion. As I look at the beautiful sparkle from the diamonds, the squeezing intensifies in my ribs as if they taunt me that I should have known. I shouldn’t have been so reckless to believe I was dating Kian. I should have known when I opened my eyes that he wasn’t my man.
But I wanted to believe it, didn’t I? Because since my teens, he’s stupidly meant something to me. Even when I kept those feelings a secret.
I confess that I’ve always been attracted to him. My new emotions brought back memories of our eyes locking many times over the years and how my pulse would spike if he were close.
Maybe in the right…or wrong circumstances, I might have lied to have Kian, too.
For two nights, he picked open the lock on the bedroom door and climbed into bed with me. Amid my silent protest, he pulled me nearer and buried his face in my neck. That’s how we slept.
I can’t take his nearness, but can’t bear to be apart.
I’m so screwed.
I love my husband, and I hate what he’s done.
My husband has shown me a degree of adoration like no one else has. Even with it all, through the web of lies and an underhanded sham, my recollections of him remain vividly at the forefront, overtaking everything else. But I can’t allow good memories to seep in and weaken my resolve.
Returning to the emotions he stirs up, ignoring his impact is impossible. The unknowing feeling of belonging makes the hurt even worse. Because for a while, I believed we belonged together. Like it was destiny.
Kian’s been acting normal with me for days, even though I’m ignoring him. He plants kisses on my forehead and cheeks, saying he loves me. He hasn’t moved from the apartment, and I smell his cologne every step I take in each room. It’s uncertain if he’s even working, since he’s become glued to my side.
A single touch from him is enough to undo me.
I’m imprisoned by it, seeking more unconsciously because Kian has been my rock, my sole source of safety all these months of healing. And now, his stare of possession only makes my struggle harder.
Today starts early, and while my anger still simmers, my thoughts are more precise. I creep out of bed before 6 a.m., dressing quietly while Kian sleeps soundly. My gaze hurries over his half-naked body, shrouded from the waist down in only a thin cotton sheet. The pulse between my legs reminds me it’s been so many long days since we had sex, and my pussy misses him. She doesn’t know we’ve been lied to; she only wants filling and stretching by a perfect, thick cock.
Before I do something idiotic and wake Kian with my mouth, I tiptoe through the apartment. I need air, and I need it away from him. The presence of Kian, who watches me with a constant hunger in his captivating eyes, makes it nearly impossible for me to think clearly. At the last second, I remember the tracker bracelet and slip it off my wrist, leaving it on the kitchen island, and then I steal away from the apartment and the building and find a quiet table in a coffee shop.
Because I left my phone at home, too, the peace is paradise.
The air stutters in my throat when I pull out the laptop from its carrier to do some work and notice a cream-colored envelope with ‘my dreamgirl’ scrolled in ink on the front.
Kian has written me a letter?
My knees quake, and my stomach clenches. I’m scared to open it, but being a nosy woman, it takes only seconds before I’m tearing into it.
It’s a single-sheet letter.
My dreamgirl.
I would tell a million lies to have you.
I would litter the streets of Manhattan and Dublin with lies if it gave me only one day of paradise, holding you in my arms. I regret nothing I’ve said or done to have you in my life, but I hate seeing you in pain and being so unsure of my love.
For that, I will spend a lifetime making it right.
Do you want honesty? I can give that, always. Here it is.
I’m obsessed with you. I always have been. Quietly, secretly. I was always going to make you mine. But I didn’t know how. You’re in my dreams, my world, and my future. You color every day. I’m crazy about your smile and your laughter, the way you’re cranky before you’ve had coffee each morning. I’m incredibly proud of the woman you are. You’re kind to everyone you meet, and everyone loves you. But no one loves you as obsessively and faithfully as I love you.
Your heart is a sincere gift a man like me aches for, and I need to own it, Samia.
I won’t ever lie to you again.
Your devoted prick of a husband.
Kian.
I read that letter four more times before I returned home.
My heart is so conflicted.
Ignoring Kian hasn’t affected him at all. He acts like I’m not icing him out.
He kisses me and holds me in bed. And he’s been infecting me with his presence, deteriorating my heart against forgiving him. Though he appears occupied with infinite business phone calls, he still finds time to write more letters. I discover them in obscure places. One was propped up against a pair of shoes in the closet.
It simply said.
Darling dreamgirl.
If you forgive me, I’ll spend a lifetime and more showing you how important you are to me.
Yours, now and forever,
Kian.
A few words, but none of them are simple. They affect me more than I want to show. Instead of tearing the letter to shreds in front of Kian, I put it with the others inside my nightstand.
I find another letter inside the fridge against my afternoon yogurt snack.
My beautiful Samia,
If you need proof of how dedicated I am to you, I want to put lots of babies in you one day. If you don’t want children, then fuck them babies. We’ll be obsessed with each other and so fucking happy.
My laugh bursts free as I read that section. It’s so Kian.
I overheard you talking to your mom on the phone this morning, and I was jealous when you laughed. When your laughter belongs to me again, I’ll show you how much you’re cherished.
My precious wife.
My beloved wife.
There’s nothing I won’t do for you. Name it, it’s yours. Except for leaving you alone. That I can’t do. You’re in my soul, in every thread of my psyche.
You own me.
Every breath is taken for you, baby.
There won’t be a second you don’t feel loved ever again.
Forgive me.
I love you.
Your diabolical husband and protector.
Kian.
My butt finds a chair as I finish reading. Skimming over it countless times.
He sure knows how to seduce my heart with words.
When I take a refreshing shower, I find a letter balancing on the towel rail. He’s been quick and sly because I know it wasn’t there an hour ago.
Samia.
Love of my life, owner of my cock and heart, soul leash holder.
Your butt is looking so fucking edible today.
If you want company in the shower to wash your back, put little kisses behind your ear, or rail you against the wall until you gush down your sexy legs while you claw up my back, I’m only a holler away. If you’re tired, you can rest your legs on my shoulders.
Please scream my name.
I miss you.
Will you forgive your husband for being a sly motherfucker by stealing you away from the angels and making you his because he couldn’t live in a world where you weren’t at his center?
Yours,
Kian.
That charismatic rogue is so full of it.
Why am I wet between my legs? Why is my heart thumping so hard?
My husband is without scruples, and he’s shown me he doesn’t play unless he wants to win. He’s about as devious as a man can be, yet…and yet, I love him with every aching part of myself. I don’t know if I can release my anger to forgive; he orchestrated us to this place like I was a faceless chess piece.
I thought regret and guilt were softening Kian.
Maybe he was trying to turn over a new leaf.
I should have learned never to drop my guard around a tiger.
Because it’s only a few short hours later, as I come awake in a rousing rush, to feel my husband’s fingers strumming the sweetest pressure against my clit.
Kian is a unique breed of trouble I know I can’t harness, even if I tried to.
He’s ruthless to a fault and proves he doesn’t know what boundaries are when he slides his hand deeper into my boy shorts and pushes three fingers into me. The fit is tight as he widens those fingers. It’s exquisite torture as he pumps in and out of me until there’s no misunderstanding of how wet I am. The sounds are obscene and turn me on until I’m burning up.
“I can’t.” I pant, giving a half-hearted token of complaint like I did once before, but once again, I don’t mean it. My body is entirely on the need an orgasm right now because it’s been too long without them train. I don’t need to be in forgiving mode to take sex from Kian. I’m not that saintly.
Kian is flush to my back, I doubt there’s an inch of light between us, and I feel how rock solid his cock is nestled into my ass cheeks. He keeps me pinned with one arm and fucks me with the other hand as he bites on my shoulder.
“You can and you will. This body is mine to own and to pleasure. Fuck my fingers, baby.” He pumps deeper, and I swear he’s trying to stretch me impossibly as he scissors his fingers on the in thrust. Kian’s breath is warm as he trails his mouth up my neck, and I arch unbidden, like he’s trained me for his touch.
I can’t help it. I want him desperately until my pores are screaming for him.
“In bed, your body is mine, baby.” He rasps near my ear. “To do with what I want. And right now, I’m dying to make you squirt orgasms until you’re hoarse from screaming. I’m going to make you come so fucking hard.”
He talks a big game, but Kian can back it up. He’s the only man to make me squirt, and what a delightful surprise it was when it happened.
My mind empties and I attempt to turn in his arms, but he keeps me pinned, chest to back.
“What about out of bed?” I ask, my sex muscles clenching around those riding fingers as he drags them up and grazes over the pleasure button until my vision dims, and I arch my neck to groan.
“Out of bed, you’re my cranky wife, and I don’t expect you to forgive me soon. I have nothing but time to earn your love and respect.”
“Is that what you want?”
“More than fucking anything.” He replies. Kian’s hand hasn’t stopped once, not even when he shoves down my shorts around my feet so I can kick them off underneath the covers. He fucks right over my G-spot, and I buckle in the middle on a labored groan of pleasure. “See my obsession, baby. Feel how much I fucking worship you.”
It might be the sex hormones barking, but I’m beginning to.
But then he shows me the diabolical devil he is and ruins whatever inroads he’s made by telling me. “I won’t give you my cock until you forgive me. But you’ll come over and over for me, won’t you, wife? Soak over my fingers, drown me in your juices. Make me jealous of my own fingers fucking you.”
Light touches over my clit, and heavy, like a constant vibration, driving slams of fingers into my pussy. I’m almost mindless when I throw a leg back over Kian’s hip, and he hums with satisfaction when he has more room to torment me.
Oh, damn, he makes me soar to great heights.
“I’ve done nothing but think about you for what feels like forever, my dreamgirl. Making you mine has been my priority. Putting you on your rightful MacNamara pedestal is where you should be. Queen of our home.”
My heart splinters open, and even though he doesn’t know it, I let Kian back inside. I can’t take the pain he’s caused, but I also can’t cope with how much I miss him.
“Stop talking,” I moan on the precipice.
“Come for me then.” He demands in his husky voice, and his words act like a trigger because I follow him like I’m his good girl disciple. As far as I know, I’m the only one who makes Kian MacNamara crazy. So, in some respects, I am the queen of his life. And that thought makes my orgasm all the richer as it pulses through me, wave after hot wave.
Kian’s hands are the most expressive things I’ve ever felt, and he helps me to come down from the lofty heights of pleasure by rubbing over my stomach and my breasts and then finding a home cupping my drenched sex.
“Care for me again, Samia. I’m fucking lost with it.” he rasps into my neck, and I jolt but don’t respond because I’m not sure how to until I know I can fully forgive his schemes.
As we lie there, spooned like two perfect pieces, he curls around me and presses his lips to my throat. I feel how hard he is, so this must be torture for him not to come, too.
“How is the police situation going?”
“It’s taken care of.” He answers.
“Really?” Seeing how determined the detective was to blame Kian, it’s hard to believe it was over now.
“Really, baby. There was nothing on me this time. And Ethan enjoys filing complaints to the police chief and the mayor for harassment.” He informs. “No one will spoil our home again, I promise.”
The knowledge I know for sure is that Kian will burn my universe with flames. I can’t even be sure I was alive until he came along and turned that world upside down.
I fall into sleep, gripping Kian’s arm, believing him.
Unsure if it’s my greatest downfall to put a smidge of trust in him or if my most prominent weakness will destroy me. I’m lost in my too-many jumbled thoughts, but Kian is at the helm of all those messy feelings.
He’s the king of my world, regardless of whether I approve of him right now.