Chapter 31
thirty-one
ROSE
Dare and I spend the next morning in bed, getting up long enough for water and a quick snack. He finds a way to remind me that he’s the one in charge. By bending me over the counter, dropping to his knees as he spreads me out on his table and feasts, fucking me against the cabinets. Tasting me on the stairs. In the shower.
Unlike other men I’ve been with, Dare never comes until I have at least once. He takes his time coaxing my body into submission. Learning every little thing that’ll have me putty in his hands, and then and only then does he allow his own release.
He’s far too smug this afternoon, standing at the stove while he makes a late lunch. His skin is glowing and his lips are stuck in a permanent smirk. Seeing the change in him—a visible lessening of pressure now that I’ve stopped resisting—fills my chest with warmth. My husband likes to win, but I still have one trick up my sleeve.
Sliding off the stool, I make my way around the island and stand next to him, wrapping my arms around his middle. He hooks one arm around my shoulder and kisses the top of my head. The gesture is so small, but it’s far more intimate than I’m used to, and the lonely part of me feels seen. My chest warms. The touches give me validation that I’m not imagining things.
“I’m so hungry,” I tell him.
“It’s almost ready.”
“Maybe I can have something else in the meantime?” I slip my hand under the band of his joggers and grab his semi-hard shaft.
“Rose,” he warns.
“Dare.” I kiss his neck, then whisper in his ear. “Let me suck your cock.”
“Fuck,” he curses. I take that as a yes and sink to my knees. Dare turns off the stove and faces me as I drag the pants down his muscled thighs and stare up at him. He’s already almost fully hard as I smooth my hand over him. “Rose?—”
He chokes off as I lick the underside of his length and suck his silky smooth tip into my mouth. Cupping his balls, I tease him bit by bit, taking him a little deeper and staying there, gliding my mouth up and down, savoring the saltiness of his shaft, before taking more. Dare grunts when I finally take him all the way, gagging around him. He grasps the edge of the counter.
For once, he’s not in control.
This is my domain. This is where I find my power. Hollowing out my cheeks and squeezing his cock as I bob my head, I find a steady pace and occasionally take him so deep, I almost can’t stand it.
But his desperate whimpers and needy growls when I have him in my mouth keep me going. I squeeze and tug his balls, swirling my tongue over his tip and sucking hard before swallowing, flexing my throat around his cock.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dare curses.
That’s fucking right.
I do it again, ignoring the way my eyes water as I push myself. I’m going to make this man fall apart. Dare’s fingers grip my hair, and he starts to thrust his hips, gently encouraging me. That caution warms me from head to toe. Since the day we got married, Dare has taken care of me. He’s never done anything to hurt me, not even now when he could destroy my throat.
Wrapping my fingers around the base of his cock, I move my hand in time with my mouth, squeezing and dragging my saliva up his shaft before sucking my cheeks even tighter around his length. Slowly, his cock begins to throb, answering my demands. He’s so close.
Dropping my hand, I breathe through my nose and take him all the way to the back of my throat, again and again and again. Right when I think I won’t be able to keep going, Dare flat out whines and his hips jerk.
Fuck. Yes.
Humming, I ease back to the steady rhythm of my mouth gliding up and down his length, tugging on his balls and stroking that sweet spot with one finger. Dare’s grip in my hair slackens, and he moans, all but singing my name and using his hand on the counter to hold himself up.
That’s right, Dare. Time for you to come for me.
Warm, salty cum hits the back of my throat, and I fight the instant recoil and swallow, taking every last drop, savoring my victory as Dare pants and tries to gather his wits. He leans against the counter like it’s the only thing holding him up.
I clean his cock with my tongue, looking up at him and catching his gaze before placing a kiss on the tip. Dare arches his eyebrow, and I pull his joggers back up and straighten them as I stand.
A grin cutting across my face, I move into his space, placing my hand at his throat and brushing my lips over his. “What a pretty husband you are.”
He growls, but he’s too spent to do much of anything.
Knowing it’ll only add to his frustration, I say, “Now, are you going to finish making me lunch or what?” I flex my hand.
He grasps my forearm but doesn’t move my hand. “You’re annoying.”
I kiss him again, nipping at his bottom lip. “That’s no way to talk to the woman who just sucked your cock.”
“More like stole my soul,” he grumbles, pushing himself up and keeping my arm captive as he eyes the smug look on my face. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“Me?” I widen my eyes and bat my lashes. “Why, I’d never.”
He scoffs. “You, Rose Richardson, are a terrible liar.”
The use of his last name doesn’t bother me like it used to. There are people in this world that easily mold into someone else’s life, almost like they were meant to be there all along. Dare, as ugly as our marriage came to be, is my person. The name change gives me a strange sense of belonging, one I haven’t felt since my mom was alive.
Would she like him?
She loved reading fairy tales to me before bed. There was always a prince fighting to save his princess. Doing whatever it took to win her over and protect her. To give her a home.
And when was the last time I felt truly at home?
The answer to that is simple. The emotions swirling inside me have been absent since the day my mom died. Her death left a gaping hole in my life, and Dare, as larger than life as he is, can’t fully fill it. I’ll always be incomplete. Grief descends on my happiness like a guillotine.
Dare’s face scrunches. “Hey, you okay?”
Averting my gaze, I make up an excuse to leave before he can see the tears and try to shove the grief away. “I’m going to go get dressed.”
Dare doesn’t respond. For a moment, I think he’s going to ask, but he releases my hand and my grip falls away from his throat. “The food will be ready soon.”
Managing to pull on the familiar impassive mask, I nod and leave the room on steady feet, but as soon as I’m in our bedroom, memories slam into me.
Mom braiding my hair. The gentle scrape of her fingers along my scalp as she gathered my hair.
My throat burns with suppressed tears, and I try to inhale, but it’s hard to take a breath.
The melody of Mom’s sweet voice softly singing a lullaby floats through my mind.
My lungs hold air hostage, and they won’t let go; the oxygen suspended in my system turns corrosive, making my head spin and my heart stutter.
Phantom limbs embrace me, the memory of the security of her hold as she danced with me in her arms.
Something sharp stabs into my chest. A blade cutting me open and leaving nothing but suppressed pain behind.
Mom used to push me on the swing she demanded Dad buy for me, higher and higher until it felt like I was soaring. But she’s gone now, and there’s no one left to steady the back of the swing and set me back on course.
Blood like acid in my veins, I shake my head to try and stop the grief, but there’s no capping this leak of emotions. They’ve been denied for too long, and they refuse to be pushed aside. They scream through my mind, as if angered by my denial.
Mom will never come back. I never got to know her. I was robbed of so many years with her. My chest. It’s too tight. I rub my palm over my sternum, but even the touch hurts. The more I try to ground myself, the more my body revolts.
Trembling, I lean against the wall right as my legs give out and I sink to the floor.
She used to take baths with me. I remember playing in the tub with her.
But I never really got to know her, at least, not in the way I want to. I want to know what she’d think of me. Would she be proud? Would she be as mad at Dad as I am?
Pinching my eyes shut, I wrap my arms around myself.
“ Where’s Rosie Posie?” Mom walks right past me and excitement zings through me. She’ll never find me.
A tiny giggle bursts out of me.
The curtain is yanked away. “There she is!” Mom grins at me, and I scream , running away to find a new hiding spot.
Then there are memories that aren’t fully formed. I was too young to remember much, but there are pieces of moments. French vanilla candles. Christmas ornaments. Reading in the rocking chair. Cookies and sticky hands. Kisses on the cheek. Giggling. Bubbles. Hugs. Unyielding love. Safety.
But that’s all I have. I can’t hug her or learn how to make her infamous cherry pie. And the worst part is, there’s no one in my life that can even compare. No one who loves me the way she did.
Stop . I have to stop. But as much as I try, I can’t control this. I can’t stop the shaking. I can’t stop the burn of pain. I can’t stop the tightening of my chest.
I can’t stop.
I can’t.
Can’t.
Tears track down my cheeks.
A sob wrenches from my throat.
Strong arms pick me up. Vetiver twines around me. Dare . He crushes me to his chest. I cling to him, hating the tears, but they won’t stop. Dare cradles my head and carries me to the bed and sits, holding me as I fall apart. And the strangest part is, I don’t feel like I have to stop. There’s no reason to hide the sorrow.
He doesn’t chastise me.
He doesn’t tell me I’m being dramatic.
He simply sits with me through the pain.
And, eventually, when the tears dry and my body is left exhausted, I apologize for crying all over him.
Dare grips my chin. “I miss my parents every day.”
I don’t know when I started believing him, but the man holding me now isn’t capable of killing those he loves. Though he’d murder to keep them safe, he’d never hurt his family.
“Never apologize for feeling, Rose. It’s what makes you human.” He brushes his lips against mine in a chaste kiss. “What do you need?”
You . But I don’t know if I’m ready to admit that. Everything I was raised to believe wars with everything I’ve learned. Avoiding the conflicting emotions, I wrap my arms around him and breathe him in. “This is perfect.”
It’s been weeks since I’ve been home longer than a few minutes to grab new clothes. Although the place is sparkling clean and the air lemon-scented, thanks to the company that comes by every week, the vibe is different. I used to walk in and instantly relax, but now I keep glancing toward the stairs, expecting Eric to appear.
There’s been no noise from his death. Whoever Dare worked with to cover up his murder is good at their job.
Avoiding the kitchen, I head to my bedroom and grab my favorite picture of Mom before retreating into the guest suite that also functions as my creative space. The curtains are already drawn, and I light a candle to chase away the bad vibes before settling into the oversized chair by the wooden shelves full of sketch pads and books.
Mom smiles up at me from the frame. Her brunette hair is a few shades darker than my own. Her eyes are a striking shade of blue, whereas mine are hazel, like Dad’s. I have Mom’s nose and mouth, though. There are shadows in her gaze, something I’ve never really noticed before. There’s something uneasy in the way she smiles at the camera. Almost like she’s putting on a performance.
Just like me.
Who is it for?
I’m frustrated with the only person who might know, but I can suck up my pride and send a text to get some answers. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I snap a picture of it.
Rose
Hey, Dad. Hope you’re doing well. I found this picture of Mom and was wondering who took it.
The phone whooshes as the message sends .
I gaze at the photo again. My fingers ache to draw her. I throw on my favorite moody playlist. I grab a half-empty sketch pad and a few pencils and get to work.
The first line on the paper is wrong. I rip it out and throw it on the floor and start again. This time, I manage to get the face shape right, but the first line placement for the eyes is all wrong. Huffing, I tear that paper out and crumple it and try again.
Attempt after attempt, and none of them are even close to good enough.
The face is too long. Too wide. The curve of the mouth. The tip of the nose. The space between the eyes. Everything is wrong. Growling, I rip out what must be my twelfth version and fling the sketchbook across the room.
It’s a face. I’ve drawn them hundreds of times. It shouldn’t be so hard. Picking up Mom’s picture, I chew on my cheek and try to figure out what I’m doing wrong. Logic says, if I follow the techniques I’ve spent years perfecting, bit by bit, the portrait will come together, but I’m struggling with the simple foundations.
My phone buzzes. Sighing, I set Mom’s picture aside and grab the device, fighting the immediate urge to curl my lip in annoyance.
Dad
Rosie! I’m doing good, but I miss seeing you every day. I took that photo of your mom on a vacation.
Any updates I should be aware of?
The truth is, there’s not a lot to be found, and each day that passes, I’m less inclined to find something to use against Dare. A month ago, I would’ve naturally assumed he’s simply lured me into his trap. But weeks ago, things between us stopped feeling like a game.
The way he held me earlier today was real. Raw.
Dad is threatening to disinherit me, but if he really loved me, would he hold something like that over my head? There’s tough love, and then there’s manipulative love. I’ve been grappling with what to think about the man who raised me. On the one hand, I love him. He’s my dad. He was always there. On the other, time after time, he’s proven that I can’t trust him, while he expects me to remain his faithful companion. He expects me to tell him my every little secret.
Millers don’t keep secrets. We’re a family, Rosalynn. Families have to trust each other.
How many times did I hear that growing up? More than I can remember. It was practically a daily mantra when I was a teenager. Which begs the question—why does he have secrets at all, if that’s what he believes?
Staring at my phone and his message, I decide to take a chance and see how he reacts.
I’m not sure there’s anything to find. What happens if there’s nothing?
Come on, Dad. Don’t disappoint me. Don’t break my heart. Don’t prove Dare right.
I already have the paperwork ready to sign. Are you telling me you’re giving up, and it’s time to cut you out?
The message punches me in the gut, all the air in my lungs wheezing out of me. I didn’t expect him to take it all the way. In our world, a disinheritance is more than cutting someone out of money. It’s deleting them from your family .
Is it so easy for him to cast me aside?
But more than me, the projects I put together are at risk too. Futurum would be the first thing on the chopping block. Dad might’ve humored me on that, but we both know he hates art. That’s exactly why Dad would waste no time getting rid of it with me out of the picture. Like it or not, this threat of disinheritance is bigger than me.
Maybe there’s a way to keep Futurum operating. I don’t have enough to fund it myself, but if Dare and I join forces, find some people to support the vision, it could work.
Do I want the fate of the company to hinge on yet another man?
Dare and I have reached a new level in our relationship, but again, the marriage is based on extortion. What happens if we end up hating each other?
No. I have to find a way to keep Futurum operational, even if Dare and I go down in flames, and in the meantime, I have to keep Dad placated.
I’m not giving up.
Good. You have a little over two months left, and with the holidays coming up... Be smart.
What are you doing for the holiday breaks?
Business trip. I’m getting a call. Don’t let the beast inside your head, Rose.
Frowning, I read through our conversation again. There’s no concern about my well-being. That hurts, but I add it to the list of things that have been bothering me and pause on one sentence.
I took that photo.
Glancing at Mom’s eyes and the subtle but very clear discomfort, I try not to overthink it, but there’s no mistaking the look. Despite the smile on her face, she’s dying a little on the inside.
I’m dialing Orion before I can talk myself out of it.
“Rose. What’s up?” Straight to the point, as always.
“I need you to look into something for me.”
Orion is quiet as I explain that I want him to look into the night my mom died and for anything about the state of my mom and dad’s relationship. I don’t know that my dad is capable of killing someone, but there’s a vile voice in my head I need to prove wrong. The only way to snuff out my suspicions is to figure out what happened.
“Are you sure you want to dig up the past?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He releases a heavy breath. “You might not like what I find.”
“Orion, why are you trying to get out of a job?”
“I’m not. We’ve worked together for a long time, and I just want to make sure you’re ready for whatever I find. Which could be nothing. That, in itself, can be disappointing.”
He might be right, but I don’t have the mental capacity to think about that right now. “I’ll be fine. How’s Cassia?”
“You know I can’t talk about other clients with you.”
“She’s going to tell me, anyway.”
Orion chuckles. “Maybe, but I have my rules. I won’t break them.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “That’s part of why I like you. Thanks for helping her.”
“She’s paying me.”
I roll my eyes. Orion will never admit it, but I know he rearranged his schedule to fit Cassia in because we’re friends in the loosest use of the term. It’s hard to be close to someone who lives their life slinking through the shadows. Still, Orion is a good guy, and Cassia is in good hands. “All right, tough guy. Let me know when you have something.”
Orion hangs up without saying goodbye and I shake my head. At first, I was offended, but now I’m used to his ways and it doesn’t bother me so much.
“Who was that?” Dare’s voice cuts through the air like an axe, brutally sharp.
Heart skipping, my gaze jumps to the doorway, where Dare stands, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Dare prowls into the room. Something dark shimmers in his rich brown irises. “Who was on the phone, Rose?” His shoulders are bunched together, fingers curled into fists.
He’s . . . mad?
No, that’s not quite right.
Dare is jealous.
“My PI.”
“Show me.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Rose,” he warns, dropping into a squat in front of me, steepling his fingers in front of his face. His eyebrows are drawn down, and his eyes bounce between mine. He’s not giving up until I show him the phone.
I grab the device and show him the call screen. Dare studies the name, then looks back at me, a menace in his gaze that isn’t directed at me. “He’s a PI, Dare.”
“Thought he was a tough guy?” he taunts.
Okay. This is silly, but given the way we came together, I can’t blame him for feeling insecure. I set the phone on the arm of the chair and wrap my arms around his neck, scooting to the edge of the chair. Dare’s hands drop to my knees. My lips ghost over his plush mouth .
“Have you forgotten who I belong to?” I tease, pulling back to hold his gaze. “I’m your wife, and as much as I hate to admit it, no one could ever compete with you.” Running my finger over the jagged skin of the scar that cuts between his eyebrow, I try to ease some of his tension.
Dare clenches his jaw and looks away, his eyes straying over the scattered papers. “You were gone for so long. I thought for a minute you were running away.”
“Dare.”
He refuses to look at me, his brow furrowed so hard, he’s probably going to get a headache.
I grab his chin and force him to look at me. “I’m not running.” Pausing, I wait until he nods in acknowledgement, then continue explaining. “I was trying to remember what my mom looked like, so I could draw her, but I needed a picture, and it doesn’t even matter, because I’m struggling to do her justice.”
Dare’s fingers flex on my knees. “You’ll get it.”
Releasing his chin, I shake my head. “I don’t think I will, but your faith in my abilities is reassuring.”
“If Orion isn’t a PI?—”
“He is.”
“Well, then. If you’re using him against me. . . or if you think you can fuck him behind my back, I’ll kill him, Rose.”
My mouth drops open.
Dare holds my gaze, his hard and cold.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I can’t stand the thought of another man meaning something to you.”
“What about Remy? I like Remy.” Even if he threatened me, the bodyguard has wormed his way into my heart.
Dare’s scowl deepens .
“As a friend,” I add quickly. “You can’t tell me I’m not allowed to have friends.”
“I’m not talking about that, and you know it.” His hand takes its place at the base of my throat. “If you so much as flirt with another man, I will be the last thing they see before they die.”
“That’s a little much, don’t you think?”
“No,” he says, voice sure and steady.
Something is wrong with me, because everything he just said is a giant red flag, but I’ve never felt more secure. I close the distance between us and kiss him, but that’s the only control he gives me. Dare’s tongue tames mine until I’m exactly what he wants me to be.
His.