12. Tori
TORI
Stefan shoved me up against the wall, grabbing my wrist, and my purse hit the floor.
With his other hand, he snatched my phone from my grip and tossed it on the entryway table beside him.
He looked furious, the tension rolling off him, his green eyes flashing.
I tried to pull away but he held fast, his gaze intense and hungry as it roamed my body.
“Let me go,” I said, my heart slamming in my chest.
“I asked you where the hell you think you’re going, dressed like that,” he repeated, tugging my wrist for emphasis.
Goosebumps broke out all along my skin. It had been so long since he had touched me, since I had felt his skin against mine. Despite the underlying threat in his words, I wanted to melt into his touch. Dozens of warring emotions filled me.
“None of your business,” I shot back.
I had to get away. I wasn’t sure I could trust myself around him, not when he was looking at me like that, like he wanted to eat me, not when I couldn’t deny that I wanted him just as bad. I needed to get out of the condo. I needed space. I needed to escape.
But he held on to me, his grip nearly bruising the soft skin of my forearm. I should have hated it, but I didn’t. In fact, the tension that had built up between us throughout dinner threatened to overflow. To overpower me. I couldn’t let that happen.
“Let go,” I ordered, more firmly this time.
He didn’t. My protest died on my lips as he advanced on me, moving closer.
“I’ll let you go as soon as you tell me where it is you’re running off to,” he said, his voice hard. “Because you’re sure as hell not going to a study group in that dress.”
It was pure torture, being this close to Stefan. Having his hands on me.
“I’m going out,” I told him, sounding more sure of myself than I actually felt. “Didn’t you just tell me that I should give myself a night off?”
“A night off from studying,” he said, his voice hard. “Not a night on the town.”
I lifted my chin, feeling rebellious and powerful. Something about the dress I was wearing—how sexy it made me feel—gave me the strength to stand up to him.
“I’m an adult. I’m going out. You can’t stop me,” I said, staring him straight in the eye.
I’d never really stood up to him like this before.
The only other time had been when I’d moved into the guest room.
It was a decision I still occasionally regretted, especially when I woke in the middle of the night, missing the feel of his body against mine, missing the arms that used to reach for me in the dark, the feel of his weight against me, his cock hard against my thigh or stiffening against the curve of my ass.
He was like a fever dream that I couldn’t quite shake.
But now I needed the fever to break. I needed to take a stand.
“I don’t accept that,” he said. “I need to know where you’re going, and with whom.”
My jaw fell open. There was no way I was going to comply with that. “I am leaving now,” I said, pitching my voice low and steely, “and you are going to let go of me.”
I said it like I meant it, even though I really didn’t want him to.
What I wanted was for him to pull me tight against him. To bend me over the table right there and take me the way he always had—rough and intense and so hot I could hardly stand it.
“I’m your husband,” he practically roared. “And I am entitled to know where you are at all times. I’m the only person who can keep you safe. Or are you still figuring that out?”
I wanted to believe that Stefan was acting this way because he was genuinely worried about my safety. His caveman ways might even be charming if he actually cared about me. But this was all about control. And I was more than a little afraid that he was the reason I wasn’t safe.
I couldn’t ignore Gavin’s accusation that Stefan had been responsible for drugging me.
I still didn’t know if I believed it, but I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that it had been Stefan’s attempt to make me think I wasn’t safe going out on my own.
That I would be in danger if my husband didn’t know exactly where I was, every second of every day.
“Where. Are. You. Going,” he ground out.
He was still holding onto me, waiting for an answer, waiting for me to do what I always did—acquiesce to his demands. He fully expected that he would win this argument. But I refused to play along this time. And part of me was itching for a fight, to finally have it out with him.
I wanted to see the look on his face when I accused him of drugging me, when he realized that I was smarter than he gave me credit for, more worldly than the na?ve, spoiled senator’s daughter he assumed I was.
Even if I was nothing more than his bird in her gilded cage, I wanted him to know that I saw through his act, and I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.
But I also wanted to escape. To get out, go find Gavin, lose myself in dancing and loud, bass-thumping music and crowds of people where I could be anonymous. I was tired of fighting.
I didn’t want to play Stefan’s game any longer.
The escapist in me won out.
Wrenching myself out of his grip, I sidestepped him and turned back toward the door. But before I could even get my fingers around the door knob, he was blocking me. Standing there in front of the door like an immobile wall, arms crossed.
“Move,” I demanded.
But instead of being reasonable, he grabbed my arm again, his fingers digging into my biceps.
Hard. I tried to pull away again, but he wouldn’t release me.
Not this time. I thrashed against him, twisting my shoulders, but he spun me around and threw me against the door, his strong arms boxing me in.
My entire body was hot from his close proximity to me, his large figure overwhelming my small one. I could smell his cologne, that expensive spicy scent that he wore that had lingered on our sheets when we shared a bed. It still made my knees weak.
“You aren’t going out,” Stefan growled, his breath warm against my cheek. “You’re too irresponsible. In fact, after what you let happen at that club on Friday, I’m never letting you go out again. You should be thanking me for keeping you safe.”
For a moment, I was stunned silent. He’d gone there. There was no holding back now.
“How the hell do I know that you aren’t the one who roofied me in the first place?” I said, my tone bordering on a yell. “Because it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“I’m the one who fucking saved you,” he shouted back, breathing hard.
I clenched my jaw, staring him down. I didn’t know what to believe. Stefan had just admitted that he knew what happened on Friday night. Was Gavin right about everything? About Stefan drugging me? Which words of Stefan’s were true, and which were lies?
“Don’t peg yourself as the hero,” I said, my voice strained with anger. “You had me followed, by that huge guy all in black. You think I’m supposed to trust you? You obviously don’t trust me. Why else would you be keeping tabs on me like that?”
Even as I argued, even as I reminded myself that Stefan was dangerous and manipulative, my body reacted in a way that I couldn’t control.
My skin was hot where he held onto me, my face felt flushed, and I had to press my legs together to combat the ache I felt there.
It was an ache that never seemed to go away when he was near.
An ache only he could satisfy. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t.
“Don’t you get it? I had you followed because you matter,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “If anything happened to you…”
He shook his head, his eyes blazing with anger. I was just as angry, but beneath it was something else. Arousal. I was impossibly turned on being this close to him, feeling his fury, his passion, his concern. His body was so close that it took everything in me not to touch him.
His words echoed in my mind. I mattered to him. Deeply. That meant he cared.
It meant he felt something for me.
My heart pounded in my chest as I reached up a hand to touch his cheek, our eyes locking. He hadn’t finished his sentence, but I didn’t care. He’d said enough.
I pulled his face down toward me, closed my eyes, and kissed him, parting my lips just enough to invite him in deeper, moaning softly when his tongue found mine.
Stefan never hesitated, taking control of the kiss as if he had been waiting for it.
I knew this surrender would be my downfall, that this could destroy me, but I didn’t care. How could I when he kissed me the way he did? When we fit so perfectly together?
I opened wider, letting his tongue thrust deeper, letting myself freefall.
Being with Stefan like this, the rest of world—all of our problems, all of our fights, all of our disagreements—seemed to fade into nothingness. All I could focus on was him and the way his tongue fucked my mouth, the way my core was turning to liquid, hot and needy.
His hands tangled in my hair, his fingers tightening there, forcing my head back so he could trace his tongue down my throat. It had been so long since he had touched me this way, tasted me this way, and now I was greedy for more. Greedy for everything.
I gasped as he bit me, gently and then less gently, his tongue soothing each mark that he was surely leaving on the sensitive skin of my neck. He was marking me, claiming me, and I couldn’t get enough.
I arched against him, needing to feel more of him, needing his entire body to be pressed against mine. I wanted him to dominate me. To take me.
He pinned my arms to the wall above my head. I panted, gazing up at him hungrily.
“You’re mine,” he growled.
“Yes,” I could barely gasp as his entire body trapped me against the wall. He rolled his hips against mine, his cock pressing into me, and I moaned with need. I was wet and ready for him, and had been all night, even if my mind had tried to deny the truth.
He looked down at the way my breasts were squeezed together and let out a low groan.