Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
White light explodes across my vision, wiping out everything except a mind-blowing climax. Pleasure rips through my body, and my pussy clamps down on his cock so hard I swear I’ll break him in half.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything except feel the orgasm ripping me to shreds. Ecstasy tears through every inch until I’m a vessel of ruin.
My back arches off the ground like I’m electrocuted. The scream that rips from my soul is inhuman. Hell, I don’t even know if it’s coming from my throat. I drift above the wreckage of my body, too broken to scream again, too empty to care.
Just when I think I’m about to expire, Rowland’s grip on my throat loosens.
Air rushes into my lungs so fast it burns. I return to reality with a noisy gasp, my chest heaving like I’ve been stuck underwater. The black spots crowding my vision fade as oxygen reaches my brain.
I try to swallow but my throat is scraped raw. It’s like forcing down shards of glass.
What the hell?
What the actual fuck?
My body goes limp beneath Rowland’s, every muscle turning to liquid.
I can’t lift my arms to shove him off. Can’t move my legs to kick free.
All I can do is lie within the prison of his limbs, panting through the aftershocks.
My pussy twitches around his softening cock, making me realize he’s also come.
“Annalisa?” Rowland’s voice sounds like it’s coming from the treetops.
I sink into the leaf litter, not completely knowing if I’m alive or dead.
“Are you alright?” he asks, sounding closer.
My lips move, but my tongue is thick and useless. I try to answer but only manage a weak whimper.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
Strong arms slide under my thighs and back, lifting me off the grass like I’m weightless. My head lolls against his shoulder as he pulls me into his chest. I groan against his skin, which is slick with sweat, inhaling a heady mix of salt and sex.
He carries me through the orchard, his heart beating just as fast as mine. Branches rustle overhead, and I stare up into the treetops. Each step jolts my frame, triggering pulses of muted pleasure.
As he steps out past the last line of apple trees and into the lawn, a breeze cools my fevered skin, raising goosebumps. If I wasn’t so lethargic from being choked to orgasm, I’d demand to know what the hell he’s doing.
My head flops forward, and my gaze settles on the pond. Water stretches out like a black mirror, reflecting the stormy sky. My insides seize at the memory of Blanche’s pale face frozen in death, her dark hair fanned out like a shroud.
“No,” I whisper, finding my voice. “Not there.”
Rowland stops walking, his arms pulling me into his warmth. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t take me to that pond. That’s where...” I can’t finish. Can’t say the words out loud. Can’t tell him I don’t want to die like Blanche.
Rowland follows my gaze to the pond and shivers. “We’re going inside.”
Relief trickles through my system like warm honey as he continues past the water toward the manor’s back entrance. When he opens the door and steps into the kitchen, I finally allow myself to relax.
He carries me up to my room, lays me on the bed, and walks into the bathroom. My survival instincts urge me to run, but it feels like the muscles have melted from my bones. I just had the most intense pleasure of my life at the very edge of death.
The pipes groan and shudder as he turns on the water. I gaze through the bed curtains with heavy-lidded eyes, wondering what the hell just happened. If he hadn’t loosened his grip, I would have died. Did he mean to kill me? Why did he spare my life?
Rowland steps out of the bathroom, still naked. Light from the balcony windows carves across his scarred chest. He looks powerful, monstrous, his torture marks reading more like war wounds. After what he just did, it’s impossible to ever see him as a victim.
“Can you stand?” he asks, his voice soft as velvet.
I can’t even shake my head.
When he approaches the bed with his arms outstretched, I flinch, making him pause. “Annalisa, love, it’s just me.”
That’s exactly what I find so frightening. That switch from prisoner to predator. How much my body reveled in his madness, while my mind recoiled with horror.
He pulls off my shoes, scoops me up into his arms and carries me across the room. “You never need to fear me, love. I’d bleed for you, break for you, rip out my own heart if it made you smile. Whatever you want is yours. Your happiness is the only thing that keeps me breathing.”
The words glide off my consciousness like oil. I rest my head against his shoulder, my body too depleted to protest. Rowland enters the bathroom, cradling me like I’m fragile, lowers me into the tub, and places a kiss on my temple.
Hot water stings the slashes on my skin, making me hiss through my teeth. But as I sink into the heat, steam curls up from the surface, surrounding me in a warm cocoon, and the knots in my muscles unfurl.
Rowland climbs into the tub behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. He pulls me against his chest and murmurs, “Come here.”
We sit together in silence, his chest rising and falling against my back. Water laps at the sides of the tub in a relaxing rhythm. After several minutes, my pulse finally starts to slow.
“Are you scared of me?” he murmurs.
The question hangs in the air then dissolves into the steam.
Fear doesn’t begin to describe what happened in the woods, and terror is too weak.
I’ve never come so close to the edge of mortality, not even when Brother Matthew beat me unconscious.
Not even when Gil and the gangsters pressed that syringe into my hands and turned me into a cop killer.
What Rowland did was savage, raw, and a primal part of me enjoyed being taken to the brink of death, even though inside, I was screaming for escape. I think about lying, about playing it safe. But after what just happened, I can’t afford to say the wrong thing.
“What the hell was that about?” I ask instead.
He sighs, his breath warm on my neck. “I used to watch Edward with women through peepholes in the ceilings. They always liked it dirty and rough, and I thought that was what you wanted.”
Chest tightening, I picture him locked in that attic, forced to witness his brother’s sick games. Forced to learn about sex from a psychopath.
“Did I hurt you?” His voice is small, uncertain.
My throat thickens then convulses as I figure out the right words. “I was terrified. I thought you were going to kill me.”
He stiffens, every muscle going rigid. “I… I just wanted to give you pleasure. Edward always called it la petite mort. And Mrs. Fairfax used to enjoy that with Father.”
My stomach plummets at the mention of his biological mother, the original housekeeper.
Of course the woman was fucked and choked.
She birthed that man’s children while being relegated to domestic servitude.
This whole house is built on twisted relationships.
At least now I know where he learned his techniques.
“You can’t just grab a woman’s throat without getting her permission in advance,” I say.
“You didn’t like it?” he asks.
My pussy clenches, and sensation floods my clit. I shift uncomfortably in his embrace. “That’s not the point. We need safe words.”
“Safe words?” His voice lilts with confusion.
I twist in his arms to meet his dark eyes. They’re shadowed beneath thick brows, his beard unkempt and wild. But it’s the look in them that stops me cold. Stricken. Shaken. Like he’s scared of himself. My heart clenches.
“It’s a word we can use if things go too far,” I murmur. “If I say it, you stop.”
He cocks his head. “But why would you want me to stop if you’re enjoying it?”
My shoulders sag. Shit. He really doesn’t understand, and who can blame him, being locked up his entire adult life under the control of an unhinged father and a serial killing brother? Of course his views on sex will be warped.
“Rowland, sometimes fear and pleasure get mixed up. What feels good in the moment can be dangerous.”
His eyes fill with something that looks like shame. “You think I’m a monster.”
“No.” The word comes out fierce. “You learned about sex from two abusers. It’s only natural you’d be rough.”
He searches my face as if he’s looking for lies. “Have you done this before?”
I almost laugh. “Are you asking if I’m a virgin?”
“No, I mean...” He swallows hard, his gaze dropping. “I’ve never made love before. What we did today was my first time. With anyone.”
My breath catches at the thought that he believed that animalistic, terrifying fuck in the dirt was love. The worst thing is that some part of me wants to fold this madness into something tender. Something real.
Rowland isn’t just a broken man but a shattered soul raised on pain. And he’s trying to build love out of the scraps of someone else’s violence.
“That explains a lot,” I murmur. “You did fine.”
He pauses, his lips turning downward. “Will you think badly of me for killing Edward?”
I rear back, the change of subject catching me off guard. I place a hand on his cheek, my chest aching at his vulnerability. He’s asking for permission to be a killer. Like I’m some kind of moral authority.
“Why would you think I’ll judge you for murder?”
“Because you hate my brother, and he’s a killer.”
I settle back against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “When I was fourteen, my parents married me off to an elder in the church.”
“You’re married?”
“Not anymore,” I rasp. “He was mean. Violent. Abusive. When I wasn’t cooking and cleaning after him and his kids, he was trying to put another one in me so I wouldn’t leave.”
Rowland growls. “Where is he? Tell me where he lives?”
“Utah. Last time I saw him, he was dying from a knife wound, trapped in a burning house. From a fire I started.” I tilt my head to gaze at his profile. “So how could I ever judge you for killing in self-defense?”
Rowland’s arms tighten around me. “You did it because he hurt you.”
“Every day for years.” My throat thickens, and my eyes sting.
“One day, his punishment got so bad, I hit him with an iron candlestick holder. He went down hard and swore to have me exorcised in front of the congregation. That’s when you get beaten by a bunch of members while they’re screaming prayers.
He said it would be different this time because I’d be branded. I couldn’t let that happen.”
He breathes hard, his chest rising and falling against my back. “Did they… Did they do this to you before?”
“Multiple times, but they never left permanent marks.”
“So you killed him before he could hand you over to them.”
“It was the only way I knew to survive.”
We sit together in silence. I wait for judgment, for horror. For him to realize I’m just as fucked up as his brother.
Instead, Rowland presses his lips to my temple in a kiss so soft, so reverent, that it takes everything in me not to cry.
“How did your parents even allow this to happen?” he asks.
I sigh. “My dad was just as brutal as that old bastard.”
“And your mother?”
“She was even younger than me when she married my dad. That life was all she ever knew.”
“But she must have guessed you’d be miserable with that elder?”
My heart sinks, because he’s right. Mom knew exactly what was in store for me when she persuaded me to marry Brother Matthew. “The congregation has a way of punishing mothers whose daughters don’t comply.”
“I’m so sorry.” He strokes my hair. Slides his fingers down the side of my neck. “We’re so similar. Both survivors, brought together by fate.”
He’s right. We’re two broken people who’ve escaped hell and found each other in the wreckage.
“Red,” I say.
“What?”
“Our safe word. If either of us says ‘red,’ everything stops immediately.”
He nods. “Red to stop.”
“And Rowland?” I turn to face him again, making the water slosh. “Next time you want to try something new, tell me first. Communication is important.”
His lips curve in a small smile. “There’ll be a next time?”
I smile back, my heart fluttering. “You can bet on that.”
Should I be terrified that I’m aching for this man?