18. Tea #2
The thorn in his voice sent sharp resentment, even humiliation, through me.
Was this all a joke to him? Was I just a joke?
Just like I was to everyone in this town?
The Gray who did not belong. The Gray who shouldn’t have been a Gray.
The daughter of a poor, out-of-town woman, who should never have been much of anything, getting too high and mighty for her own good.
The thought of it, the feeling of another rejection, another in a long line of horrid things, clawed me from the inside.
But I would not break here. Not where eyes could see me.
Breaking was personal. It was quiet; huddled in the shower floor, or muffled into a pillow curled in the corner of a dark closet. Not in the open. Not in front of a mantle covered in memories and windows that looked into the valley. Even the rain didn’t deserve my shattered pieces.
“Fine. Goodnight.”
I turned to leave with my humiliation, but I was tugged at the wrist and pulled into a rock-hard chest. The scent of cedar and smoke filled my senses as thick arms held me to the massive frame of a man who walked right out of every fantasy I ever had.
I looked up into his molten green irises, their shine holding my gaze as his frown deepened, spreading to the wrinkles around his eyes and the divot between his brows.
“Fine? Nothing is fine, Melody.” My name on his mouth was a prayer, a plea. The kind that sent tingles through my spine.
But I wasn’t fooled.
I forced a smile as I did everything I could to remain still. I stiffened instead. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—pull from his arms. They felt too good, and I was weak. I wasn’t strong anymore.
But I refused to melt into them. Into him.
“You don’t want me? Fine. I don’t need to beg.”
His hand was on my throat, fury pulling his lips into a snarl as he pinned me to the wall. His hand, his body—his hips—pushed into me. Hot, thick, and unmistakable.
“If you don’t think I want you, then you need to open your damn eyes, woman.” He was close. So fucking close. I felt every labored breath and every bit of tension.
“You can’t even say it, can you?” I resented that, too.
The fact Greg couldn’t tell me he wanted me.
Even when I knew it wasn’t his fault, when he did nothing wrong, and it was all me.
Worse, it was all him—the man who’d stolen my innocence and forced me to believe love was forbidden, and desire was a force that could not be contained or repressed.
The man who’d made me believe anything less was a lesser love than what I’d had thrust upon me.
“What do you call it when a man leads you on, but can’t stand the thought of kissing you?” I asked roughly.
Even now, with his hand on my throat, his thumb gently grazing my pulse, it wasn’t enough. He was too in control of himself to truly want me.
“I am holding myself back for you.” He leaned forward, brushing his lips to my temple.
“I am doing everything I can to contain myself, and you’re breaking me.
Years I’ve spent trying to make myself a good guy, a guy worthy of a woman like you.
One fucking word, and I will shatter into the man I don’t want to be. ”
A tear slipped down my face. “A man who would want me…is a man you don’t want to be.”
My heart was empty and broken, and I did lean into his hand then. I wanted to cut off my own air, to hurt myself so I no longer felt this ache.
In my worst dreams, I watched Luke drown. But in that joy of being free, I dove in with him, falling into the depths and dying in that moment of bliss.
That way, I would not have to feel this. The burden of my future.
My life ended the first time he touched me. From that moment, there was nothing else.
I’d tried. I’d tried to build myself up away from Mourningkill, but it sucked me back in. Back here, where my future was taken from me.
“The man I want to be…” he scoffed, “wouldn’t push you into something you obviously do not need.”
His hand fell, but he didn’t move away. His forehead thudded on the wall above me, and his palms went to either side of my shoulders, caging me in. But he left enough room for me to escape.
I resented that he would let me go.
That he could let me escape…
Because that wasn’t love. Not to me. Not in my fucked up head.
“If I kiss you now, Melody, I would be changing my life as I know it.”
His words confused me. They frightened me, too. But not in the way he used to confuse and frighten me. This was…different.
“If I kiss you, I won’t be able to let you go. I’d never be able to leave you. I won’t be able to…to date you.”
“What? What does that even mean?” I wanted to whine and cry, but I didn’t. Because I didn’t want him to see the pathetic thing I was.
“If I kiss you, baby, I will drown in you.” He was as breathless as I was.
“I won’t be dating you to see how this goes.
I will wrap my life around you. Your burdens will become mine, and I will make it my mission to take care of you like you were my wife.
I’m not playing with you, and I am too fucking old to pussyfoot around this. ”
He palmed my chin, making me look at him.
“Do not ask me to kiss you unless we’re on the same page.”
“And what page is that?” I could hardly speak, afraid that taking the wrong breath would shatter the moment.
“The one that leads to a wedding certificate.”
My mouth dried.
That was fast.
“I’m not playing Melody. I put my lips on you, and that’s it. Your family becomes my family, and my family—as fucked and dysfunctional as they are—becomes yours.”
“I’m not even your…you haven’t even asked me to be…I’m not even your girlfriend—”
“I’m not sixteen, sweetheart. You’re never going to be my girlfriend. You’d be my woman, and you’d be one ring away from being mine. There is no in-between for me. Not with you. I’m jumping in with both feet, ten toes down. Do you want that?”
“I…” I looked for words but couldn’t find them.
“If you want that, then tell me to kiss you.”
It was a dare. A challenge. A request. All of those things at once.
I was scared of kissing him, but also scared of not kissing him.
“Why? If you don’t want to, then don’t. I shouldn’t have to ask.” I was an absolute fucking menace. I didn’t want to ask for it, but I also wanted him to ask for consent. Then he asked for consent, and I was mad that he asked. Mad that he had the sanity to do so?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Is that the game we’re playing?” His lips ghosted over mine, and I nearly fainted. My knees almost buckled from beneath me. I wanted to yowl like a cat in heat.
I had no game. No suave, no cool. And here was a man who was all the things—tall, handsome, brilliant, kind, and with a drawl like molasses and a scent that made me feel drunk in the best possible way.
I didn’t stand a chance.
“Pick a safe word, then.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“You don’t want to ask. You want me to take.” He kissed my cheekbone, and that tiny touch made my core tingle with need. “I need to know when you don’t want it. I need you to be able to stop me.”
His tongue darted out, and I groaned as he licked a line to my ear then kissed the corner of my eye.
“Pick a safe word. Now.” His growl sent a shiver down my spine. I whimpered, because what were words? I had no idea what a word was anymore. My brain was mush.
“Pick a word,” he repeated. His lips on my ear were a breath from taking my earlobe into his mouth.
“Oh, fuck…”
“That’s a terrible safe word, honey. Pick a different one.”
I almost laughed. He was funny. Sexy and funny. Not a combo I thought would have turned me on, but here we were!
“I don’t…know what to do.”
“It’s really simple, baby.” His voice was rough and gravelly, like he held himself back so much that it ached. “Pick a word. Any fucking word. Do it quickly, because you are really, really pushing me to the edge.”
Did clits throb? I was sure mine was throbbing.
“I…uhm…tea?” Because that was what I’d been drinking, and I couldn’t think of anything else.
Words, right? What were words, anyway?
Never heard of ’em.
“Good enough.” He threw me over his shoulder, slapped me on the ass, and groaned. “Where’s your bedroom?”