Chapter 18 #2
“Kinks,” he interrupted, his voice clipped. “And bisexuality. And… no, I think that’s it.”
Cherry swallowed, her chest tightening as she imagined what that would be like.
To have your private self exposed to a nation already slavering to tear you apart.
She was starting to think that back in England, when he’d dragged her into his mess, when he’d trapped her and tied her to him…
he’d somehow been trying to protect her. Wasn’t that a novel fucking idea ?
She licked her lips and tried to make him see. “You can’t possibly think that anyone deserves that kind of treatment.”
“I used her.” He said it plainly, without hesitation.
“I used her, and I let her think... God, I don’t know.
Kathryn is a difficult woman. I won’t pretend she’s pleasant, but no-one forced me to sleep with her.
I did it, knowing I felt nothing for her, because I convinced myself that she and I were the same.
And really, I was right; we are the same.
” He barked out a laugh. “We’re both pieces of shit.
“When I told her that I didn’t want a relationship, she assumed it was because of her position.
She’s new money, her family is messy, and she doesn’t care.
That’s one of the reasons I wanted her; I respected her attitude.
But she thought I didn’t want more because I looked down on her.
What was I supposed to say? No, I just don’t like you?
What the hell was I doing, sleeping with a woman I didn’t like?
” He sighed. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. ”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re not here to listen to my twisted ramblings.”
“I’m here to get to know you,” she said softly. “And I don’t know if you have much experience with the whole friendship thing, but it usually involves listening to twisted ramblings.”
He rolled onto his side, the mattress dipping as he faced her. She could feel the ghost of his breath against her cheek as he whispered, “Is that what we’re doing? The friendship thing?”
Her throat felt dry, scratchy, but she forced the words out anyway. “Isn’t that what you want? ”
There was a pause. A long, long pause. But finally, he said, “I would be grateful for your friendship.”
She didn’t miss the way that he’d manoeuvred around the question. And she definitely didn’t miss the hope that swelled within her at that realisation.
Fucking ridiculous. He’d just given her a thousand more reasons not to trust him.
Then he lay back and said, “I hope it made her feel better, at least. That would be something.”
Cherry sat up, suddenly infuriated by his attitude. She’d heard the waver in his voice when he’d described the situation, but still he acted as if this Kathryn woman was some delicate fucking flower, innocent of all responsibility.
“Are you telling me that you’d do this to someone?” she snapped. “That you’d expose someone’s intimate moments like that? Spill secrets and… and do your best to humiliate someone who’d trusted you?”
He shot up too, the mattress squeaking under his weight. “Of course not! I would never!” She’d never heard him sound so vehement.
“Right!” she said, exasperated. “Because it would be fucking reprehensible, and you know that. Some people like to say that all’s fair in love and war.
Those people cannot be trusted with power.
It sounds like you were an absolute arse, and you can feel guilty about that—you should.
But what she did to you is a separate issue.
You didn’t deserve it. No-one deserves that. Do you understand?”
He reached for her. She felt it, the same way she felt his gaze or his smile. Even before his fingers brushed against her cheek, she knew what he was doing.
“You sound so fierce,” he murmured. “Cherry Pie.”
“You have to stop calling me that.” She’d meant to be firm, but her voice was worryingly soft.
“Why?”
“My dad calls me that.”
“I could say something inappropriate, but I’ll restrain myself.”
She burst out laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Fine. No Cherry Pie. How about… Cherry Blossom?”
She faked a gag as his hand slid from her cheek to the nape of her neck. “No. Another dad name.”
“I don’t think it’s fair of him to monopolise all the cherry-related nicknames. I’m going to file a complaint.”
“He did mention wanting to speak with you…”
Ruben froze. “Fuck. How long do you think I can put that off?”
She laughed again. Her chest felt light all of a sudden, but the weight of his hand against her skin felt heavy. Deliciously heavy.
“I don’t know. I’ll figure something out. He’s really not that scary.”
“So you say. What about Cherry Pop?”
“Taken. ”
“Of course it is,” he sighed. His fingers found the knot of her scarf at the base of her neck. “What’s this?”
“Scarf.”
“To sleep in?”
“Yeah. It’s silk, so my hair doesn’t dry out.”
She could hear the smirk in his voice as he said, “So delicate, hm? A born princess.”
She rolled her eyes. Tried not to think about the fact that she was a fake princess. A fake princess-to-be. Whatever.
“Cherry,” he whispered. “I like touching you.” His finger trailed down the back of her neck, along her spine. It dipped under her T-shirt, dragging down the fabric. She arched her back and shivered.
“I know you do.”
“Oh you know , do you?”
“I noticed, yeah.”
He wrapped a hand around her throat and pushed, gentle but insistent, until she lay back against the bed.
Cherry tried to ignore the way her nipples tightened and her clit throbbed, brought instantly to life by…
What? By the casual way he controlled her?
By the restrained strength in his grip? Or by the way he lay down beside her, his chest against her side, his muscled forearm lying between her breasts?
His lips pressed against the hollow just beneath her ear, finding the sweet spot with unnerving precision in the pitch-black. “Do you like it when I touch you, Cherry? ”
She swallowed, her throat dry. And even though her mind was scrambling and bright white stars were bursting behind her eyes, she forced herself to speak. “It’s obvious that I do.”
“Is it?” His voice was low and soothing, but with a thread of command that had her pulse quickening. “I don’t think it’s obvious. Not until you tell me. So tell me.” His grip on her throat tightened, his fingers pressing against her pulse.
White fire shot through her veins as she gasped out, “Yes, I like it.”
“Tell me what you like. Tell me exactly what you like.” Always, he wanted more. More of her.
She loved that.
“I don’t know,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “Show me what you can do, and I’ll tell you what I like.”
His tongue slid out to trace circles against her skin, the place where it grew thin and sensitive at the base of her throat. “Is that a challenge, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “It is.”