Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
I understand his question now, and I know the terrifying answer. This is what I want from him—and it’s definitely what I need. Pain, punishment, force—I require that from him nearly as much as love and tenderness.
I need the total package, as messed up as that may be.
He reaches forward and frees my hands, then carefully withdraws from me and cleans me with a tissue. I close my eyes, too drained to move, and his strong arms slide under me, lifting me off the bed.
He carries me into the shower and washes me there, wiping off the smeared makeup, undoing all the intricate curls and waves in my updo. Then he wraps me in a towel and brings me to the living room, where he sits down on the couch, holding me cuddled on his lap.
I lay my head on his broad shoulder and place my palm over his heart, feeling the steady beat inside his muscled chest as he gently massages my nape, his strong fingers working out knots I didn’t even know were there.
“So tell me, then.” His voice is a soft, deep rumble underneath my ear. “Tell me why you nearly backed out today.”
“Because…” Because Ryson reminded me of the reality of things, made me feel lower than a slug—that’s what I start to say, but then I stop. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth either. I was panicking before the agent’s visit, before he forced me to confront the ugly facts.
“Because why?” Peter prompts, pausing the massage.
“Because…” A knot forms in my throat as I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them, pulling back to meet his gaze. It’s time I stopped pretending and embraced the truth. Taking a breath, I say unsteadily, “Because you were right. Back in Japan, when you said that it’s too late for me, you were right.” It’s getting harder to force the words out, but I make myself continue. “It was too late then, and it’s definitely too late now. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along our jagged path, I fell in love with you. Only I—” I stop, my throat closing up completely.
His gray eyes soften, his hand resuming the light massage. “Only you what?”
“Only I can’t take it,” I confess, the words like rocks inside my vocal cords. “I need...” I stop, unable to voice it fully, but he understands.
“You need this.” He lifts his hand to stroke my cheek. “You need me to make it hurt sometimes, to take control and force you. To take away the other choices, so you can embrace the one you really want.”
I nod jerkily, equal parts ashamed and relieved. It’s wrong and cowardly of me, but in the context of all the other wrongness, it’s the one thing that feels right. Our relationship will never be like that of other people… because it shouldn’t exist at all. Torturer and victim, killer and his target’s widow—we’re as impossible together as any predator and prey, but because of Peter, we are here.
His obsession created us.
He understands; I see it in the warm silver of his gaze. “So today, when I called you from the venue,” he murmurs, tucking a damp strand of hair behind my ear, “you needed that, didn’t you, ptichka? You needed to know that walking away wasn’t an option… that you had to marry me or else.”
I swallow thickly, fighting the temptation to look away. “I think so. Maybe. I—” I stop again, unable to formulate the confusing mix of emotions I’d experienced. His threat had terrified me as intended, but I now realize that I’d also been relieved.
Deep down, I’d been counting on him to do it, to lift away the worst of my shame and guilt.
His warm hand curves around my jaw, his thumb brushing soothingly across my cheek. “It’s okay, ptichka. Don’t feel bad. It is what it is, and it’s okay to admit it.”
I stare into his eyes. “You don’t think that I’m… an awful person?”
“Because you love me, or because you can’t embrace it fully?”
“Either. Both.”
His smile is both sensuous and sad. “No, my love. You’re a product of your upbringing, as I am one of mine. You were right too, back at the Swiss clinic, when you said that in a different world, a different life, it would’ve all been different. If I could, I would erase the past, rewrite the history between us, but in lieu of that, I’ll give you what you need—what we both need, if we are being honest.”
I hold his gaze, my eyes burning. He understands, because he’s my dark, terrifying mirror, his cravings both inverse and parallel to mine. He loves me, he’s demonstrated that in the most vivid ways, but some part of him also needs to hurt me, to punish me for the pain of the past.