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His shoulders tense, and he releases my arm to tilt my chin up toward him. “I wish it were that simple, Beauty. But it isn’t.”
Tears pool in my eyes, a vise wrapping around my chest so tightly that I struggle to take a breath through the coming sob. “I want to see him. It’s been weeks. I need—” I fight back the complete meltdown about to strike. “I need to see him, hug him, make sure he’s okay. Please let him come up here.”
He growls. “Absolutely not.”
“Then let me go to him just for a day or two, then I’ll come back.”
His eyes shift from steely gray to black again.
There’s my answer.
Weston will never let me go.
He’ll never let me leave this house or his sight again.
Not after what happened in those woods and this bed.
He brings his thumb over my cheek. “I’ll consider it, Beauty.”
What?
It’s far more than I thought he’d give me.
Not an agreement, but not an automatic denial of my request, like I had anticipated the moment it left my mouth.
He doesn’t want Dad up here because there are far too many secrets buried on this mountain, and if he sees us together, he’ll realize there’s something going on between The Beast and me. That will send everything spiraling and erase any chance of this ever being resolved peacefully.
But maybe, just maybe, he’ll let me go to him.
Weston leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips, then drags me up into his lap to straddle him and his growing cock.
The reasons to argue for why he should allow me to go, all the things I wanted to discuss with him, all the questions I needed to ask, every single thought filling my head, all disappear in a cloud of lust and need.
WESTON
I thought the first few days with Callista here were unbearable.
Her scent.
Her energy.
Her insistence on trying to get under my skin any way she could.
But the last few have been even worse—for both of us.
No amount of falling into bed together and mind-blowing sex can break the tension or remove the giant dark cloud hanging over us. Today, it seems as though things might come to a head after Callista has tried so hard not to say what it is she’s been holding in.
She picks at her dinner the same way she has for three days, not eating much, pushing it around on her plate, despite the fact that I asked her what she wanted and made it specifically for her.
A small kindness I can offer, while the larger one she’s requested is so much harder.
After twenty minutes of watching her apathy, I finally shift forward in my chair and lower my silverware to my almost empty plate. “Not to your liking? I could try a different recipe next time.”
Her head snaps up, and she forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Even from the other end of the table, I can see the disquiet in her heart, sense her unease and the distance growing between us even though we’ve slept in the same bed and in each other’s arms since the night Gray confronted her.
And I know exactly why.
Because I haven’t answered her question.
