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Her eyes widen, and I see a hint of fear reflected at me.
“Are you scared of me?” I demand angrily.
“A little,” she blurts honestly, incapable of holding my gaze.
I think I was expecting her to deny it, and her truthfulness shocks me to silence.
“Look at me,” I say, trying and mostly failing to gentle my tone.
When she doesn’t lift her chin, I hook it with my finger and softly bring her gaze back to mine again.
“I’m an asshole,” I say. “Sometimes you’ll piss me off, and more times I’ll piss you off. But we don’t walk away. If we fight, we fight, but we don’t dismiss each other. Okay?”
She doesn’t immediately nod, and even though a part of me resents her lack of instant agreement, her pause feels like she’s taking the time to process my words. “Okay,” she slowly agrees.
“Good girl. Now come here and let me get you clean before I dirty you up again.”
Both of us say and do the right thing in the shower, she lets me soap up a cloth and coat her from head to toe and all the places in between. She stands while I wash her hair and smooth through the conditioner, she even lets me wrap her in a towel and then lick away the drips of water I don’t catch as I dry her skin. But it still feels like there’s a distance between us that I really fucking hate.
When she steps away from me and into the closet, it takes all of my resolve not to follow her and demand that she stop being so fucking scared. But I can’t do that because I still don’t know all the things I did back when we were kids. She truly feels she has good reason to fear me, and maybe she has.
“Are we going anywhere today?” she calls.
“I thought we could go into town. Tori owns a bakery that makes the most amazing cakes and pastries. Then you need more clothes, unless you really do have more stuff coming that you didn’t tell me about?”
“Have you had sex with Tori?” she asks, stepping back out of the closet and shocking me with her snippy tone.
“Tori is my teammate’s fiancée. No, I haven’t fucked her.”
“I’m sorry, it’s none of my business,” she replies quickly, turning and disappearing back into the closet.
Stomping across the room, I crowd her, pressing my front to her back. “Everything about me is your business. But I can’t change my past, Etta.”
“I know,” she whispers sadly.
“Does it make you mad thinking about the women I’ve had in the past?” I ask, pushing her to answer, even though I have no idea what I hope to achieve by taunting her this way.
“Does it bother you to think about the other men who’ve had their dicks in me?” she asks mockingly, her tone unexpectedly cold. Most of the time, her voice is so small I sometimes struggle to hear her, so when she is occasionally terse and forceful, it packs so much more of a punch.
Two seconds ago, her obvious jealousy was sexy. Now I want the names of every guy who had the audacity to touch what’s mine so I can hunt them down and fucking kill them.
The urge to push her face down into the dresser while I slam into her from behind almost overwhelms me. But I refuse to take out my anger on her, especially not when I’ve used her cunt too many times already in the last twenty-four hours. Instead, I lean down and sink my teeth into the skin where her shoulder meets her neck.
I don’t break the skin, but I bite hard enough to mark her, leaving a bruise that’ll last at least a couple of days. “You’re mine, and no one but me will get a taste of your sweet little cunt ever again.”
Yelping, she makes a helpless little sound that goes straight to my dick.
“Do you enjoy making me jealous, Little One?” I demand.
“Do you enjoy making me feel like one of many?” she retorts, her voice thick with emotion.
“You’re not one of many, you’re the only one. My one.”
“Are you my one too?” she asks, suddenly sounding unsure.
“I’m your fucking everything,” I tell her, spinning her around to face me and claiming her lips with mine.
I kiss her until we’re both panting for breath and when I finally pull back, she sways on her feet, leaning into me like her legs are weak and she needs me to hold on to for support.
