“We’d better clean up.” He takes me to the bathroom and starts the shower. I resecure some of the strands of hair that were pulled loose, then join him in the spray of water. I wonderwhat he’s thinking, but most of all, I worry what he’ll say when I tell him I’m not on birth control.
CHAPTER 32
TOMMY
The beastinside me has withdrawn to his cave, satisfied with his acquisition, but his absence creates an empty void. That’s what I deserve for such a hollow victory. Danika gave herself to me, yet I can’t stop myself from asking whether she did it to appease me or out of obligation. Either way, she didn’t do it out of sheer desire. I wanted her to want me so badly that I let myself pretend that’s what was happening, but now the doubts are eating at me, and once a thought like that starts feasting on my conscience, it’s as unstoppable as a horde of locusts.
How can I trust my interpretation of the situation when my compulsion for her warps my perception? How could she possibly know what she truly wants when she’s been manipulated at every turn? And worst of all, how can I ever expect to keep her if she never wanted to be with me in the first place?
My turbulent thoughts haunt me as I wash her body clean of my presence.
All afternoon, doubts stare daggers at me while I work in my office.
Anger rakes its scaly talons under my skin as I cook dinner.
Shame clots in my lungs while we watch TV, making my chest burn with every breath.
And throughout it all, Danika smiles as though she’s trying to reassure me that everything’s fine when I know it’s not. More than anything, I hate that I can’t figure out the problem. If I can’t figure it out, I can’t fix it.
We’re crawling into bed at the end of the day when I reach the end of my threshold because I know I’m agitated enough that I’ll endlessly check my guns, arm the alarm, and ensure every object in the apartment is set at a right angle if I can’t get a resolution. My compulsions will own me, and she’ll know. As embarrassing as it is to force the issue and ask her why she rejected me, I’d rather do that than let her see me as a slave to myself.
“You couldn’t even look at me.” The words tumble from my lips as though they’d been pressed against a door, waiting for the handle to turn. It's not how I planned to broach the subject, but at least it’s done.
Danika’s brows furrow. “You mean earlier … in the living room?”
“No, at the wedding. After the Russians attacked. You turned your back on me.”
The addition of a frown turns her confusion to remorse. “I turned my back on them. I couldn’t bear to see them.” She scoots closer in the bed and takes my hand in hers. “I swear, Tommy, it had nothing to do with you.”
She lifts her lips to connect with mine, and I kiss her back because fuck do I want to believe her. I considered that it was simply the trauma of seeing two men get shot that had upset her. Of course, I considered that. I’m an overthinker. I’ve conjured every possible scenario I could come up with over the past ten hours and debated the merits of each. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s more than that. She was practically catatonic.
But if not me, then what?
“You’d tell me if you were upset with me?” I ask, hating the vulnerability inherent in the question.
“I promise,” she says without hesitation. “You’re my husband now, Tommy. We’re a team.”
It doesn’t fully erase the residue of my fears, but I can hardly ask more of her. It will have to do for now.
I place a kiss on her forehead and pull her body against mine beneath the covers. “Let’s get some sleep.” A part of me would love to reassure myself of our connection by slipping my cock deep inside her, but I know she’s already going to be sore. I don’t want to make it worse.
The cathartic feel of her skin on mine keeps my compulsions at bay enough for me to resist the pull. I want to stay with her more than I need to perform my routine, and I relish that feeling. The peace and contentment that comes when my mind and body are not at war with one another for once. It’s enough to ease me into a deep sleep, which leaves me especially disoriented when a piercing cry yanks me awake in the night.
It's Danika. She’s having a nightmare again like she did the first night—the night we spent handcuffed together. I pull away so that I can see her better just as she whimpers, her beautiful face scrunching in agony.
“Don’t look at me. Please, don’t look at me.”
For a heartbeat’s time, I think she’s talking to me but then realize it’s the dream. She’s talking in her sleep.
“Dani, baby. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” I give her arm a little shake.
Her eyes pop open, meet my wide stare across from her, and she screams—a bloodcurdling, heart-wrenching scream of terror—then scuttles away from me so frantically she falls off the damn bed.
“Jesus, Dani. Are you okay? It’s just me, baby.”
She slowly rights herself and looks around in confusion. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. I freaked out, didn’t I?” She crawls back into bed and takes a deep, harrowing breath.
“Yeah, and that’s the second time. What’s this about, Dani?” I try to use a soothing voice, though I really want to demand an explanation.
