Thirty

 

Liv

 

“Why did you warn me not to love you?” I asked.

The room was black. It must have been around midnight. We’d just fucked for the third time that day. Our time away was beginning to end. Reaper was starting to get itchy feet, staring up at the sky like the gods were going to smite him.

He didn’t answer or move. His hand was still possessively holding a boob, like usual. He was probably half asleep. Or he didn’t give a shit to answer. Who knew? Whenever we talked, it was pointless shit. Like what I liked to have for breakfast. I told him anything because when you have a hunger issue that stemmed from serious PTSD, food was food and goddamn anyone for being picky. We had television, and he lamely suggested romance movies, but why would I watch romance movies? I liked a good thriller every now and then – not some dashing idiot with smouldering eyes, wooing an equally dumbass heroine overlooking the obvious signs he was into her.

Reaper would look at me like he wanted something from me, but every time I neared him in those moments, he’d shut off and the walls were back up. He was determined I stay away. Determined I never got too close to get to know him. It was exhausting.

The only personal shit I managed to pry was that he was a former vice president of his club, he had a sister he wasn’t close to, and his parents and brother were dead. And just getting that information out of him took serious effort. The kind only post coital could accomplish when your victim was weary, satisfied and half-asleep.

So now I was just curious. I didn’t want to skirt around the topic any longer.

“Who’s Sara?” I then asked. I was trying to get a reaction out of him, and it worked. I felt his body go stiff. “You shouldn’t be shocked. The walls of your room weren’t entirely insulated, Remy. And Christy did a good job making sure the entire jungle neighbourhood heard her sob story. You were brutal, by the way.”

 It kind of made me jealous he had reacted that way over a name. I had hoped our time here would have opened him to me a little more. Instead, he’d flipped the attention on to me, asking me loaded questions, dissecting me with feverish interest. I felt like a lab experiment.

“Is she dead?” I carried on, unable to stop myself. I’d thought about it too long now. “Or did she just break your heart? You’re a hard tell, Remy. I think everyone’s sick and tired of trying to figure you out. I’m your wife. Don’t I get the privilege?” He still didn’t answer. Huffing, I grabbed his hand on my breast and tried to remove it, but he wouldn’t let me. “Let go, Remy.”

“It belongs to me,” he finally spoke.

“No, jackass, they’re mine.” I shoved his hand off successfully.

“What’s your problem, Olivia?” he asked, his voice unusually calm despite what I’d just said to him.

“I want to understand you.”

“You can’t understand me that way.”

“Wrong. I think it’s the only way I can understand you.”

“No.”

“It’s the only thing that makes you feel.”

“Yeah,” he bit back, “it makes me feel angry.”

“Why?”

He got out of bed, nude, and began to walk to the door.

“Are you serious?” I called out, frustrated. “You’re leaving the conversation just like that? All because it got too hard?”

“When you use a name that you know gets this sort of reaction out of me, don’t be fuckin’ surprised when I react.” He walked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. Moments later I heard the shower go on.

I blinked back angry tears and for a moment tried to go to sleep. If he wanted to keep it to himself, fine. I would stop asking. I would stop caring.

I turned to my side and tried to sleep. I tried to sleep for what felt like an eternity, but my mind was racing.

Maybe I did push him, though.

Maybe he was right, and I shouldn’t have expected anything different.

But it was hard feeling shut out. He was so attentive with sex. So attentive with learning my triggers and trying to figure me out. Then he’d opened up to me for that short moment, and I thought we were onto something.

Why was I even hoping for that?

How the hell had I found myself caring for the brute?

Huffing, I threw the covers off me and stepped out of the bed. I’d apologize but that was it. I would say sorry for knowingly using a name that angered him, but I wasn’t going to apologize for being curious.

Mid-step toward the bathroom and I immediately changed my mind. No, I was too annoyed. Too angry. I didn’t feel like being an adult just yet. I fell back down onto the mattress and stubbornly wrapped the covers around me.

When he stepped out a long while later, I pretended to be asleep. He laid back in bed. The steam in the bathroom filled the room. I could smell his body wash. Fucking delicious, of course.

“Hey, rebel,” he suddenly said, “you ready to apologize?”

Ex-fucking-cuse me?

I whipped around, ready to lose it at him. I stopped short because he was completely nude, wet, and had his hand wrapped around his length. He looked at me, his other hand buried comfortably under his hand. Whatever anger he’d had was gone now.

“I want your lips,” he said slowly, “around my cock. Now.”

I blinked, absorbing his words. “I’d rather eat rusted nails right now, Remy.”

“I need you to fuck me with your dirty mouth, Olivia.”

“Why?”

“I gotta clean it somehow.”

“Clever. Ladies and gentlemen, our future Bachelor.”

“Thank you.”

“Did someone drop you on your head as a kid?”

“Repeatedly,” he answered, unusually serious. “Mouth on dick, now.”

He was taking my jabs with ease, not offering any in return. I wondered if he was trying to annoy me. I glared at him, shaking my head. “I’m not giving you a blow job, Remy, until you tell me you have feelings for me.”

“I have feelings for you,” he declared, steadfastly.

I paused. I didn’t expect that. “For real?”

He looked at me like I was a moron. “I married you, Olivia. Why do you need words? Why haven’t you listened to my actions instead?”

I went quiet. Why did he constantly make sense?

“I need to get my mind off the bad shit, babe,” he added. “I need you.”

Fucking fine.

Goddamn him.

I scooted to him and wrapped my hand around his cock, making him let go. It was heavy and full. He was straining. He watched me closely – intently – as I stroked him. Then I bet down, bringing him to my lips.

Apologize. He’d said. I sucked his tip, and then peeked at him. “I’m sorry, Remy.”

And I was sorry. That was simply toxic of me, trying to get a reaction out of him. It wasn’t in jest. There’d been no other reason than to simply get my answers. He grabbed a chunk of my hair, encouraging me to move at the pace he wanted. Which was slow at first. The need in him showed as he gripped me harder, breathing faster. He was so deliciously thick, my jaw ached only after a few minutes.

“Get on top, Liv,” he said, pulling me to him. I let go and climbed on top. He let go of my hair and gripped my hip, setting me upright. He set his length against my entrance and slowly I sat, letting him fill me one inch at a time. He fucked me slowly. Breathing so unsteadily, watching me closely as I writhed on top of him, getting closer and closer.

When he came, I watched the pleasure and pain of whatever ailed him flash in his eyes.

 

 

“She isn’t dead,” he spoke, filling the silent room sometime after.

I was in his arms, still basking in that afterglow of sex. I went still, eyes wide open, staring ahead as I listened. I wouldn’t push. He would tell me whatever he was ready to.

“I thought I was in love with her,” he continued. “I don’t know if it was, in the end. I put her through hell. I wanted her to be mine. I did horrible things. You wouldn’t want me if you knew about. Hell, you won’t want me when I come clean about everything else too. But at some point, I gotta come clean. About everything.”

Why wouldn’t I want him? Again, I didn’t want to push it. I asked safe questions. “Is she okay now?”

“I hope so.” He sounded genuine.

“Then you’re angry at yourself, not at her.”

“Yeah, feisty. I am. Every time I hear her name, I feel nothing but shame.”

I looked up at him. “So, you don’t want this woman anymore?”

His lips went up as he studied me, like he finally understood what I was getting at. Yeah, I’d totally given myself away.

“I don’t want her,” he said, firmly. “I’ve had my eyes on you a long while, Olivia.”

My lips parted. “How long?”

“Two years. I saw you. You were crying outside your apartment building. I wanted you right then. I just didn’t tell your dad until recently. But he knew, I think. He knew I was coming for you. He knew I’d be back.”

“You’re going to have to be a lot more specific than that, Remy.”

“One day,” he promised. “I’ll tell you everything. As long as you promise you won’t go.”

I felt hesitant. “All of this will make sense?”

“Yeah.”

I swallowed and slowly moved to him. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me to his side. He looked down at me, his eyes warm. “I want you, Olivia. I wouldn’t marry you if I was hung up on someone else.”

“I thought we were just business.”

“I don’t need your dad’s connections. I could have gotten rid of him a long time ago. You knew that too. You said so to Shane. In a way, you knew all along I wanted you.”

“Then don’t tell me not to love you. That’s stupid.”

His grip on me tightened, and he looked almost fearful looking back at me. “I gotta be honest, Olivia, I don’t know what it’s like to be loved unconditionally like that anymore. I haven’t felt it since my mom, and she’s been gone a long time. I haven’t even felt it from my sister, but she’s got her reasons. I’ve been alone for too fuckin’ long now. I…damned myself four years ago, telling myself I was never going to bother trying again. But…fuck, when I looked at you, it was different. It wasn’t like her when I first saw her walking down that street that night in my car. I think I was high off adrenaline that night, or something. You were…visceral. I felt like I knew your pain. And for the second time now, I’m doing this, I’m telling someone I want them to be mine. How do I do that without breaking apart again?”

I ran my thumb over his cheek, breathing lightly because I felt the fear too. “You trust them, Remy. So…trust me not to break your heart.”

Finally, finally, I was getting through to him.

The walls were falling.