Damn me to hell and back. How could I give in so easily? Touching Valentina was every jaded shade of wrong. I should’ve kept my distance. Running into her screwed up everything. I’m not arrogant enough to believe she’s attracted to me or my new face. She merely acted on the instinct I trained into her. Valentina needs pain with her pleasure. Dominance in bed. She’s drawn to the sadist, the monster. Sensing what I am underneath the polished veneer of a man is what brought her to my door. This is who I am. I can’t change it any more than a cat can turn itself into a dog.

After she’d left, I pace the floor. The faint smell of raspberry contracts my chest, reminding me of what I’m missing, and that I’ll be utterly alone for the rest of my life. So be it. I don’t want anyone else. My purpose is protecting her and my child. That’s enough. I’ll feel better when I can make up for the financial hardships she suffered after my death. Once enough profit from my company rolls in, I’ll invest anonymously in her clever company. My heart swells with pride. I always knew she’d survive, and the fact that she’s making such a good job of it without me fills me with a pang of sad jealousy. No man wants to be expendable, dispensible, replaceable. All I ever wanted was to take care of her, and look where that got us. It’s better that I stay far away from her, even as every cell in my body pulls toward her with a force near impossible to resist. I exchanged her life for freedom. I have to hold onto that oath when I feel weak. Which is all the time.

Of course, I’m tempted to take the golden opportunity she presented me, to claim her as a different man, but that will be just another lie, another manipulation, and I’m not going down that road with her again. Ever. I repeat the mantra, hoping it will sink in and that my dick will eventually get the message. Just being near her makes me hard. Fuck, thinking about her does the job. I clench and unclench my fingers, fighting a sudden urge to go after her and throw the truth at her feet, kneel, and beg her to forgive me and take me back. God, I’m such a selfish bastard. No, I won’t blow my cover and her new, hard-earned life to hell. There’s only one cure for taming my uncontrollable desire. I pull on my sweatpants and a T-shirt and punish myself with a grueling workout in the gym. With every weight I lift, I try to expel the memory of her taste, her sounds, and how she felt under my hands, but it’s futile. The more I push, the deeper she seeps under my skin.

After a shower, I set out to do what I’ve been putting off since getting back to Johannesburg. I buy a bunch of white roses and drive to the graveyard. Visiting Carly’s grave rips me to pieces. I was afraid to come here, and now that the full force of the loss tears the patched-up grief wide open again, I sink down on my knees in the mud and weep over the stone of my beautiful girl I couldn’t save. Raw cries tear from my chest. For the first time after her death, I let them out. The violent emotion is far from healing. I’m simply lifting the lid on the simmering pain I carry inside of me. This, too, will always be a part of me, like losing Valentina and Connor. I accept it. This is what I deserve, to be an unhappy man with a whole face and a broken soul. Drying my face on my sleeve, I kiss my fingers and press them on the cold stone.

“I love you, Carly.”

I won’t fail Connor if it’s the last thing I do. He’ll never know me, but he won’t know need, either. No one will lay a finger on him as long as I live. Allowing the resolve to give me strength, I push to my feet and go back to my house, which feels emptier and colder than ever now that Valentina has marked it with her presence.

* * *

One week goes by. I work myself to a standstill, if not with work, in the gym. I keep a tight watch on the woman and child who give meaning to my existence. I keep my distance, ensuring I don’t make the same stupid mistake, so when I come home from the gym on Saturday morning to find Valentina’s car parked in front my house, anticipation mixes with trepidation. I’m surprised, and I’m not. I made her physically and emotionally dependent on me when I first took her. It’s only natural she’ll look for someone to replace that dependency. A darkness rises inside of me when I think of another man fulfilling that role, but the turbulent feeling is quickly squashed when she gets out of the car with Connor on her hip. The sight of them stills me. A deep-sated pain tightens my chest. I press the remote to open the gate, pull into my driveway, and exit my car warily.

“How did you get in?” The words come out more harshly than I intended.

Valentina doesn’t bat an eye at my angry voice. “I smooth-talked the guard.”

“He’s not supposed to let anyone in without permission.” I’m pissed off that he disobeyed the rules. It’s dangerous. I’ll have to speak with him.

“Connor helped,” she says with a smile.

I stare at him with barely disguised pride. Yeah, it will be hard to resist that drooling, two-toothed grin. I make a conscious effort to soften my tone. “Why are you here?” Shit, is something wrong? “Is everything all right?”

“I’m taking Connor for a picnic. I thought you might like to come.”

“Valentina…” It comes out like the warning I intended, but God, it feels good to say her name. The problem is I want to scream it with her submissive body under me.

Not giving me time to elaborate, she pushes Connor into my arms. “Hold him for a second, will you?”

The lure is too strong to resist. When my arms go around my son, something inside of me snaps. The world tips, and all the wrongs fall into place as I hold his small body against my chest, inhaling his baby smell.

Valentina lifts a diaper bag from the backseat and gives me an apologetic look. “I just need to change him before we go. May I please use your house?”

I’ll never deny my son anything. “Go ahead.”

Balancing Connor in one arm, I unlock the door and let her in.

She walks over to the only piece of furniture in the lounge. “Do you mind?”

“No.”

While she spreads a protective cover out on the reclining chair, I carry Connor to her. For a second I cling to him, reluctant to let go, but she’s standing there with the diaper in her hands, so I lay him down. Warmth travels up and down my body as I watch her take care of our child. I devour the intimate moment like a starving man. When he’s clean and dry, she turns to me with a smile that holds both friendly warmth and passionate heat, neither of which I deserve.

Her tone is sure. “Ready?”

Despite how I sent her off after our lustful encounter, she doesn’t doubt that I’ll agree, and she’s right. How can I now that I’ve had a taste of Connor? I desperately want more. I want more of the self-assured woman standing in front of me, too.

My smile is tight. My weakness burns in me. “Give me a minute to shower and change?”

“Of course.”

I rush through a shower and pull on a fitted white shirt and slacks. By the time I return to the lounge, she’s sitting on the chair, breastfeeding Connor. I stop in my tracks. Looking down, her expression is nothing but loving. There’s no resentment in her features for the child she didn’t ask for or planned. My eyes slip to my son. His suckling is surprisingly strong for such a tiny creature.

“Ouch,” Valentina says, flinching as he hollows his cheeks.

He fists his little fingers in Valentina’s jersey, holding onto his source of food for life. Little sighs, groans, and hums of approval infuse the swallowing noises he makes. He has a cluster of dark hair, not curly like mine, but silky like his mother’s. Even at ten months, he looks impossibly tiny. Fragile.

Before I can stop myself, I’m standing in front of them, caressing Connor’s hair. Why this particular scene moves me so much I don’t understand. Maybe it’s because my own mother never took care of me. There were nannies for that.

Valentina stares up at me. “He’s almost done.”

“Take your time.” I mean it. I can stand here and look at them all day. “Isn’t he on solids, already?”

“Oh, yes. I still breastfeed because he needs all the natural immunity he can get. He’s really only eight months old, if you consider that he was born two months prematurely.”

She hands him back to me and adjusts her clothes.

“We’ll take my car,” she says, “because I have the car seat.”

The minx successfully bullied me into an outing without even putting up a fight.

“Do we need to stop for supplies?” I ask.

“I’ve already packed a basket. It’s in my trunk.”

I offer a hand to help her to her feet.

She drives us to the zoo, a place I used to visit often when I was little. Not much has changed in thirty-eight years. Connor is too young to appreciate the animals, but we follow the path past the monkeys and birds, walking side by side in a comfortable silence. Under the shade of a willow, she spreads out a blanket and puts Connor on his tummy, leaving plastic toy blocks within his reach.

“He’s almost sitting by himself,” she says proudly. “He’s a little behind on this milestone, but the doctor says its normal with preemies.”

She’s good with him. She makes a great mom. I shouldn’t touch her, but I can’t help brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “How is it?”

“How’s what?”

“Motherhood.”

“It’s tough, sometimes, but I’d never want it any other way.”

“I’m sorry it’s been hard for you.” I mean it with all of my soul.

She shrugs. “It’s a matter of finding a routine that works for everyone.”

“I’m sure it’s not that simple.”

“It’s not so bad. I have flexibility in my work, and I can take Connor to the office.”

“Do you enjoy your job?”

“I appreciate it. It puts a roof over our heads and food on our table. Talking about food…” She reaches for the basket. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” But not for food. Like a fool I stare into her eyes, getting lost in their murky darkness.

Don’t touch her.

Ah, fuck.

I cup her face and push her down on the blanket. It feels natural that my body should cover hers. I ache to taste her, to feel her soft lips, and smell the intoxicating perfume of her skin. Holding her eyes, I bring our mouths closer together. If she wants to back out, I’ll give her the opportunity. She closes the last hairbreadth of distance by lifting her head. When our lips touch, the same deep ache as always takes root in my chest. Instead of getting her out of my system, I’m getting more entangled in her than ever. It’s all the sweeter when this time she chose me. I didn’t kick down her door and drag her here against her will. I’m not seducing her with pleasure to look past my scars. She came to me. I kiss her like a drowning man, so thankful for her free will I can hardly breathe. All the emotions I felt when I was nothing but a cold and empty shell are because of this woman. She taught me the meaning of gratitude. I feel it now, for giving me this moment with her and Connor. There’s so much pleasure in having her consent. Not some fucked-up, manipulated version, but the real deal.

I pour my heart into the kiss, and my body responds, going hard and hot everywhere. We’re in public, but I don’t give a damn. I’m getting deliriously drunk on her and the addictive feeling of happiness.

A gurgle from Connor pulls me back to earth. Reluctantly, I break the kiss. Her face is prettily flushed.

I chuckle. “I think he approves.”

She gives me a radiant smile. “Oh, he definitely does.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For today.” For allowing me time I don’t deserve.

“You’re welcome.”

Connor starts to fuss. In less than a second, he goes from happy to crying. My protective instinct goes into overdrive. Perplexed, helpless, I fall over myself to reach him. “What’s wrong? What happened? Is he hurt? Is he ill?”

As calm as ever, Valentina takes a bottle from the diaper bag and hands it to me. “Want to feed him?”

Connor wails with a voice that would’ve lifted the roof had there been one. Pride swells my chest to the point of exploding. When I put the nipple in his mouth, he starts sucking with greedy gulps.

“Again?” I ask. “He just ate.”

She smiles at me. “He gets hungry every two hours, more or less.”

It’s like floating on a cloud. The moment feels surreal. A feeling that matches my joy at just having kissed Valentina surges through me when my son nestles deeper into my arms. He weighs nothing. His body is so small his head fits into the palm of my hand. His mouth latches firmly around the nipple, and his cheeks hollow as he makes hungry little sucking sounds. I swear there’s a groan somewhere in the mix and something keen to a growl when I lose my grip on the bottle and break the suction. A deep laugh rumbles in my chest. I cuddle him closer, holding him to my heart.

“You’re the man,” I say on a chuckle, planting a kiss on his forehead.

As he drains every drop in the bottle, I’m fully in the moment, devouring each second of the precious gift.

“First time giving a baby a bottle?” Valentina asks with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Hell, yeah.”

“Not too bad.” She winks and plants a kiss on my cheek.

Just like that, my resistance crumbles. All of my supposedly steadfast intentions fall like battle-beaten soldiers. One more kiss, a fleeting moment of weakness, a never-ending memory, and I’m dating Valentina Louw, the woman who knocked my feet from under me, the mother of my child.

* * *

In the weeks that follow, our dating becomes official. Regular. We’re an item. With the start of winter, we go to indoor playgrounds with Connor. When Kris or Rhett and Quincy can watch Connor, we stay in and make love. I touch Valentina every second I can. Every moment is like borrowed time. Treasured. Whatever we do, I always let her take the lead. She introduces me to her friends as Gregor Malan, and they accept me without question or resistance. Everyone is eager for her to find the happiness she deserves, and I’m flattered that they think I’m the guy for the job. The only issue that spoils this new development is the lie that stands big and ugly between us.

The closer I grow to Valentina in this new relationship, the more torn-up I become. My deceit punishes me in every waking hour and pierces my heart at night. Guilt finds me even in my dreams. She deserves better. She deserves the truth. As my love keeps on overtaking every other emotion and purpose in my life, I know what I have to do.

I have to come clean.

I have to lose her.

Again.

The evening I make the decision, I spend the night on my knees. I kneel on the tiles with my forehead on my fisted hands, wishing for forgiveness and knowing I won’t get it. When I face her tomorrow, she’ll hate me.

Waiting until a decent hour, I call and ask her to come over after work. Alone. I don’t want to do this in front of Connor or my ex-bodyguards. What I have to say is meant for her ears alone. For the rest of the day, I pace around the house, reciting my speech in my head, but no words sound right. Finally, I settle for the simple truth.

“I died to give you freedom. I died because I love you. I’m still dying, a little every day, and I’ll keep on doing so if it’ll give you the happiness I stole from you.”

Too damn dramatic.

I face myself in the bathroom mirror, trying again. “I’m not the man you think I am. I’m…”

Fuck.

I drag a hand through my hair. Who am I? “I’m a ghost of the man who kidnapped and impregnated you.” Scrap that. “I’m the man who loves you.”

She’ll hate me more than before, but it’s the right thing to do. Maybe the most honorable thing I’ve ever done in my life. I give the strange face in the mirror a glance before I head for the shower to get ready. If this is the last time I face Valentina, the least I can do is pay her the courtesy of looking presentable.

* * *

Until today, things moved slowly between me and Gabriel, or Gregor, as I got used to calling him. We date like two normal people. There have been plenty of opportunities to tell him I know the truth, but I want him to tell me when he’s ready. I can’t tell him how I feel until he confesses. If he’s not ready to listen to me as Gabriel, he’s not ready to listen to me as Gregor.

Then came his phone call today. There was something in his tone, a faint tremble in the deep timber of his voice. My hands shake as I fit the new red dress and twist my hair into a bun. What if he doesn’t want to see us, any longer? No, I have to be positive. Gabriel may not love me like I love him, but he needs me. He wanted me alive, enough to make me pregnant. That counts for something, doesn’t it?

Connor cooes on the play carpet. I pick him up, burying my nose in his hair. “I love you, baby. So much.”

A pang of sadness invades my heart as it always does when I have to leave him, even for a few hours.

“He’ll be fine,” a voice says from the door.

I turn to take in Kris’ soft, compassionate smile. Wonderful Kris who always understands.

She holds out her hands. “Give him here and go have yourself some fun.”

I kiss my baby’s head before handing him over.

Kris looks me up and down. “You look beautiful.”

Absentmindedly, I rub a finger over the stub of my thumb. “You think so?”

“Perfect.” She gives me an encouraging nod. “You’re running late.”

She knows I’m stalling. I’m stalling because I’m nervous. How will this night turn out for us? For me, Gabriel, and Connor? When she leaves with Connor, I slip the gift I kept for Gabriel in my bag. Depending on what he says, I’ll offer it to him or bring it home. A part of me wants to put tonight off, but we can’t carry on living in our make-believe world.

I say a quick goodbye to the guys. It’s pizza and movie night, so Charlie is sorted. Then I drive to Gabriel’s house.

He waits outside, dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt. As always, my mouth goes a little dry. He’s perfect in every physical sense, but to me he’s still the scarred man I fell in love with. On the inside, he’s as torn up as I am, and that pain is a bond we share.

Instead of getting the door for me like he usually does, he remains standing on the lawn, drinking me in with a hungry expression as I walk up the path. We don’t need words. I know what he’s thinking just as he knows what I am, because his eyes drop to the hard points of my nipples under my dress. I stop short of him. My emotions are raw, but so are his. A war rages in his green eyes, the color so wrong and so right. His hands flex as if he’s trying not to touch me, but then the fragile cord of his restrain snaps.

Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he jerks me closer. The action makes me stumble into the hard barrier of his chest. He catches me with one arm around my waist, trapping his erection between us.

“Fuck.” He buries his nose against my neck and runs it along my jaw. “Just one touch.”

That hurts. He says it like a farewell greeting.

“I need you inside the house. Now,” he whispers in my ear.

Taking my hand, he leads me to the door. When it’s locked behind us, he turns on me, one hundred percent Gabriel. “That’s a very pretty dress.” For all of one second, he looks indecisive, as if he’s fighting an internal battle, but then he takes my face between his hands and kisses me hard.

“Aren’t you going to tell me to take it off?” I ask when he sets me free.

“There are things I need to say.”

I want to hear, and I don’t. I’m afraid of losing him, forever, this time, but I’m not afraid to fight for what I want. I’m not giving up, yet. I push the straps from my shoulders and let the dress fall to the ground. Not wearing underwear, I stand naked in front of him, except for my shoes.

His gaze caresses me with approval, but the battle continues to rage in his eyes. “You came here like this?” He closes the distance, staring down at my mouth. “Why?”

We both know why, but he wants me to say it. “I want you to fuck me.”

The taught skin of his cheekbones darkens. “How?”

“Hard. Rough.” I deal my trump card. “While you spank me.”

The lines of his face turn rigid, and the green of his eyes becomes smoky. “Why?”

“Because it makes me come harder.”

His chest deflates with a breath of defeat. “I can’t deny you.”

“Then don’t.”

He cups my breast, flicking a thumb over my nipple. “Lie down on your back and spread your legs.”

I shake my head. “If you want it, you’re going to have to take it.”

His body tenses. “I don’t want to hurt you, not any––” He bites back the rest of his words, giving me a pained and needy look.

“It’s what I need.”

His resolve crumbles like a dry piece of bread. His carefully guarded lust unravels, giving me a part of the true man as he folds his fingers around my neck and pushes me to my knees. Holding me in place with one hand, he unzips his slacks with the other, leaving the waist buttoned but freeing his long, heavy cock.

He lets go of my neck to grip my hair. “Touch it.”

Our position turns me on beyond anything I’ve ever experienced with me naked on my knees and him towering over me, fully clothed. Gathering the drop that spills from the slit, I rub the wetness around the crest before dragging my nails along the underside. His skin is hot velvet, his flesh hard granite. I catch his eyes as he stares down at me, reading me like the open book I am, knowing exactly what I need.

“Lick it.”

At the permission, I drag my tongue over the head, all the way down and back up. I don’t want to play nice, today. With a look of defiance, I suck him deep into my mouth.

His expression is approving even as he gives a small shake of his head. “Naughty, greedy girl. Did I tell you to suck my cock?”

Instead of replying, I gently rake my teeth over him.

He shivers. “We’ll take care of your punishment later. If you’re going to suck, do it like you mean it.”

I do. I curl my tongue around him and touch his length where my mouth doesn’t reach. Taking him as deep as I can, I urge him wordlessly to remove the last barrier between us, the point to where he hasn’t pushed me, yet. I need this. I want everything from him. I want him to understand he healed me, and that I’m willing to go anywhere for him. He pulls out and shoves back faster. I let him fuck my mouth like I’ve never done with any man, savoring every stroke he pushes into my mouth. I want to swallow for him. I want to choke and have my eyes water. I want him to take me all the way. Changing the angle of my head, I make him pierce my throat instead of my cheek. My reward is magnificent. His eyes grow large with a heated light, and his erection twitches in my mouth. He pushes harder and deeper, stretching my jaw to the limits.

“Breathe through your nose, baby.”

This is all the warning I get before he snips the final cord of self-control he’s always maintained while fucking my mouth. Gripping my head between his large hands, he holds me still and starts fucking my lips in all earnest. When I gag he pulls back, giving me only a brief reprieve before continuing his grueling pace. The way he uses me is so hot. I’m salivating around him, making disgusting noises in the back of my throat, and he loves it. Blinking away the moisture in my eyes, I focus on taking deep breaths through my nose.

“Look at me,” he grits out.

I lift my eyes to his, letting him see my smeared mascara and lipstick, laying my vulnerability at his feet.

“You love this, don’t you?”

I can only moan around him, feeling him tighten in the way he does before he comes. Instead of giving me his seed, he pulls out. I want his taste in my mouth, but he keeps his cock inches away from my face, taunting me.

Gently, he massages the joints of my jaw until the ache subsides, and then he folds his strong fingers around my throat and pushes my back to the floor, my legs bent under me. Resting his weight on one arm, he stretches out over my body and takes my lips in such a delicious and languorous kiss that my toes curl. While his tongue soothes my brutalized mouth, his hand explores my breast. He kneads the soft flesh between needy fingers, a bit too rough to be comfortable, until moisture coats my folds. Soft kisses land on my cheek, jaw, neck, and collarbone while he grips my nipple and pulls. The sting is delicious. His fingers trail over my stomach to my mound, lightly grazing my clit. We moan into each other’s mouths when the pad of his thumb slips through the wetness gathered there for him.

A soft nip on my bottom lip announces the end of the kiss. He pulls away a fraction to look at me. “I’m going to take everything you’ve got.”

I can barely manage a hoarse, “Yes.”

He lifts my arms above my head and arranges my hands with my palms showing up. “Keep them there.”

He moves down my body, kissing every inch of my skin until I writher in need. When he finally reaches my pubic bone, he doesn’t press his lips on my clit like I crave, but straightens my legs, relieving the pull of my muscles. Taking his time, he massages my thighs and calves. Just when my muscles start to relax, he pushes my legs open, exposing my pussy. He pulls my folds apart with his thumbs and sits back on his heels to study me.

“So pretty,” he muses. “So perfect.” He thrusts his middle finger inside, burying it up to the knuckle. “So tight.” A few hard pumps make my hips lift off the floor. “So wet.”

I whimper, needing more of that friction, but he removes his finger. A smile tugs at his lips at my protesting moan. His head lowers slowly until his tongue teases my clit, mercilessly gentle. I lift my hips, trying to make him take more, but am rewarded with a bite that sends a shard of pain through my clit. My cry bounces off the walls, a plea to stop and give more. Then he starts eating me in all earnest. His tongue, teeth, lips, and fingers are everywhere, until I can’t tell the nips of pain from the carnal pleasure. A finger eases into my ass, not carefully, but urgently, without holding back. I strain down to claim that feeling, making it mine as he fills me with everything but his cock. A few pumps and my release starts coiling, pulling my lower body tight. He growls with satisfaction as I come in his mouth, my pleasure exploding around his tongue and finger. My arousal coats his lips as he pulls away, giving me a possessive and victorious grin. I’m his, not only in this moment, but always. I want him to drive into me and fill me with the physical knowledge.

“Take me,” I manage on a croak.

“I’m the one giving the orders.”

To emphasize the statement he flips me on my stomach and lifts my hips. My ass is high in the air, an offering to him, and I already know what’s coming before he gathers my moisture and massages it into my asshole. An involuntary moan escapes as he stretches me impatiently with two fingers. I breathe in and out as two becomes three. One hand caresses the globe of my ass cheek as the other punishes me inside.

Bending over me, he kisses my shoulder. “You’ve been a bad girl, coming here naked under your clothes. The wind could’ve blown up your dress, and someone could’ve caught a glimpse.” Possession is thick in his tone as his fingers trail over my exposed folds. “And this is mine. All mine.”

I revel at the declaration, knowing he’ll claim me regardless of what his guarded expression meant when I arrived. No, I don’t want to think about that, now. All I want to focus on is him inside of me, around me, fucking me.

The slap that falls on my naked butt comes unexpectedly. My ass clenches, trapping his fingers inside. The heat scorching my skin sets every inch of my body from my waist down on fire. I push up, offering him more, and he takes it, spanking and pumping. My cries are fierce and desperate. I already need to come again.

“My greedy, beautiful girl,” he groans. “You want my cock in this tight asshole, don’t you?”

The last time he took me like this was on our wedding day. I know it’s going to hurt and that I’ll love it, but right now I’m craving the sting of his palm too much to focus on anything else. My breasts are heavy, swaying with each slap he delivers to my bottom. The pattern moves from right to left and back again, firing up the skin on my backside and turning my pussy plump and wet. My folds swell and throb. My clit feels overheated. The spanking stops, but not the fingers pumping in and out of my dark entrance.

“You won’t walk around without underwear again unless I tell you to.”

“No,” I whimper. My thighs quiver.

“Good girl. I’m going to take this beautiful, spanked ass.” The fullness of his fingers disappears, leaving a burn behind. “Keep still.”

Leaning my forehead on my intertwined fingers, I try to oblige, knowing it will be impossible. The broad head of his cock teases the tight ring of muscle.

“I’m going to take you like you asked me,” he says in a voice thick with lust. “Fight me.”

I know what he means. He doesn’t want me to give anything. He wants to take my ass, showing me his true nature without holding back, and he wants me to do the same. Carefully, he stretches me, driving the broad head of his cock past the first barrier of muscle. God, it burns. Perspiration beads on my forehead as he prepares me with shallow strokes, giving me just a taste, and then he spears into me, making my back arch and forcing a choked cry from my throat. He gave me permission to fight, so I try to make my body flat, escaping the harsh pace by lowering my pelvis to the ground, but his arm wraps around my waist, holding me in place. Fueled by my resistance, he slams harder, jamming his cock into my forbidden entrance until my eyes water and my backside burns like the fires of hell. I try to crawl away, but his grip tightens, and his fucking intensifies. His balls are slapping my pussy, and his cock hammers inside of me, driving my need higher with an animalistic mixture of pain and pleasure. The farther I try to move, the harder he fucks me.

“You’ll take my cock,” he hisses before kissing my shoulder.

I can say stop, and he will, but instead I clench my asshole, pushing him out. The act of defiance triggers the response I want. His hand curls around my throat, cutting my airflow. Oh God, I missed this. I don’t care that it’s deprived or strange or fucked-up. I want to give him my air, pleasure, pain, and ecstasy. I allow him to half-strangle me while he slides in and out of my ass, feeling nothing but trust and a deep sense of peace, knowing he’ll take care of me. As I start seeing white spots, he eases his hold marginally, allowing me to breathe, and then his fingers are on my clit, pinching, rubbing, spanking. A twisted sound escapes my dry throat as I explode in shards of painful pleasure, my pussy contracting around empty air. I reach behind me, trying to find his cock. I need him where I’m empty.

He grabs my wrist and lifts my arm above my head. “Not until I tell you.”

He runs a finger around my asshole, making the muscle contract, and then he pulls my globes apart, his fingertips digging into my ass cheeks. Glancing over my shoulder, I see him standing on his knees, his cock rigid and thick. He points it at my pussy and spears my folds. My inner muscles shudder as he drives home, giving me all he’s got. Over and over, he takes me, all the while rubbing circles with his palm over my clit. He changes his angle and finds the sweet spot that sends me over the edge every time. It doesn’t take long for another orgasm to build. When it breaks, I clench down on his cock, squeezing him until he curses and jerks, but he doesn’t come. He thrusts into me, hard and unapologetic, taking because I asked him to. He fucks me bone and senseless, until I lose track of time and place. I’m hardly conscious of my body being used, because I’m drifting in a space of belonging and pure Gabriel. Pure, warped us. I only realize I collapsed flat on my stomach when the force of his fucking shifts me over the tiles. He carries on, pounding into my pussy and palming my breasts until his cock swells and twitches, and warm jets spurt into my channel.

“Fuck.” He falls over me, holding his weight on his arms. “Sweet Jesus.” Desperately, he pumps twice more, deeper, hitting the barrier of my cervix. “Valentina.” He kisses my neck and rests his forehead on my shoulder. “Fuck, Valentina.”

My body feels bruised and thoroughly loved in the most delicious way. A lethargic relaxation claims me, turning my muscles to jelly. My lover pulls out of me, causing warm semen to run down my thighs. If I had the strength, I would’ve pushed up on my arms to look at how he marked me, but I know he’s watching.

“Beautiful,” he mutters, running his hands through the stickiness gathered on my inner thighs.

Incapable of doing anything but lying on the cool floor, I focus on his hands as they rub over my ass, back, and shoulders. He covers me in gentle kisses and whispers words of praise for how good I’ve been. Then he gathers me in his arms and shifts me onto his lap, rocking me gently while he strokes my hair and keeps on showering me with compliments. We come down from our high in each other’s arms. The aftercare is as much part of Gabriel as the fucking, and I love him for showing me how much he cares. His approval seeps into my skin and past my defenses, making me feel safe and cherished in my own warped way.

When I’m sated on his lingering kisses and soft caresses, he carries me to the shower and washes my body and hair. Afterward, we lie naked on the recliner in the dark, listening to the sounds of our breathing and the crickets outside. The earlier peace is starting to slip, because I have to get back to Connor, soon.

When I stir in his arms, his hold tightens.

“I promised Kris I’d be home before midnight,” I say reluctantly, simultaneously eager to see my baby and wishing I could stay the night.

“Valentina…”

The way he says my name is a warning, and somewhere in that tone lies damnation. This is the moment where he either tells me the truth or chooses omission. If he sends me away with a goodbye instead of the truth, my battle of wooing my husband is lost. I shiver, feeling the weight of our future settle on my heart. It makes me feel cold. I turn to face him. I want to look into his eyes, his unreal green eyes, in our moment of truth.

His finger traces my jaw. “Valentina, I have something to tell you.”

Despite the gentleness of his touch, his body is tense, his muscles hard and stiff.

I wait silently for him to continue.

He hangs his head for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “I lied to you.” When I don’t reply, he says, “I deceived you in the most unforgivable way, and I don’t want to be that man any longer.”

I splay my hands over his hard chest. “Tell me.”

He winces, as if in pain. “Just know I acted in your best interest, even if it caused you pain.” He takes a deep breath and catches my fingers as if he’s afraid I’ll pull away. “There’s no easy way to say this, and I don’t want to hurt you more than you’ve already suffered.”

“Tell me,” I repeat.

His brow twists. “Promise me you’ll hear me out. Please.”

“I promise.”

He gives a tight nod. “Valentina, I…” He swallows, his eyes measuring my reaction. “I’m the man who robbed you of your life. I’m Gabriel.”

* * *

The naked woman in my arms isn’t an open book to read. I just told her I’m her dead husband, but her body language tells me nothing. I can deal with a slap, an insult, blame, and anger, but not the level, sober look she gives me. It leaves me defenseless, because I don’t know what words she needs next. Do I soothe her? Apologize? Beg? Explain?

My gut knots when she doesn’t reply for several long seconds. She can’t forgive me. The deceit runs too deep. Her emotionless state can only mean she’s finally weaned off from Gabriel. He doesn’t matter. Maybe he never did. Only an arrogant asshole would hope differently. I still owe her the truth, so this is what I give her, starting from the day I discovered the evidence of her rape and ending with my plastic surgery.

Not once does she interrupt. She listens quietly as I confess, her attention acute and focused. When I come to the end of my guilty monologue, she finally stirs. My nerves raw and my heart bleeding, I watch her get to her feet and walk to where her bag lies on the floor. She’ll gather her clothes, get dressed, and leave. I’ll never see her and Connor again, and I can’t blame her. I did worse to her than the enemies whose bones I’ve broken. All I can do is drink in the soft lines of her perfect body. A painful flashback of her hanging from a rope with her underwear around her ankles pierces my mind. She still has those same, gorgeous S-lines, like the ethereal subject in a painter’s portrait.

Taking something from her bag, she turns and watches me in the way she listened––with silent concentration. As she walks to me, the strength that makes her the most remarkable women I know shows. Every step is laced with confidence. Does she hold judgment? Will she condemn me? I will take whatever I get, whether it be hate or acceptance, but I don’t expect forgiveness. My only hope is that we won’t part on ugliness. Nothing to soil this perfect, last moment. A part of me wishes for her to walk away like this, saying nothing, while another part of me screams to know what she feels, what she thinks.

She stops close to me, way too close. “I’ve been waiting for a long time for you to tell me this, Gabriel.”

She says my name softly, purposefully.

My heart starts beating furiously, blood gushing through my veins, burning my skin. “You knew?”

“From the first moment.”

If she knew, why did she allow things to go this far? Why didn’t she kill me, hurt me, or got one of my ex-bodyguards to take care of me? Where is her revenge? My eyes drop to the object she clutches in her fist. Whatever it is, she waited for my confession before handing it to me. It could be damnation or absolution, but I suspect the first.

I shouldn’t touch her, not after what I admitted, but I can’t help myself. My hands are drawn to the curve of her hips. I cup them and pull her between my legs, staring up at her huge, brown eyes, afraid of what I’ll find there, but there’s no anger, blame, or hurt. Only something beautiful I don’t deserve. I should plead, beg, explain more, try to put the shambles of feelings twisting and tumbling in my heart into sentences, but the only word I can force from the hollowness in my chest is, “How?”

“I don’t need a face to know you.”

Hope blooms inside me, but I squash it. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“There’s only one thing I want to say, and I couldn’t do it until you were honest with me.”

What can she possibly say after everything I told her, after everything my family did to her? Her gaze is soft and filled with something that makes my heart jerk. I never want to forget how she looks, right now, because for the first time in my life someone stares at me with love and loyalty. She will fight for me like no one ever has.

Her lips part with a featherlike breath. “I love you, Gabriel.”

My world and pitiful existence collapse, every defense I cemented into the wall of my life crumbling around me. Regret, joy, hope, disbelief at my incredible, miraculous luck that this amazing feminine creature can love me pour out of me, condensing in big, shameless tears that run over my face.

She leans against me, pressing our skins together. “I tried to tell you, a long time before you left, but you didn’t want to listen. Now, with only the truth between us, you have to believe me.”

I press my face into her stomach, holding onto her like she’s my salvation. “I love you, Valentina. With everything I am. God knows, I tried to stop, to set you free, but I can’t.”

Where do we go from here? How do we pick up the pieces and build a new life as a family?

She answers the question when she opens her hand and holds her palm out to me. “Gregor Malan, will you marry me?”

The platinum of my wedding band makes a perfect shining circle on her skin. I stare at it in disbelief, battling to digest her words.

“Where…?” I look from the ring to her face.

“The police found it in the debris.”

She hung onto it. She never stopped fighting for me. Overwhelming, bigger-than-life love crashes over me. “You suspected?”

“I knew you weren’t dead. I never stopped looking.”

I fold my arms around her. I’m a drowning man, and she’s my sea. “Don’t let me go. I promise I’ll never leave you, again.”

Her lips tilt into a faint smile. “Is that a yes?”

The burdens of my past lift from my shoulders. For the first time in my life, I feel truly happy. Light. I set my kitten free, and she came back to me.

“Yes.” I smother her stomach in kisses. “Yes, fucking yes.”

“Give me your hand,” she orders.

When I hold out my left hand, she pushes the band that symbolizes our lifelong union over my ring finger, where it belongs. The fit is perfect. We’re perfect, like I always knew we’d be. She’s my life, my love, my redemption. Not my property, but my wife. Not for nine years, but forever.