Sin & Suffer

Her voice disappeared to an axe-sharp whisper. “You can’t keep things from me. I won’t let you. You’ve always had every part of me—but I never had all of you. And that … that hurts me so much.”

Before I could argue, she ran.

I’d never shared a house with a pissed off female before.

It officially fucking sucked.

Cleo somehow managed to fill the house with her outrage, spreading it in every room. Everywhere I moved, her petulance followed me. It redecorated the entire place, successfully making me feel like a jackass.

I didn’t know if I was meant to go to her or wait until she came to me, but by eleven p.m. I’d had enough.

I’d taken my prescribed drugs but my head was no better. I’d spent a few hours trading—which was absolutely fucking useless. And all I wanted to do was sleep again.

She’d had five hours to stew. It was time to get over it and let me make it up to her.

You’re banned from sex.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t afford to be so reckless again. I’d sensed the entire time I held her on the countertop and seduced her that I wouldn’t last. Every pump of blood that’d disappeared into my trousers had clanged warning bells behind my eyes. The lance in my brain grew to epic proportions the more I gave in to her spell.

And you fucking passed out while inside her.

I groaned.

Turning the lights off downstairs, I climbed the stairs with one heavy footfall after another.

I held the banister—which I never normally did—just to be on the safe side in case my brain decided tumbling to my demise would be worthwhile.

“I missed you,” a soft whisper sounded in the dark.

I stopped short, willing my eyes to acclimatize to the lack of light. That was another thing I noticed from this fucking concussion. My eyes weren’t quick to adjust, remaining fuzzy on the outskirts despite my immense concentration.

Doctor Laine had said she saw no reason why my intelligence wouldn’t be the same as it was before—if I graced my body with enough time to do what it needed to do.

Only problem was, I had shit hanging over my head. My future was as complicated as a demolition building in a highly populated area. I only had eyes on one destruction but if I didn’t manage it closely, it could end up taking out entire blocks of innocents.

Cleo finally came into focus. I frowned at the way her knees were drawn up to her chin, her arms wrapped around her shins. She looked lost, afraid, and uncertain.

I did that to her.

Squatting before her, I kept hold of the spindle of the banister. “What are you doing sitting on the stairs?”

“Waiting for you.”

My headache twinged. “Why didn’t you come get me?”

“Because I’m mad at you.”

I smiled. She was too damn cute pouting and pissed off. Tucking a cascade of hair over her shoulder, I trailed my fingertips along her cheekbone.

She shivered, sucking in a breath.

“Don’t be mad at me. I hate it when you’re angry.”

“Then don’t keep things from me.” She moved her face from my touch, her green eyes the only color in the darkness.

I sighed heavily. “I was only sparing you from the details. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“How about giving me those details so I can be prepared? Having you just black out while making love to me hasn’t exactly given you a gold star.”

I chuckled. “I didn’t know I was on a rating system.”

She pursed her lips.

Moving to sit beside her, I nudged her shoulder with mine. “Okay, you want to know? Fine. My brain is swollen. The doctor gave me some rules that I should’ve followed, but I didn’t.” I shrugged. “I paid the consequences. Simple as that.”

She turned to face me, her gaze sparkling with new sprung anger. “No, not simple as that. What else. You’re keeping something else from me. I want to know. Right now.”

What do you want to know?

The fact I will murder my own flesh and blood in a few days?

The fact I made a promise to hand my life over to a cause that I believe in completely but now feel as if it’s controlling me?

Or the fact that no matter what I do with my life, it’s never enough? That I always second-guess—think I could’ve done better—done more?

I massaged my temples. She doesn’t need to know any of that. “I’m having trouble with certain parts of my life.”

“Like what?”

“Like trading and mathematics,” I said quietly, knowing the moment I said it aloud, Cleo would pity me. But it was the easiest detail to give.

“Oh, God, Arthur.”

And there it was.

Fucking pity.

“But you’ve always relied on numbers.”

No shit.

“I know.” Forcing myself to sound optimistic, I said, “But the doctor assured me there’s no reason why it won’t come back, so … I’m not gonna dwell on it.”

Cleo didn’t respond.

Instead, she stood up and held out her hand. “Come on.”

Eyeing her cautiously, I stood up and placed my hand in hers. She was so tiny, so delicate, so breakable, yet strong enough to put up with me and my mess. And my life was a fucking mess. With more on the horizon.

Her green eyes remained glossy and deep, but the pity I feared faded into conviction and courage.

My cock twitched, setting fire to every bruise and twinge.

Stop that.