With that same constantly pissed-off visage, he approached my bed and dropped his bottoms, his dick hard like he was in the mood before he even looked at me. Tall and muscular, he stood there and stared me down, telling me what to do without moving his lips.
I closed the book and set it on the nightstand. “I want to talk—”
“Don’t care what you want.” He approached the bed. “Turn over.”
My only action should be obedience, but I didn’t want this version of him—even though I deserved it. “Please—”
He grabbed my body and threw me over, forcing me onto my stomach and knees. My nightgown was pushed above my hips, and he yanked my thong down with such force he could have ripped it. He moved me to the edge of the bed, ass in the air, directed his dick to my entrance so he could pound me as harshly as he had last night.
I tried to push up against his hand at my neck, but it was no use. “No.”
Everything stopped.
His hand released my neck, and he pulled his dick away.
I breathed hard against the sheets before I raised myself to look at him.
He was already dressed and headed to the door.
“Wait, no.”
He ignored me and walked out.
“Okay, okay…”
His footsteps halted outside the door before he returned to the doorway, his sweatpants snug because his dick bulged in the material. He stared me down, his dark eyes full of anger. But there was still desire there, subtly masked underneath the stare. He didn’t move toward the bed, as if he expected something from me.
I put my head back down on the sheets, my ass up in the air, and pulled my nightgown to my hips.
He stared for a while before he came back in. He didn’t take off his bottoms this time. He pushed them to his thighs, got me in the same hold as last night, and fucked me harder than he had the night before.
It happened every night for a week.
He fucked me the exact same way. The exact same position. Not saying a word. When I tried to talk to him, he would just leave.
These were his terms—and I didn’t have a choice but to accept them.
I ate lunch by myself in the garden room, my depression increasing in weight the longer my social isolation lasted. Gilbert didn’t speak to me. Just dropped my tray and departed. Fender would only see me under one condition—if he was fucking me.
The tray remained in front of me, but I didn’t take a single bite. I had no appetite. Raven was back at the camp, and I’d foolishly thought getting Fender to release her would be easy. He was a man who shouldn’t be crossed—and I’d crossed him a couple times. It was a miracle I’d earned his trust in the first place. What were the odds I could ever do it again?
Gilbert approached the table in his tuxedo, his eyes perpetually annoyed whenever he had to be in my presence. “Is there something wrong with the meal?”
“No.” I stirred my tea with the spoon, watching the steam rise.
He waited a moment longer before he turned away.
“Gilbert?”
He halted, and with a loud sigh, he turned back around and regarded me.
“What do I do about Fender?” I was desperate for a solution.
“Why are you asking me?” His tone turned icy, his eyes like rain clouds.
“Because you know him better than anyone else.”
“I think you should leave and never come back, Melanie. That’s what I think.” His words were clipped, every syllable becoming more difficult to speak the longer he had this conversation. “You don’t deserve him. I have no idea why he allowed you to come back at all.”
My eyes returned to the tea. “I missed him every day I was gone—”
“Oh, you missed him?” he asked sarcastically. “Did you miss him when you burned down everything he’d built with his bare hands?”
Now I shut my mouth.
Gilbert turned away.
“I didn’t realize…I’d hurt him so much.”
Gilbert stayed still for a long time, took a deep breath as if deciding if he should just let this conversation drop, but then he turned back to me. “I never thought he was particularly happy when you were here. His mood and behaviors didn’t change. But when you were gone…I definitely noticed the difference.”
His office doors were closed.
But I knew he was inside.
That was where he spent all of his time while he was in the house.
I turned the knob and let myself inside.
He was staring at his laptop, his fingers gliding over the touch pad as he scrolled through a page he read intently. Shirtless, with his big arms on the table, he didn’t notice my entrance, or if he did, he assumed I was Gilbert to feed the fire.
I approached his desk, my feet quiet because I’d ditched my heels in my bedroom.
When I was right in front of him, he lifted his chin with a look of indifference.
I could tell that he expected Gilbert because his face changed the longer he looked at me, as if it made him physically angry to see me. His jaw tightened like screws that were twisted farther to the right even though they were already tight. His eyes darkened to coals. The veins in his arms protruded even more.
“I’m sorry to disturb you—”
“Then don’t.” He straightened in his chair, pulling his arms off the desk as he leaned against the back. His arms fell to the armrests, one elbow bent as his closed knuckles pressed against his cheek.
“I just want to talk—”
“I hate talking.”
“You didn’t hate it with me…” My fingers came together in front of my waist, interlocking to stop the fidgeting.
His eyes narrowed like that made him angrier. “I hated it then too. Trust me.”
My eyes dropped to his desk, this attempt at conversation pointless. “I’m sorry…about everything.”
His stare remained as cold and intense as ever.
“That probably doesn’t mean anything to you—”
“It doesn’t.” He was still and lifeless like a winter morning. He’d once had a beating heart, but now he was made entirely of stone.
“It’s been weeks, and you still won’t even talk to me. If you hate me so much, why don’t you just throw me out?” I didn’t want to leave. I had nowhere to go. I didn’t want anyone else but him. And he was the only viable option to get Raven out of that camp.
He didn’t answer the question.
“How am I supposed to prove anything to you if you won’t even look at me?” My eyes suddenly filled with warmth, a warning of impending tears. I’d been lost until I came here, and now I was here, but I still felt lost. I gave a quiet sniff to try to suck back the wetness, but it didn’t work.
He used to soften at my tears. Now there was nothing. “If you expect my anger to thaw so quickly, then you really don’t understand how deep your knife went. You fail to grasp the significance of your betrayal. I’m not a man who grants forgiveness. I’m a man who grants death. You should be grateful that I still have no desire to ever hurt you.”
Tears broke free and dripped down my cheeks. “You’re hurting me right now…”
Eight