Page 40 of Gluttony

Raising his other hand, he held her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. “Do you understand?”

There was a war waged in her eyes, and he could tell she was fighting with herself; part of her wanted to stay, to hear him out, to move forward, but the other part of her, wanted to cut offhis balls, pin them to his computer desk, and get the hell out of Dodge.

She licked her lips, making his cock ache for such attention.

Soon…you just have to hold on, just a little bit longer….

He waited, his breathing slow, deliberate, watching as the war raged on…finally, after a minute, she snapped, “Fine. But no more touching.”

Not touch her? That was unacceptable!

But you want her to stay, to hear you out, of her own free will. Sacrifice now for all the touching you want later.

Grunting his displeasure, he dropped his hand from her face, and slowly loosened his grip from around her throat. Once her neck was free, she slid sideways along the wall then hurried around him to sink into his desk chair. She fell into it as though her legs could no longer hold her upright.

Turning, he followed her with his eyes, not wasting a moment or chance to memorize everything about her—her shape, every curve, how she moved, her body language, the way the light from the sun turned the strands of her hair to polished mahogany—he inscribed every detail of her on the stone tablet of his heart, so that the gospel of his love for her would last for eternity.

As he stared at her, taking her in, she was watching him. Waiting.

Obviously tired of the mounting silence, she huffed. “Go ahead then, explain. Get it all out so I can put all this behind me and move on with my life.”

Oh, he’d explain, but the only way she was moving anywhere was with him.

Heaving a sigh, he leaned his ass against the desk, needing to be near her even if he couldn’t touch her. She leaned away, wary, her gaze pinned to him like a gazelle’s on a slumbering lion.

Forcing himself to focus, he finally began, “When we first connected online, I had no intention of ever taking things further than just flirtation. That’s what I did, I flirted with my followers and subscribers, giving them the @RedDevilDog treatment they expected from their favorite thirst trap. I gave you what I thought you wanted, and I was okay with that, I expected that, that was the reality of the position I’d put myself in building my career and online presence as a masked fuck boy.”

She grunted, crossing her arms, but otherwise she remained silent. Watching.

At least she’s listening.

“When we became friends, actual friends, things started changing for me. I realized that I could have more with a real person, someone who didn’t just see me as the man in the mask, or the Unchained biker—you saw the real me, and you still wanted me. You made me believe that there could be more than all the bullshit my father taught me about commitment—which was fuck all. He jumped from woman to woman, giving them just enough of himself to get them to stick around long enough for him to tire of them. Then he’d drop them. Again and again, woman after woman, year after year—and I saw that shit; for me, that was just what a relationship between a man and a woman was, transactional, temporary, easily broken and forgotten.”

For a moment, Val’s expression softened, her brown eyes warming. But then the chill was back. Still, she remained silent. Listening.

So, he continued. “When I became a Marine, not much changed in my love life—I still hit it, quit it, then moved on. I could use the excuse that being active duty was a barrier to having a lasting, committed relationship, but that’s bullshit; plenty of Marines have families, wives, kids. I just wanted to fuck around without dealing with the drama—that’s how I alwaysknew it to be, how I grew up thinking it was supposed to befor me. Then, I met you, and you fucking flipped all my switches. I didn’t give a fuck what you looked like because I started falling for your humor, then your intelligence, then your kindness and compassion….” A warmth filled him, and his voice softened. “Your voice…fuck, your voice…it filled me up, Val. And, fuck, I’ve missed hearing your voice.” Goddamn, did he miss it, like how a sailor would miss the sea, or an amputee would miss a limb…or a drowning man would miss breathing. “Your voice could make me smile when I was feeling like shit…or come in my fucking hands as I jacked my cock to fantasies of what you’d sound like begging me to fuck you harder.” At her gasp, he stopped, his gaze pinned to her, desperate to know what she was thinking, but he knew he needed to finish. “I fell in love with you even before I knew what you looked like, Valentina?—”

She opened her mouth, ready to protest, disbelief and fury in her expression, but he held his hand up, stopping her. “Let me finish, please.”

Again, war raged in her eyes, but she slumped back in the chair, pursed her lips, and furrowed her brows.

Fuck…I need to touch her….

Shaking his head with a slow sigh, he continued on. “I wouldn’t believe me, either, with the way I’ve acted, how I’ve treated you—treated what we have.” He pushed away from the desk, and began pacing. “You’re right…when I said I’d wait…I didn’t think anything would change. I thought that, once you were ready to put a label on it, to step out from behind the screen, that I’d be there, arms open?—”

“Smelling like pussy,” she interjected, disgust distorting her face.

Growling, he stopped pacing and faced her. Dropping his chin, he fought the urge to grab her and shake her, then crush her in his embrace.

Fuck…I need to touch her! To comfort her, to hold her up, to hold her together, to be the one who takes away the pain even when I’m the reason she’s hurting.

Because, behind the disgust on her face was the bruise. The wound. The pain. The betrayal.

He’d done that. Because he was a fucking coward.

“Honestly…not once did I consider keeping my dick in my pants,” he admitted as shame forced his breakfast back up his throat. “I…I wanted what you offered but….” God, how could he say the next part?

Her soft voice, drowning in suffering and humiliation, was like a hammer blow to the chest. “You wanted other women more.”

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