Page 37 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

Maybe she thought I was avoiding her, but the truth was worse. I was avoiding myself, avoiding the need that tightened in my chest every time I thought of that moment between us. Every time I remembered the way she’d melted against me, leaving me hot and desperate and more alive than I had felt in years. Distance would save me. Or so I thought.

Control. It was the one thing I needed, the one thing I’d always had. Claire was changing that, changing everything, making my world shift in ways I hadn’t expected. Hadn’t wanted. But when I found myself inches away from her, when she turned and caught me watching, it was like being pulled in. I couldn’t escape.

Even when she said nothing, I could feel the accusation. But she was too goddamn innocent, and I couldn’t let that change. Not now. Not when I was already losing the one thing I had left.

The memory of her skin kept me awake that night, more desperate for her than I’d ever been.

She wanted answers. Well, I wanted them too. How the hell did I get here? How did she manage to strip away every layer of defense, leaving me open, vulnerable, raw? By morning, I was more determined than ever to shut it down, stop the breakdown of my own sanity before there was nothing left. But Claire was waiting. Expecting. And when she finally said it, I couldn’t deny it.

“You’re afraid.”

Her words hit like a bullet, burying deep and true. They lodged in my chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to keep the rest of myself together.

I stared at her, fighting the need to pull her close, to give in. The things I wanted. The things I needed. They all collided into one searing flash, leaving me stunned in the aftermath.

I looked away, trying to regain what little composure I had left. “It was a mistake,” I said. “I shouldn’t have—”

Claire laughed, a bitter, cold sound that stopped my excuses in their tracks. “You really believe that?” she asked, stepping closer, her eyes narrowing in disbelief.

I did believe it. I had to. Otherwise, there would be nothing left to hold onto.

My pulse was a drum in my ears, pounding out a rhythm of panic and desperation as I struggled to keep my expression neutral. Her warmth washed over me. The nearness of her drove a painful spike of longing through my chest, and I had to bite back the urge to tell her everything, to tell her I couldn’t stop thinking about her, about that goddamn kiss, about how she’d moaned when she orgasmed.

Her voice softened, breaking through my defenses with a single devastating blow. “You didn’t stop because I wanted you to. You stopped because you were afraid of what it would mean if you didn’t.”

She was right. I stood there, frozen. God help me, she was right. “You signed the contract, Claire.”

With a snort, she looked me over. “Not all of life is a damned contract, Alexander. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

When she saw I had no answer, she walked away. I didn’t even try to stop her.

Chapter Eleven

Claire

One week later.

His continued silence hurt more than the cruel words he’d spoken.

He’d barely glanced at me, like I meant nothing. The way he’d kissed me—hungry, demanding, claiming—I’d thought...

No, I’dhoped. For just one damn second.

The memory of his touch, of the pleasure he’d given me burned bright in my memory and showed up every time I closed my eyes. But now, I might as well not exist.

How long would he act like nothing had happened? How long would I let him?

I hadn’t meant to confront him. It just… happened. Like my body marched to the guest bedroom door and acted without any input – or permission – from my brain.

Now… it’s been a week.

“You have to talk to me sometime, you know.” He was the one who demanded this look real, and here he was ignoring me.

His back stiffened, his head finally turning toward me. There was something so hard set about his features it almostscared me. Not because I thought he’d hurt me or anything silly like that, but because it made me think he had successfully shut me out for good.

I stepped closer. “It’s been a week. You can’t even look at me.” My voice cracked. “Why?”

But I knew why. Because admitting it meant he’d felt it too. That I hadn’t been crazy. Or stupid. Or hopelessly naive. That it wasn’t just me.

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