Page 52 of Devious Truth

He raises his eyebrow. “Tell me why you want to avoid me.”

Ugh. The last thing I want to tell him is that. He scares me, but not because of what happened with Kaz, or the obvious injuries he’s given himself from beating a man to death.

But because none of those things bother me. Because the fierce protective nature he has makes me forget how alone I am. It makes the grief fade so much into the background, I almost forget.

“You walked out on me last night. You just turned around and left.” It’s such bullshit, I’m not at all surprised when his expression darkens even more.

“And the lies continue.” He reaches behind me, turning the knob of my bedroom door and pushing it open.

If he didn’t have a grip on me, I’d fall backward. But he holds tight, pulling me even closer to him.

“Do you want to try again?”

I don’t. I really don’t.

“Should I be afraid of you?” I answer him with my own question.

His brow lowers. “No.”

The answer comes hard and fast. It’s easy to believe him.

“You beat a man to death last night, didn’t you? With your bare hands?”

“Men like him need to fear me. Men who touch you should shake in their skin when I catch them. Anyone who brings pain and hurt to you should fear for their life. But you?”

He walks me backward, into my bedroom.

“You have nothing to fear.”

I want desperately to believe him. To find solace in the firmness of his tone, the harshness of his gaze.

“Tell me you want me, Vee. Be honest with yourself and me, and do it now.” He kicks my bedroom door shut. The wall shakes from the force of it.

Suddenly, I’m tired. So fucking tired of fighting off the desire he stokes in me. For the past year, I’ve told myself any lie that I could think of that would shove my attraction to him away. The last few months, when he’s been bolder in his own desire for me, I’ve lied to him, to anyone who questioned me.

I can’t hold the flood back anymore.

The dam is bursting.

“I do.” It comes out on a breath: my confession, my claim.

“Say it.” His grip loosens, and he drags his hand along my face. The roughness of his swollen knuckles skates across my cheekbone.

“I want you, Ivan.”

His demeanor shifts, and the darkness that hovers at the edge rolls over us like a dense fog. The tension in his jaw slackens, but it’s replaced with something else. Frustration morphs into control.

Domination.

“Look at me,” he demands when my gaze slips away. “Keep your eyes on me, don’t look at the floor, don’t look at the ceiling, don’t look anywhere else but me. Do you understand?”

I swallow around the bowling ball of trepidation rolling up my throat. Sharp tingles dance over my skin, resulting solely from his voice, his words. Those eyes.

“Yes.”

“Yes, Sir.” He corrects me, sliding his hand to my chin and gripping it tight. “Answer again.”

I wet my dry lips. “Yes…sir.”

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