Page 38 of Flame
“What’s wrong?” I demand, cutting to the chase.
“Wrong?” He barks out a harsh laugh. “Maybe it’s time I got some new pussy?”
It takes everything I have in me not to take the bait. He’s goading me on purpose, trying to get me to snap, much like a bullfighter waving red.
“You’ve been like this all morning.” I come close enough to place my hand on his back, but he jerks away. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“What you wrote… Was it true?”
I stiffen at the heat in his tone. Anger? Judgment?
Was it true—everything I can remember spilled out onto a page.
“Was it?” he demands.
“Yes.”
He whirls around and grabs my waist, lifting me off my feet. Two steps back bring us to the counter, and he sets me on top of it, stepping in between my legs.
“Where do you see this going, huh?” he demands, palming the contours of my body through my sweater. “After… Or is this just a fling? A game. You flout mommy and daddy’s wishes for a few days and then go crawling back. To them. To him. To the rules, and the money and the boring fucking life you hate. What is this?” He gestures around us with a wave of his hand. “Rebellion? How soon before you go running back to Bran, brother, or not? Just fucking tell me so at least I’m not surprised.”
“I can’t go back.” Hearing it out loud makes my chest tighten, and my eyes burn with the threat of tears. Hope? And terror. I’ve been lying to myself for so long. Admitting the truth feels comparable to ripping away a Band-Aid and reopening the wound underneath.
“I can’t,” I repeat. “If I wanted to, I’d be gone by now.”
He frowns, still suspicious. I have no choice but to broach the one topic I’ve successfully avoided until now.
I tell him about Branden’s ultimatum, and his expression transforms from rage to disgust.
“That’s fucked up,” he snarls. “That’s—”
“I’m still here.” I loop my arms around his neck, trusting him to support my weight. He does, sliding his palms beneath my butt as his heavy sigh rustles my hair.
“Damn,” he says. “Do you really think he’d go through with it?”
I shrug. “He wants to control me. He’ll do whatever he thinks he has to in order to do that.”
He grabs one of my hands from his shoulder, interlacing our fingers. “I’ve got you,” he says softly. “Whether it’s for a day. A week. However long you need me, I’ve got you.”
I’m not brave enough to ask him just what that entails.Me, with a side of Mara, or Bonnie, or whoever else on the side?
Speaking of Mara…
“I can’t keep hiding here forever,” I confess tiredly. “Sooner or later, Mr. Zhang… Mara. They’re going to find out where I am anyway. How do you feel about that?”
“How?” He raises an eyebrow. “A sexy motherfucker with a sexy bunny at his pad? Trust me, I’ll get over the embarrassment.”
But he doesn’t go further than that, refusing to define our relationship between any definitive boundaries. The sad part? It’s not like I even have the right to question that.
So, I take the easy way out by changing the subject. “Do people really get tattoos here?”
I copy Mara by lifting my sweater, but his reaction is the difference between night and day. He strokes his chin, eyeing the bared flesh with renewed interest.
“Here?” He runs his finger down the center of my ribcage, rousing a million goosebumps. “I wasn’t lying when I said it hurts like a bitch.” But he continues tracing the flesh there, mapping out an invisible design.
I lift my sweater entirely, setting it aside.
Any unease I might feel dies the instant I meet his gaze. I have his full attention, and I lean back, exposing his “canvas” to use as he sees fit.
