Page 53 of Blackbeard
I turned to look at him and shook my head.
“It’s not like that. Feelings were never involved. It was just sex.”
Blackbeard hummed as he moved toward the door.
“Maybe you should consider telling him that.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, wishing I could sleep for a week. Everything was getting so fucking complicated…
“I’ll check the house,” Blackbeard tossed over his shoulder. “Make sure there aren’t any other Forsaken lurking around somewhere like cockroaches.”
“I can help—”
“No,” he cut in. “You’re exhausted. Go to bed. You pushed the envelope today enough as it is.”
I frowned and crossed my arms, gearing up to protest.
“And will you be sleeping on the couch? Again?”
Blackbeard released a sharp exhale of annoyance, his patience running thin. Turning around, he spread his hands.
“Don’t you think your old flame did enough damage for one night? Now you have to chew me out, too?”
“He’s not myold flame,” I countered. “And I’m not talking about sex. Your bed is massive. There’s plenty of room for the two of us. You can’t possibly be getting any kind of decent rest on that damn couch.”
“Princess,” he said with a dry laugh. “I’m not getting decent rest as long as you’re in my house, period. If I breathe wrong around you in any way, your dear old Pops will have my head on the chopping block. That contract was supposed to clear the air. Instead, it feels like I’m waiting for the guillotine to drop at any moment.”
I gritted my teeth.
“Fine. Sleep on the couch. I don’t care.”
Striding past him, I headed for the bedroom and slammed the door hard enough to make the house tremble. Stripping off my clothes, I changed into a tank top and shorts, brushed my teeth furiously, and burrowed under the covers.
Why was I pissed off?
Because Blackbeard kept his distance? Because I couldn’t crack his steely resolve to avoid having sex with me, and my repeated failure to change his mind was testing my patience?
Or was something else nagging at me?
My father didn’t reach out.
Torch only showed up to start a fight with Blackbeard.
And the man who was supposed to be my husband insisted he would sleep on the couch, far away from me.
I made a noise of frustration and rolled over, staring at the shadows on the wall. As exhausted as I had been when we got here, sleep eluded me now. I remained wide awake, with a mind that wouldn’t settle down.
I considered going back home go Silver Gulch for a visit. Seeing some familiar faces would do me good. Get the scoop on any gossip I’d missed lately, and hang out with Dad for a few hours at the Forsaken clubhouse.
Then again, I needed to spend every waking moment getting under Blackbeard’s skin. If I spent too much time around the Forsaken, it wouldn’t create the trust I was supposed to be building as a new wife.
The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. By the time an hour had passed, I was ready to give up and distract myself from the quiet emptiness of the room some other way—mindlessly scrolling on my phone, or watching television.
Then the door slowly slid open. Blackbeard’s dark silhouette stepped into view. I didn’t dare breathe as he entered the room, footsteps cushioned on the carpet. He sank onto the edge of the bed and tugged off his boots, setting them aside. He stripped off his cut and draped it over a nearby chair.
The rest of his clothes followed suit—the faint whisk of fabric, the metallic clank of his belt, the heavy rustle of his jeans and the ensuingwhumpas they hit the floor.
The mattress dipped as he slipped under the sheets, easing down next to me. He was so close that I could feel his body heat.
