Page 33 of Sinner's Obsession

“These stay here,” I say to the dresses hanging there.

She sighs and says, “This will never work if you continue to be stubborn.”

“I’m stubborn?” I can’t believe she’s siding with him. The crazy man tattooed me because I wouldn’t wear his ring.

“Both of you, Aurora. That boy you know is still inside him.”

“If he were, he wouldn’t force me into any of this.”

“Do you think any one of us chooses anything? It’s how we deal with and what we make of our circumstances that counts. You could be happy together. I know you could.”

She folds my clothes, and I turn to leave. Outside, I stroll through the gardens, picking at the withered leaves, mumbling to myself. I tend to the flowers until my stomach growls. Taking my gloves off, I wipe my forehead, basking in the sun and feeling a bit better.

At dinner, I face him silently brooding at the table, my eyes taking in my initials on his finger. A bold, curvyA. He’s definitely flaunting it. Something fuzzy and warm settles in my chest. Mine is more elegantly done in fine lines.

“You will sleep in my room. Don’t make me come for you,” he says when he’s done eating his steak.

Really? Does he think I am a dog he can train? I grip the knife and dig into my meal as he stands up and leaves.

In my room, I know the rational thing would be to give in, but the other part of me disagrees.

I get in bed, waiting for him. My body hums with anticipation. I feel alive, a foreign feeling I haven’t had in forever and am desperate to chase, and experience more of it. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I am eager for him to come get me. Somewhere along the line, I either lost my mind or enjoyed playing with danger.

He storms into my room. His anger licks at my skin. It’s thrilling to challenge him. He scoops me up, and I glare at him. When we reach his room, he tosses me on the bed, and I scoot to my side, an inch away from the edge.

Kieran climbs into bed with me. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me to his chest, mumbling, “Maddening woman.”

This feels so good, like a cocoon made of titanium walls.

“If you’re good, I will give you anything you want.” I open my mouth, but he continues, “But you’ll never be free of me. This is going to be not just your life, but mine as well.”

“Freedom is all I want.” To make my own choices.

He kisses my shoulder, and I remain perfectly still. A featherlight kiss follows another until he reaches my neck, and that is enough to spark the raging fire between my thighs. I press my legs together as his finger circles my belly. It feels so good. His lips, his touch. A small moan parts my lips. We can continue our war tomorrow.

“Sleep, sweetheart.”

Cunning asshole. I turn to him and prop up on my elbow. In my stories, monsters are ugly and disfigured. He’s painfully and painstakingly beautiful. He peeks out of one eye. Like I’d believe he fell asleep that fast. And then it dawns on me. He wasn’t asleep yesterday either. So why did he let me do it?

“You could have stopped me.”

“Yesterday was your only chance to get rid of me. You should have taken it.”

Vulnerability wedges itself inside my stomach. I don’t hate him. I never have. I never could. As we stare at each other, I take his side into consideration. Monsters are not born, they are made. People don’t stop being good, but they can be bad given the right incentive or circumstance.

“But we both know you could never do that. Because, sweetheart, you like it here. The push and pull between us. You’re getting to know a part of you that you never let out. You just don’t let yourself accept it.”

His statement speaks to a very sensitive part of my brain, acknowledging that he is right.

I bite my lower lip. “I always thought I would marry for love.”

“I always knew I would marry for duty.”

“At least one of us didn’t get their hopes crushed.”

He props his cheek on his palm, softness caressing the hard edges at the corners of his eyes. “Love is nothing when you have my loyalty and my protection. You should know better than to hope for some sappy love story. Love only gets you on your knees, doing everything for a fleeting sentiment.”

“So, how often have you been in love to know all this?”

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