Page 84 of Reckless Vow

She pushes me away. “Oh, so you were all eager to fix my orgasm problem, but now when you know just how damaged I am, it’s too much work for you?”

I drop the robe. I can’t recall if there has ever been a time when I was at such a desperate loss for words. For a reason. For a clear plan of action.

“Brook, that’s not… I’m sorry…” I rake my fingers through my hair, squeezing at the scalp. “I don’t know what to—”

“I don’t know either, but you can’t retreat now. I didn’t tell you so you could treat me like a victim. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I need you to fuck me.”

I stare at her for the longest moment.

She lifts her chin, her eyes blazing with determination. She opens her mouth and closes it. She shuts her eyes and takes a long breath in. Then she looks at me with resolution.

“I can take it.”

She says the words that triggered her before, and I understand her need to take over that narrative.

Not only to take it, to rise above it, to exorcise the victim in herself and reclaim her body.

I draw pleasure from pleasing others, but the form she needs is not in my usual arsenal. At least not before multiple orgasms. Then yes, then I fuck like it’s nobody’s business, to chase my release.

“Are you sure?”

She huffs in frustration. “Can you just fuck me? Not a pity fuck. Just take me like you only care about yourself. Be rough with me, so I… I don’t know, so it’s… you.”

So I can erase any traces of him. Is that what she is saying?

I can give her that. I think.

I crack my neck and file the rage away for later. I’ve always been good at compartmentalizing.

“On your knees, on the bed. Now.” I growl and, fuck, my dick welcomes the invite.

A jolt of desire flashes through her face, but instead of obeying, she lifts her chin again. “No.”

I frown, but then it dawns on me. To achieve what she wants, she can’t consent. Fuck, I hope she is right, and this won’t break us all over again.

What turned you on, Brook? My little caveman performance downstairs, or my hand on your throat earlier?

My taunt from before flashes through my mind.Both, but your hand more.She needed this all along.

“Don’t make me ask again.” Fuck, this is the last scenario I want to play tonight, but it’s not me calling the shots right now.

“No.”

I pounce, but she is faster and slips to the side, escaping me around the coffee table.

Reaching for her, I grab her hand and jump over the table. It cracks and splits, which gives her an advantage and she slips away.

She darts around the other sofa, her scent teasing my senses, pulling me deeper into the chase. My heart hammers against my ribcage, a relentless drum of adrenaline.

I kick at the shards of the coffee table and reach for her, but she jumps over the back of the couch, her figure a flash of desperation and grace in the vast room.

She glances back at me. Fear but also goading are etched across her face, and for a moment I want to stop this madness.

As if she understands my hesitation, she picks up a decanter from the cabinet beside her and throws it at me.

The chase is a language, every move a word, and she is determined to be understood. And I might not exactly speak the same language, but on some level, I need this too.

To chase her for all the years I longed for her. To catch her and finally make her mine. Even in this fucked-up scenario.

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