Page 173 of Seizing Control: Part One

“I’m the only one who can touch you like this, aren’t I?”

“Cherub.”

The warning in his voice widens my smile. “Tell me I’m lying… tell me you don’t have to restrain women just so you can fuck them. Tell me that the hundreds of cut sluts you’ve stuck your dick inside have explored your body like I can.”

My verbal reminder that too many other women to count have come before me hurts. It’s necessary, though. For us both. Slash needs to realise that what he’s asking of me is as impossible as it is for him to erase his entire sexual history. We can’t be real with each other without honest reflection.

The truth is that Slash has shared his cock numerous times.

And I’ve given my heart away once before.

Our individual histories make us who we are.

The sooner he accepts that, the quicker we can build a sustainable future together.

“Not hundreds.”

“Dozens, then.”

He nods with obvious reluctance.

Gauntlet laid with precision, I score his flesh with my nails a second time.

My husband jerks like he’s been electrocuted.

“Baby…”

“Tell me why you hate being touched here?” I brush my palms over his abs.

“I can’t…”

Repeating my journey, I trace patterns over each ridge of his six-pack. “Yes, you can… because if you tell me your truth, I’ll tell you mine.” When I arch underneath him so I can hook my leg around his waist, he turns to stone. I grind my heat against his hardness, over and over, until Slash reaches a crossroad, and his mind starts to rebel. “You know you want me. I know you want me. The only thing you need to do to have me is tell me the truth.”

His throat works.

The sight gives me an idea.

Using both hands, I circle my fingers around his neck. My tendons burn, the wrist I badly sprained when I punched him in the face two months ago is still weaker than the other, but I persevere as I constrict my husband’s breathing in the same way he typically restrains mine. Fear flashes in the big man’s eyes as goosebumps break out over his skin, and his darkness threatens to breach the surface.

I help it along with another verbal jab. “I know you killed Jenna. I know you squeezed the life out of her exactly like this.” My taunt is a complete guess, yet it strikes a bullseye with an efficiency that is borderline cruel. Holding his throat, I increase the pressure as I croon, “It’s okay, Carter. Like Toker said the bitch de?—”

My attempt to goad him into action is aborted when he climbs off the bed in a rush.

“Get the fuck out,” Slash orders me in a fractured tone.

“No.”

“Leave or I will.” When Slash moves to unlock the door, I scramble from the mattress and dash over to him. Back plastered to the wooden barrier keeping us separated from the rest of the club, I take hold of his cut. “Let go, duchess… I need you to get the fuck outta here before I do somethin’ we’ll both regret.” He shakes free of my grip with ease, spins on his heel, and strides away from me. As soon as the bed is between us, Slash unties his hair. The silken locks tumble around his shoulders, beckoning my fingers to mimic his movements when he scrapes his fingertips through his tresses to re-secure them on top of his head. The despair in his gaze when he peers at me through beseeching eyes lodges a lump in my throat. “Baby, please… don’t push me. I’ve already hurt you. If you stay in here with me when I’m feelin’ like this—” The big man holds his hands out and curls them into fists to show the visible tremor racking through him. “—I’mma animal. You don’t need to deal with this fuckin’ side of me.”

Knowing this is crunch time, I play my final hand.

I drop to my knees and assume the position that set him off minutes ago.

Hands palm down on my thighs.

Head held high.

Jutting my chin, I struggle to keep my voice steady as I tell him, “You don’t know what I need.”

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