Page 130 of Ruthless Lullaby

His admission, small as it is, makes my heart leap. We sit in silence for a moment, letting the weight of our shared loss hang between us.

"Come. Let’s go home," he says finally. As always, his tone leaves zero room for argument.

"I'm waiting for Betty. She's supposed to take me to hers."

"Cancel her. She will understand."

I hesitate. I don’t want to simply cancel on Betty, especially after all she went through for me. She’s been waiting in traffic for God knows how long, just to get to me.

"I know she’s a good friend to you,lisichka. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to express my gratitude to her at the office. But right now, she’ll have to understand that you’re coming with me."

I heave a long sigh. Typical Maron. I know he’s not going to take no for an answer. I also know that there is a lot we need to talk about. As for Betty, at least she can get the hell out of rush hour traffic and head home after a long day at the office. So, I pick up my phone and shoot her a short text.

“Bets, there’s been a change of plans. Please don’t come. I'll explain it later.”

"Let's go," Maron says, picking up my suitcase.

Five minutes later, we’re riding in his car in thick silence. He keeps his eyes on the road ahead, his expression stoic as always. I consider starting a conversation, but my mind can only come up with trivial questions like "Why did you come to pick me up?" or "Why are we going to your place?"

I end up staying quiet until we arrive at Maron's mansion. He parks the car in the garage and turns off the engine, but neither of us moves. We continue to sit there in the stillness, the only sound being the ticking of the cooling motor.

Eventually, I decide to break the silence. "Thank you for coming for me, Maron."

He looks at me with a flicker of something in his eyes - concern perhaps, or some sort of deeper emotion I can't name. "It’s fine."

Honestly, I don’t know why I’m expecting more than an “it’s fine.” It would be nice to hear something like, “I missed you so much, Mindy,” or even a wild, “I love you!” I know it’s totally unlike him to say things like those under the currentcircumstances, but that doesn’t stop me from craving love and emotion from the man I care so deeply about… Maybe I’m still hormonal.

"Let's go upstairs," he eventually says.

We get out of the car, and I follow him into the house, my heart pounding in my chest. I really don't know what to expect after all that’s happened. Are we still together? Do I still live with him or will I be moving back in with Betty?

But as we climb the stairs toward his bedroom, I can't help but feel a sense of anticipation, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he cares for me more than he's letting on.

Chapter Fifty

Mindy

Maron closes the bedroom door behind him.

He turns and fixes his gaze on me, his eyes burning with something that ignites a fire in my core. The next moment, his lips crash against mine. The kiss is wild and demanding, instantly making me melt into his arms and turning me into jelly. "I'll be gentle,lisichka," he growls in my ear.

His hands roam over my body, grabbing and squeezing, leaving nothing untouched. I moan against his neck as his fingers tug on my bottom lip, teasing and taunting until I'm trembling with lust. His tongue invades my mouth again, exploring every corner as if he's claiming it as his own.

My body betrays me once again. It pulsates with a need for him despite the pain lingering between my legs. But somehow, his touch erases all of my discomfort and replaces it with an ecstasy that makes me want more and more of him.

His lips devour my face, eliciting a wanton whimper from deep within my throat. I'm at his mercy as he holds me in place with a firm grip, caressing me with a passion that matches my own. His eyes are shut tight as he ravishes me, licking and biting the surface of my skin.

And then it happens - he sinks his teeth into my earlobe, sending an electric shockwave through me, all the way down to my sex.

But then, the contact is broken. He pushes himself away from me and walks over to the nightstand. And me? I just stand there with swollen lips and smeared makeup, my hair looking like a used-up mophead. My panties are ruined, and my private parts are pulsating so eagerly that I can almost hear them. My heart races as he retrieves a folder from the drawer that’s been torn into shreds.

"What's that?" I gasp.

"Our contract. Or what remains of it."

In one swift motion, he dumps the folder into the trash can by the bed. The pieces flutter in the air like snowflakes, marking the end of our previous arrangement.

Confusion fills my mind. What does this mean? Is this it? Does he never want to see me again?

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