Page 48 of Between Dusk and Dawn

"Whether you are drunk and passed out or somewhat sober"—he gestured to the bottle I was white-knuckling—"I don't care. Get in the car, Madison."

"Can I have an hour?" I whispered. My tone was desperate, and for a moment, his mask slid off. In front of me was the Walsh Solis I wanted to know–—the gentle side of him, the sweet side, not the darkness that surrounded his everyday being.

"Please." All he did was nod, so I headed toward the small bathroom in the corner of the cabin.

I closed the door and locked it behind me, knowing all too well that if he wanted to get inside the bathroom all he had to do was kick it down. Checking my surroundings, I found a few towels on a rack in front of me. The bathroom was no bigger than the length of my body, so everything was cramped, but the shower was plenty big to get my mind off what was happening and maybe sober up slightly.

As the booze filtered through my veins, I turned the shower to hot, letting the steam fill the small space before dropping to the floor, my back pressed against the wooden door behind me.

I felt the weight of his body as it fell to the floor on the other side of the door and pressed my hand lightly to the door.

"Why me?" I asked softly.

"Because it has always been you."

The answer sounded so simple, but was so complicated. Truthfully, I didn't even think complicated was the right word to describe the complexities of emotions that filled my soul.

"I promise…" He paused, and I could have sworn I heard a hitch in his throat. "I promise I’ll keep you safe. I promise to take care of you, if you'll let me."

That was the question. If I’d let him. I wasn't sure where the lines had gotten crossed—where we went from enemies to lovers back to enemies again. I didn't know why he decided I was the reason and this was the time he would break the plan he’d had in place for years.

"Do I have to sleep with you?" I asked, smiling.

"Muse," he whispered. "You’ll be begging me for it. I know you remember the way my cock felt inside of your wet mouth. The way you threw your head back as you moaned, taking me all in…"

No. I couldn’t let this happen. It would complicate everything.

My aching core was telling a different story than my brain or heart.

Stop. I couldn’t go there with him. He took advantage of me when I was drunk and married me, for God's sake. I stood as the steam overtook the small room.

"No. Not interested," I said, shedding my clothes and jumping into the shower. I turned the knob to cold and closed my eyes, cursing above.

Four years ago, I would have relished in the satisfaction of this moment—Walsh Solis at my door pleading for my affection. It could have been a victorious moment for me, a testament to my triumph. However, Walsh had a way of turning victories into defeats. Our relationship was a game, and I longed for it to stop. All I desired was to be cherished for my true self, without the need for pretenses.

I washed up, sobering a little before I tucked the towel around my chest and stalked from the bathroom. I had thoughtabout putting the dirty shirt on, but it was covered in bacon smell and mud.

As I walked into the main part of the cabin, my eyes glanced over at the naked form changing in the corner. My eyes roamed his back, first memorizing the intricate swirls on his shoulders, then lowering to where the arch of his ass was.

God, it felt illegal to watch this man's body as he changed in front of me. I felt like I’d somehow interrupted something?—

"Are you going to keep staring?" His low, raspy tone echoed in the small cabin, which was getting tinier by the second.

"Oh, uh?—"

He laughed deeply. "Please, be my guest. You are my wife, after all."

He slowly turned, and his thick cock was hard and veiny.

I croaked something unintelligible out, and his hooded eyes met mine.

"I hate you," I muttered.

"I know." He took a small step in my direction. "Drop the towel."

Why was this electric surge pulsating between us? Why did I want to fold under his command? Goddamnit, why was my cunt soaking wet and desperate to imagine how he’d stretch it?

"Do it, Muse," he murmured, taking another languid step closer.

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