Page 14 of His Gift
Searching for someone else.She has no idea what she's talking about. Even if I thought there was someone else out there, I wouldn't go through this for anyone else ever again.
I have a week to prove her wrong, but right now it feels like a waste of my time. If I take her back tomorrow, I can cut my losses. What's the point of letting her know me better when she's so set on leaving?
In the small hours of the morning, I'm still stalking around my house.Yes, thank you.What kind of answer was that? What did that even mean? Unsure if she wanted me with her, I went to my lab to prepare my meal and then I couldn't even check my emails, too worked up to concentrate.
I wasn't going to give her a choice. I was going to keep her tied to me until she saw reason. I was going to show my gift all the pleasure I could give her. Then I found out about her fucking uncle. And now I'm torn between what my gut tells me and what's logical. What's decent. What shows I really care about her.
She's mine though. My gift. My perfect fit. She's not going out there to let another piece of shit like her ex put his dirty hands on her.
You promised.
I don't fucking care.
I fly up the stairs two steps at a time, and as soon as I'm inmyroom, I slide insidemybed and dragmygift close to me. She gasps, but she doesn't panic. She was not sleeping. Her body is tense, though. Still scared. Still thinking I'll hurt her, for fuck’s sake.
Instead of opening my mouth and risk saying something I might regret, I pull her closer and hope I'll fall asleep.
Minutes pass and she's not relaxing. Neither am I falling asleep.
"Everything's fine. I didn't want to scare you," I grind out, not exactly in a reassuring tone.
"You didn't, really. I just don't know why you stayed away so long and then barged in here like you were pissed off."
"It has been a long day. I'm tired."
"Okay. All clear." We both snort for different reasons: she's furious, and I'm barely holding back my laughter.
"Glad I could explain it to you."
"You're kinda an asshole, you know?" she blurts out, and then she freezes.
"What was rule one, sweet girl, from the very start?"
"To be respectful."
"Was it respectful calling me an asshole?"
"No." We're both barely whispering, but her last denial carries an intensity that pierces through me. Last time she was disrespectful, I edged her, and then everything went wrong for reasons outside of our control. Does she want me to do it again? I very much hope so.
I've witnessed far too many disrespectful relationships. I don't want one for myself. We can find mutually agreeable boundaries. But again, for reasons outside of my control, I'm unsure if I can act on my instincts.
"It's not respectful to be short with me either, though."
"Are you saying we're both wrong, sweet girl?"
"Yes."
"Then we should both deal with it."
She shifts slightly in my hold. Again. And again. She's all but asking me, but she's not using her words.
"We'll talk about it tomorrow," I say like the asshole I am and she mumbles her assent. Then, I move my hand lower on her stomach—and lower—and I stop just above her mons.
Still, she keeps quiet, even though she's squeezing her thighs. Looks like neither of us will rest peacefully tonight.
"I can't sleep."
"I know, sweet girl. Were you happy with your ex-husband?" I don't know where that question came from, but now I really want to hear her answer.
