Page 35 of The Pawn
“Just wait outside.” I open my mouth, but she points to the door. “Out, Cassian.”
Although reluctant, I nod and walk out of the bathroom. I pull the door almost closed and wait for her. When she flushes the toilet, I give her a moment then go back inside. She’s standing at the sink, hands on the edge of it, holding herself up. I position myself behind her, my arms on either side of her. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. We don’t speak. I turn on the water and wash her hands carefully in mine, taking care with the bandage, gentle with her hurt hand. I watch her as I do it, neither of us blinking.
I will make this up to her, I swear it to myself. Small things. Like this. Big things. Like Malek Lombardi’s head. She’ll see I mean it. She’ll see how sorry I am. She’ll forgive me. She’ll have to.
“It’s enough,” she says, and I nod, rinse the soap from our hands and grab a towel to dry hers, then mine. She turns to face me, still trapped between the sink and my body. She looks up at me and my heart misses a beat and all I can do is look back at her when I want to do so much more. To say so much. She’s so small. A delicate thing trapped in a world of villains. Of monsters.
“Allegra, I?—”
She shakes her head, breaks the lock of our eyes and when she tries to step around me, I lift her back up in my arms.
“I can walk.”
“I’ll carry you.”
I take her back into the bedroom, pausing once I set her on the bed. We stay like that for a long minute, her looking at me, me at her, her eyes like flames.
“In pieces,” she says finally, and I’m relieved to hear it.
“In pieces,” I say it like a promise.
Her eyes fill up and I can’t imagine the nightmare in her head right now.
“I will still hate you,” she says.
I nod. I know that. My throat is too tight to speak. I sit her on the edge of the bed and when a tear slips from her eye, I wipe it away, but the instant I do, she grabs my wrist, fury behind the pain. I do it again wiping another tear. When she tries to shove me away, I don’t let her. I cup both sides of her face, bend my head and, eyes open, I kiss her mouth. It’s a tender touching of lips before I kiss those tears, taste the salt of them. She keeps her good hand on mine, the wrist of her bandaged hand on my forearm.
I draw back, look at her. A flurry of emotion passes through her eyes and when she raises her arm andslaps me, my head whips to the side from the force of it. I let myself feel the sting of it, then I turn my face back to her.
Her eyes are narrowed to slits, and she does it again.
My cheek burns, but I remain steady and again, turn back to her. This time, when she hits me, her lip curls and the slap is followed by another and another and another. A releasing of tension. Of frustration. Of rage. Whatever she needs.
She grows angrier and angrier as she beats me, her fists on my chest, the fall of her damaged hand light as a feather, the nails of her good one sharp as knives.
I let her do it. I let her pound on me and stand strong for her. This is what she needs. And as she pants and beats her fists against my chest, I take it and I hear her curses, her proclamations of how much she hates me through her tears. And when she wears herself out and only tears remain, I cup the back of her head and pull her to me, pull her face into my chest and I let her weep. I let her weep for all the losses. For her mother. For herself. With each of those body-wracking sobs, my heart breaks for her.
Because I left her vulnerable. In my anger, in my fury, I left her vulnerable, and my enemies saw an opening and they attacked.
She draws back, face a mess of tears and eyes of amber and when I press my mouth to hers, she pushes me away then pulls me to her. Our eyes open, we kiss, her teeth tearing my lips, her hand a fist in my hair pulling and pulling. I lay her back careful not to give her all my weight as her legs open and I press against her, my kisses deep, hers biting. Her telling me she hates me as I push her nightgown up to her waist and tug at her panties, a tearing sound when I shove them out of my way.
I know I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I break my one rule. The same rule I’ve broken with this girl before. This woman. The one woman I’ve ever broken it with. Because when I push inside her, when I look into her eyes and I push inside her, it’s home. It’s fucking home. It’s the one place I belong. The only place I’ve ever belonged. The only place I am whole.
“Allegra.”
She sets one hand against my chest, and I have one arm wrapped around her, holding her half up, the other hand is on her hip, gripping, my cock sheathed inside her throbbing with need.
Allegra snaps her teeth at my lips.
I kiss her fully, tasting her tongue when she slides it into my mouth, devouring her as I begin to fuck her, to thrust deep and hard, taking her, reclaiming her from him. And when she cries out, when she grips a fistful of hair and cries out and the walls of her pussy throb around my cock, I watch her come undone. I watch her and she’s so fucking beautiful. So fucking beautiful and I swear once more to deliver Malek Lombardi’s head to her. Malek Lombardi and every other man who dares to touch her. Who has ever dared to hurt my Allegra. To lay one finger on her. I vow to tear them all to pieces with my bare hands. I vow to be her protector until the end of time.
And with that violence in my heart, I come.
A vow of violence on my lips. Her breath my breath.
The air I need to live.
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