Page 180 of Mangled Memory
Cold panic slithers through me, displacing the warmth of my waning orgasm.
“Ayla?” Christian’s arms tighten around me as if punctuating his question.
“Hmm?”
“I know you’re awake.”
“Snooze.” I whisper and match my one-word reply with a gentle roll toward my belly away from him at my back, as if it’s no big deal that he’s in bed with me. I force my breathing to even out, to not show my alarm at waking to find a stranger in bed.
It’s an act, and I’m not good at it.
At all.
When I think I’ve gotten away, I make to slide out of bed, planning to run somewhere—anywhere—and lock myself in a room where I can be safe.
“Oh, no you don’t.” A wide hand pulls on my belly as he slips backward, positioning me flat on my back as he rests on his side,looking down at me. He’s not looming but he may as well be. “Stop holding your breath. You’ll make your anxiety worse.”
My eyes fly to his dark ones. In the darkened bedroom, there might as well be no irises at all. His pupils are dilated, and they pin me to the spot. I close mine, fighting the rising fear, and breathe deeply.
“Was it good?”
My eyes fly open. But I can’t deny anything in the way I’m so desperate to with my body surely giving away all my tells. “What?” I feign innocence.
The pinky of his hand pressed at my belly wiggles. It’s closest to my panty line. Close as in way too close, and it moves just enough t-shirt aside that it brushes delicate skin. Its heat sears me and rekindles a flame that doesn’t need to be stoked.
I gasp and immediately wish I could suck the sound back into my mouth.
“Princess.” The heat in his eyes is unmistakable. “I know your body. I know how you coil before you orgasm. I know how you sound when you come. So, tell me… was it good?”
If the fear with him this close wasn’t enough, the mortification certainly is. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You sure about that?”
I nod, calling his bluff.
“So you didn’t push your perfect ass into my cock and mewl and moan before going rigid in my arms? You didn’t gasp and hum and become boneless melting into me just a moment after?”
“Nope.”
The smile that plays at his lips is maddening.
“Were you on top? Were you riding my cock?”
“Who says it was you at all?”
All playfulness is gone, and the anger that flashes over him makes him look as immovable as stone. The hand at my belly sears through me as his hand splays wider, practically stretching from ribs to hip bone. His voice drops to icy levels as he hisses, “Don’t.” He leans in, almost menacing in his posture. “There will be no man in this bed but me, Ayla. No man. No woman either.No man is inside you but me, Princess. I took vows. You took vows. And I damn well expect you to honor and keep them.”
He rolls off the bed and stalks, fully naked, to the bathroom, before turning back and absolutely leveling me with his anger. “I don’t give a fuck if you can remember them or not.”
The bathroom light switches on, and I glimpse a flash of his sculpted body, rigid with anger, until the door slams in my face.
He doesn’t get to play the victim in this scenario.
He doesn’t get to wipe away or deny my condition.
He doesn’t get to dictate what I reveal or when I share it.
He doesn’t get to decide he’s mad about a dream.
