Page 47 of Little Deaths

I deserve that, he thought, though it stung. “Then you know it wasn’t even just about you. It was about frustration and loneliness, and not having an outlet for release. I poured everything I had into those books and it felt good. But it wasn’t real. The people I wrote are fiction, and the things they want don’t necessarily reflect whatIwant.”

“And whatdoyou want, Rafael?”

For you to love me.He drew his arm back, folding both of them behind his neck. And for a single, satisfying moment, he saw her eyes dart to his bare chest. “I like it when sex feels like a fight I’ve won. At least, I think I do. I suppose I’ll find out tomorrow.”

She slid to her feet, drawing her robe closed. But he’d seen the shudder that had passed through her body before she could hide it the way she did everything else. “Enjoy your movie,” she said tartly, before doing a haughty about-face.

Before he could blink or even move, she was gone.

Chapter Nine

Infected This Whole Time

Rafe was gone when she woke up and the guest room was empty. It was almost like he knew she needed her space before tonight, though she doubted that was the real reason. Clad in her robe, with Powderpuff running circles around her slippered feet, she walked to the couch.

The other night felt so surreal. Only the residual smell of whiskey and the fresh stain on the geometric carpet were proof that the encounter had actually happened.

Donni went to the fridge and took out a frozen meal, toying with the knife block. As she waited, she slid one of the Shun knives out with a hiss of steel, letting the metal gleam. Her eyes lingered on the blade, mesmerized, but then the microwave beeped and she pushed it back.

Their conversation haunted her. For the first time, it hadn’t been about sex or the deal. Some wall had shifted and she had seen the tiniest glimpse of vulnerability in his face when she’d caught him sitting there, dripping with whiskey and blood. And maybe he had seen the same in hers.

Stupid, arrogant man. He thought he saw therealher, the woman behind the curtain. But there were so many ghostly sheets wrapped around her now, that she no longer knew where they ended and she began. He didn’tknowher. He only saw the version of her that she wanted him to see.

And if she had her way, that’s how it was going to stay.

If they had met as strangers in a bar, things might have been different. She wouldn’t be dogged by this constant sense of anger and guilt and, yes, betrayal. A twelve-year age gap didn’t mean the same thing now that it had ten years ago, not with him being financially independent and living on his own. The power balance was no longer skewed in her favor—at all.

When the lights faded from the sky, plunging the streets into shadow, she told herself she was ready for him. She was wearing the leather A-line skirt from their first meeting and a sheer Givenchy blouse made out of a funereal black tulle.

She heard his knock at a quarter to nine. The porch lights were off but she could still see him, the edges of his black shirt limned in silver by the moon. He was holding a single tiger lily.

“I brought you a flower to wear in your—”

She shut the door loudly, causing him to turn and look at her. His voice cracked.

“—hair.”

His throat worked as his eyes remained on hers, but when she stepped closer, she saw them dip and that nervous energy surrounding him surged as if he were a half-tame stallion shut up in a stable. “Put it in, then,” she said, and felt a rather mean pleasure when he visibly shuddered.

But then Rafe shook himself and stepped forward, snapping the stem in his fingers and sliding the lily behind her ear. Then he put his hands on her waist, and the tulle was thin enough that she could feel the burn of their warmth like a flame. “What kind of game are you playing now?”

Instead of responding, she loosened the collar of his black shirt. His hands tightened when she stepped against him, peeling the fabric back to press her mouth to his neck. Her lipstick left a scarlet mark, which glistened when she pulled away. “What game? I thought you wanted to fuck me.”

“I told you before—I’m not that easy to manipulate.” He backed her from the door, deeper into the unlit living room. “What are you trying to get from me?”

“Does it matter?” she retorted. “You’ll just take what you want.”

For a moment, he looked like she’d struck him. And then his face was closer and his grip tighter, and there was a brief, airless moment when the floor beneath her disappeared.

He dropped her on the credenza, shattering the bowl in which she sometimes kept her keys, stepping between her legs. The table was just high enough to raise them to roughly the same level, so that when he leaned in to kiss her, it was easy for his lips to seal over hers.

“Tell me no, then,” he snarled. Some of her lipstick had gotten on his lips, his teeth. It looked like blood. “Tell me to stop. You did before.”

The harsh words made her twist in his embrace, which pushed her body against his. She felt the prod of his erection against her belly and cried out when his hands slid up, rubbing her nipples in slow, hard circles through the thin layers of tulle and lace.

“Even in a see-through blouse and red lipstick, you can still tell me no,” he whispered harshly, grinding his thumbs until she whimpered against his mouth, “but why would you dress like this to do it? Unless you were fucking with me.”

Her fingers clawed into his hips and she felt the flinch of the taut skin beneath his jeans. The kiss, which had started out rough and biting, became little more than the brush of skin on skin. She was getting a little heady, being this close to a big man. Every time her fear threatened to spike out of control, he managed to grab on to her and rein it back. It was exhilarating. It was terrifying.

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