Page 97 of Possession

Framing my face with his big hands, intensity radiates off him. “Trust me, chica, everything in my life is maddening right now, but nothing as much as this thing between you and me.”

My heart skips a beat and not in a good way. The fact that a marriage I was forced into might be maddening to him twists my insides. “You mean our marriage?”

“Yes,” he bites. “Our fucking marriage and everything else.”

Shit.

I didn’t know anything could hurt more than what Nic did to my body and spirit last night, but that does.

I blink my emotions away and try to pull out of his hold, but he doesn’t let me.

He pulls my mouth to his.

It’s the first time he’s really kissed me since last night. It’s not like yesterday when he had his hand between my legs and made my body sing. That felt like he was doing everything in his power to hold back and not consummate the very marriage that is so exasperating to him.

This kiss is gentle and slow and feels the exact opposite of his words.

I slept in his arms last night. The only times we’ve been apart are for quick trips to the bathroom. He’s given me his complete attention and time.

I hate myself because I like it.

Hell, I hate myself that it actually makes me happy.

He puts a hand to the middle of my back and another to my head when he twists me on the messy bed. He doesn’t give me his weight and hovers over me. I fist his tee in my fingers and drop my knees to the side and open for him.

An invitation.

And pure desperation.

I should be desperate for a lot of things.

My old life.

Choices.

Freedom.

Maybe I’m the one mad, because all I want is him. I’m desperate for him—the man who finds our marriage and everything about me frustrating.

He does the exact opposite of accepting my invitation. He breaks our kiss and drops to his forearms on either side of my head. His body never touches mine. I relish in his fingertips dancing over the cuts and bruises at the side of my face. Even that feels good.

When he speaks, his words surprise me. “Trust me, baby. I’m doing everything I can to make sure you don’t hate me.”

“Why would I hate you? You’ve proven everything you’ve done is to protect me.”

He pulls in a big breath and says on an exhale, “You’d be surprised.”

It’s official.

I’m losing my mind. The more he talks, and the longer we’re together in this forced marriage, the more I want him.

I’ve even wondered if this is Stockholm syndrome. But it’s not like he planned this. There’s no way. Not how this played out. My own father sold me off, and my mom knows everything. If they cared about me more than their own protection or supporting their life through illegal business, they’d call the police.

Which brings me back to me. It’s not like I can’t actually pick up a phone and dial 911.

I could.

But I haven’t.

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