Page 40 of Scorned Queen

“By controlling me?”

“Somebody has to snap you to your senses for your own good.”

Now he’s gone to the wrong place.“And that somebody is you?”

“Consider this an intervention.They need therapy, not another deposit from your bank account.”

“You’re acting like an asshole.You don’t get a say—”

“Really?Is that where you’re going with this?I don’t get a say, Alana?When do I?When I marry you?”

Emotions explode inside me—years of painful emotions—and I’m embarrassed all over again when I’m already mortified over my parents.The combination is combustible.“Don’t throw this damn ring in my face again.But since you did, I don’t need to wear it anymore.The farce of an engagement is over.And the whole thing is starting to feel like I’m just pathetic and shouldn’t be here.”I shove against him and try to push away.God, please just let me end this.

But he won’t let that happen.While I’ve tried to distance myself from him, he’s molded me closer, his hand at the back of my head, our mouths close as he says, “If I had my way, I’d officially propose to you right this minute, right here, but I need you to hear what I have to say to you.I need you to know everything.And I’m scared shitless to tell you those things, Alana.”

A breath later, his mouth is on mine, his tongue stroking wickedly hot against mine, the truth of his words in his kiss, and I’m drugged with the taste of him and all he has confessed.The instant I sink into the kiss, we’re on fire, all over each other, kissing, touching, and hungry for each other in every possible way.

He groans with my hand on his crotch and yanks my skirt up.I end up flat against a wall, and we’re both frenzied, struggling with his belt and pants.When he’sfinallyfree, his thick erection between us, he shoves aside my panties, pulling my leg to his hip and presses inside me.He’s hard—so very hard and thick.I gasp with the intensity of him entering me, and he cups my backside, driving deeper.My arms wrap his neck, and his hand slides under my shirt, cupping my breast, deft fingers managing to hold me up and still tease my nipple, thrusting and pulling me down against him.

Never once do I think I’ll fall or that he’ll drop me.I fell plenty of times when we were kids.He always caught me.He’s driving into me, and I’m pressing into him, and the world fades.There is just me and this man, who is everything to me.I am desperate for him, and I can feel his desperation for me.I need more.I have to have more.My orgasm comes hard and fast and without warning.I spasm around him, burying my face in his neck as I gasp with release.

He groans, low, guttural, the intensity of the sound vibrating through me even as he shudders, the warm, wet heat of his release filling me.Seconds pass, and we still, and for a long, few moments, he holds me, his face buried in my neck, his arm tightening around me as if he doesn’t want to let me go.And it’s a good feeling.I don’t want him to let me go.

Slowly, he eases back and stares down at me, his sea-blue eyes stormy, and he says just what I’d thought.“I’m not letting you go.I willnotletyou go.”

There’s such fierceness to his words, like a man standing in war, holding a sword, and I’m suddenly remembering what he said to me before we got lost in the throes of passion.I’m scared shitless to tell you those things, he’d confessed, of whatever he fears his father will tell me first.

“I know whatever it is you don’t want to tell me is bad, but I’ve a lot of practice loving you, Damion.Years are not torn down with words and mistakes.”

He draws in a breath and presses his forehead to mine.“Where’s the bathroom?I need to get you cleaned up.”

“Off the living room,” I say, and as he lifts me and carries me that direction, I have this sense that he’s holding onto the intimate moment for as long as he possibly can.As if he feels there will never be another.

He doubts we will see that storm in his eyes to the other side, and he has reason.We’ve always fallen apart.

Chapter thirty-four

“It’sbarelythesizeof a small closet,” Damion grumbles as we enter my bathroom.“There’s nowhere to even sit you down but the damn toilet.”He eases me to the ground.“Damn it, Alana.”

Embarrassment is perpetual this evening, it seems, as my feet are on the ground but I’m unstable, offering him my back as I grab tissue and tug my skirt down.By the time I’ve turned around, he’s righted his pants, and his attention is fixated on my basic ceramic sink with exposed pipes beneath, before sweeping the remainder of the small space.I’m instantly transported back in time, feeling like the little girl next door whose family lived above their means again, and I start to justify, which translates to I start to ramble.“It’s small,” I say, “but my closet is big, and it’s not a cheap place.This is New York City, and you know—”

“You don’t even have a tub,” he says, motioning toward the spot where one would be if there was the space, but, of course, there’s not.His gaze sharpens on mine.“You love your baths.”

I’m fairly certain that anyone who doesn’t know Damion as I know him would be stunned at this big, dominant, often hard man, worrying over my baths, or lack thereof.It’s somehow odd and right at the same time, and for reasons I can’t explain, I feel oh, so naked with him right now, far more so than when my skirt was at my waist.Maybe it’s the talk of marriage that we’ve dared tiptoe yet again, or simply the exposé that could be written on my family drama just this night alone.

He’s overwhelmingly present, and I’m overwhelmingly off-kilter.I need out of this tiny room, as he’s pointed out, where we might feel slightly less combustible, at least to me.I attempt to walk past him, but he isn’t having it.He catches my waist and steps into me, his possessive touch scorching me inside and out.

“Damn it, woman,” he murmurs yet again, his tone husky and rough, and he doesn’t have to say more.He’s worried about my situation.That’s what he’s telling me.He’s worried about me.“I stayed away far too long.”

I shove at his unmovable chest.“That entire statement is about you saving me, Damion, and I don’t need to be saved.”

“It’s about being with you, Alana.”

“This bathroom and my life,” I say, my spine stiff with the reality of my words, “they’re both about my decisions, not yours.”My fingers curl on the silk of his shirt.“I have to own them.”

“Just as I made my decisions that I have to own as well, Alana, but I can’t help but think we would have made better ones together.”

My shoulders soften, and the breath that I didn’t know was lodged in my throat gushes out, and for some silly reason, my eyes pinch.“Yes.I think so, but you’re here now, and I’m moving in with you, remember?”

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