Yet then he tensed, seeming to wake up. He withdrew from me with a curse, climbing off the bed.
By degrees, I managed to make it to a sitting position.
“This wasn’t what I wanted.” He yanked up his pants.
He was acting like what we’d just done was wrong—when it’d been amazing and perfect and exhilarating.
He pointed an accusing finger at me. “You push and push. You don’t know what you provoke.”
I shoved my hair out of my face. “But I want to know!”
When he said nothing, I rose to snag my robe. Time to dig in my heels. Belting the garment around me, I said, “Sevastyan, something’s got to give.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m unhappy. With our relationship, with our sex life—”
“Are you joking? I make you come till you scream. Yet you’re unsatisfied?”
“I want to explore what you showed me before. On the plane, you said I wasn’t supposed to be like this, but I am.”
He stilled. “You don’t know what you are. You’re twenty-four and have never had another lover.”
“You are the one who said I loved it, needed it. You were right! I’m a flesh-and-blood woman, a hot-blooded woman—not some porcelain doll. So why have you changed with me?”
“You’re under my protection. You’re mine,” he said simply.
“Please tell me this is not one of those Madonna-or-whore situations, where you think of me either as a pristine pedestal-topper or a slut.”
He shrugged. No denial. Oh, shit. I pinched my temples. No, no, no, he can’t think that way.
Because I knew such a belief couldn’t be fixed. Not like a broken clock. Not with my sweet, sweet love. Not with all the magic of my vagina. Not with my inevitable ocean of tears. “Look, neither of us is getting what we bargained for. Maybe we should think about taking a break from each other.”
He whirled around. His lowering expression made me back up a step. “You belong to me. There are no breaks.” He swept his arm over the dresser, sending makeup and jewelry flying.
I tensed, ready to bolt for the safe room. Until I remembered that, for all his faults, this man would never hurt me. In spite of his balled fists, I demanded, “Then help me fix this!”
He put a hand to his throat as if he couldn’t get enough air. “There is a need inside me—it’s like a beast that howls. I need to do things to you. I need to control you, command you, punish you. In order to madden you.” He stabbed his fingers into his hair. “I indulged in this before you, but never felt like I couldn’t live without it. Yet now, with you . . .”
“Now what?”
“It’s like a sickness inside me that I fight and fight but can never defeat.” His voice was rising with each word. “And then you tempt me like this?” he yelled. “You gut me!”
I yelled back. “So stop fighting it!” I marched up to him, grabbing his face. On my toes, I met his gaze. “I’m here, Sevastyan. I’m ready, I’m willing. I need you.” I’m falling for you.
For some reason, I held those words back. Maybe because I didn’t expect him to respond in kind.
He’d talked about owning, controlling, and possessing me. He’d talked about obsession. But never about love. “Why would you fight something we both crave?”
With an eerie gentleness, he peeled my hands away, then strode over to the safe room’s desk. From a false-bottomed drawer I hadn’t known about, he retrieved a letter. Returning to me, he shoved it into my hands. “You weren’t the only one who received a letter.”
Overwhelmed with curiosity, I opened it. My father had written a final correspondence to him as well? The paper was crinkled. How many times had Sevastyan read it? Would he expect to read mine, still hidden in my suitcase?
My eyes widened as I scanned the lines:
She is precious, Aleksei, treat her as a treasure, and above all things, respect her. . . . My Natalie’s life is in your hands. . . . She’s fragile, has been uprooted from a safe and sheltered existence, forced into the danger our world presents. Nothing else matters if she’s not happy and protected. . . .
Oh, dear God. I gazed up at Sevastyan as everything became clear. “This is why you’ve been denying us?”
The man who’d been his savior, the one he felt like he’d failed, the mentor who’d guided his life for decades—had given his blindly loyal enforcer a final set of instructions. “Sevastyan, I respect Paxán’s wishes. I do. But this letter has no bearing on what goes on between us.” I handed it back to him.
He clasped the page with a shaking hand. “How can you say that?”
“We have to make our own way together.”
“This letter reminded me of what you are. And then, right after I first read it, I saw . . . I saw the bruises I’d given you. I hadn’t even meant to discipline you, not like I do in my twisted imaginings.”
“Sevastyan, just wait—”
“He was your father. He was . . . my father. He expected me to treat you like a treasure. He didn’t know about that part of my life. I took pains to keep it secret. If he had, he would never have chosen me for you.”
“You’re acting like that type of life is dark and dirty. Like only broken people do it.”
He raised his brows: No shit!
“You don’t have to be broken to like kink. Look at me. I had the most idyllic upbringing ever, and I can’t stop thinking about it with you.” When I saw he wasn’t budging, I said, “You were instructed to keep me happy. Well, right now, I’m far from it.”