It doesn't matter though because Javi does what he wants. He drags his cock through my arousal and pushes inside of me.
"Javi."
He thrusts deep.
I freeze. Burn. Cry.
He collects my tears with his lips.
"My Bella." He rocks his hips into me. "My Bella."
I squirm beneath him, uncertain whether I'm trying to break free or get closer. His eyes find mine, soft and warm and golden. They are so different now. He is changing before my eyes. The icy walls around his heart are thawing, and it's because of me.
His fingers brush over my cheek. My lips. Full of worship. I squeeze closer to him, and his eyes flutter shut. The pain of our past fades beneath the soothing touch of his fingers on my skin. His lips on my neck. His body in mine.
I ache to touch him. I beg him to free me from my restraints, but my pleas go ignored as he reaches down to touch me.
He makes me come with several strokes of his fingers. It isn't violent this time. It is a slow, lingering burn that stays with me while he sucks on my throat, marking me. Claiming me.
He is bare inside of me, the way he always has been. Raw. I should tell him to pull out. I should be worried. Scared. Logical. But I can't be any of those things with Javi.
I am drunk on the kool-aid. Intoxicated by him.
My lips part against his throat. Breathing him in. I'm going to tell him to be smart. To think about this. That's what I'm going to do. But the words come out of my mouth wrong. So, so wrong. And so, so right.
"Come inside of me, Javi."
He bucks against me and thrusts all the way inside, jerking as he empties himself deep in my womb. Filling me with his come. Filling me with poisonous thoughts.
I want him. I hate him.
My feelings for him are a battlefield.
And the only refuge I have is that when he looks down at me, I can see the same reflected back in his eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MY BELLA always tastes so sweet when she is like this. When she is pliable and sated and filled with my come. Her tits red and swollen from my beard and my tongue. Her chest dried with blood. And a cut that I trace with my finger, wondering if it will leave a scar.
She is still bound at the wrists, but she no longer begs me to let her go. When she looks at me now, there is warmth in her eyes. Warmth that lies and lures me in. Warmth designed to make me let my guard down.
She is still trying to deceive me. I am certain. How could she ever love the beast that I am? My body and mind are tired of this war raging on inside of my head.
I untie her and lay beside her. She touches my chest with her fingertips. Hesitant. Anxious.
There is a part of me that feels shame for that. For making her fearful. For making her question me. That same part of me wants to tell her that it's okay. That she need not ever be afraid of me again.
But that would be a lie.
And unlike her father, I am a man of my word. I may not have honor, but the one thing I will not do to my Bella is lie to her now. I will not give her false hope where none can live.
For tonight only, I will hold her. Comfort her. And in the morning, she can learn all over again why it is unwise to trick me.
SUNLIGHT WARMS the back of my eyelids, and for a moment, I have forgotten where I am.
My body is stiff and sore. A reminder of the events that have unfolded over the last several days. A reminder of another sacrifice I have made for this girl. One that I cannot fully comprehend.
My intentions were simple. I would go to Luke and buy out her contract. I would tell him that she was done. He was never to speak her name in the media again.
It should have been simple. But what I did not anticipate was that Luke was expecting me. That I would be greeted at his door by seven armed guards. And that I would be held there while they tried to beat their answers out of me.
It was an irony I could not help but find amusing. I told Luke as much when he tried to punch me in the face. He doesn't know the meaning of torture. And there was not a thing he could do that would ever make me tell him where my Bella was.
I had already been subjected to torture on a level that Luke's mind could never grasp.
In the end, his guards were weak and ignorant. Luke was a slave to his addictions. Coming and going at all hours of the night, fueling his body with the drugs he needed to function.
His guards got lazy. The beatings became careless. Lacking heart and spirit. Eventually, they became indifferent too, as they led me to the bathroom. They thought me weak. And that was the last thought they had before I killed them.
All but Luke.
Him, I am saving for another time. When I have regained my strength. When I can question him and find out who is at the root of this betrayal.
I think of my Bella. I think of how she tricks me with her soft touches and warm looks. She could not have known my intentions for leaving. But I want to believe it is her. That she is the traitor at the root of this.
It is easier to believe than any of the other scenarios in my mind. That I have been so careless not to have noticed I was followed.
That the agency is watching me, and they are perhaps connected to Luke. These are all questions I have. And the answers have not yet come to me. But today … today they will.
I will remember why I am doing this. I will remember that Bella is nothing to me. The only way this game can end is for me to destroy her before I deliver her fractured soul back to Ray. The same way that he destroyed me.
I take a deep breath and open my eyes, recoiling at the brightness of the conservatory. Her scent still surrounds me. But when I roll over, she is not there.
My blood roars as betrayal rages through me. She is trying to escape. Trying to trick me. All of her words the night before... lies. Her touches... lies. Her soft glances and her acceptance of what I am...
Lies.
And she will pay for it like she has never paid for anything else before.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I'M IN THE BATHROOM, digging through the drawers when a shadow passes over the frame, and I look up. Javi is there, stark naked. A powerhouse of muscle and ink. Muscles rippling with tension and golden eyes that are molten with anger.
Those wild eyes move over me, cataloging every detail and trying to piece something together in his own mind. I'm in nothing more than a towel myself, fresh from the shower, wet hair hanging down my back.
He glances at the brush in my right hand, and the dress I've picked out for today draped over the chair. He watches me carefully. Full of suspicion.
He wants to lash out at me. He wants to believe that I am tricking him again. That I was planning to leave. To run away while I had the chance. There is no point in trying to reassure him. He would not believe me, no matter what I said to him right now. So I go about the business of brushing my hair while he watches from the doorway.
"What is it you think you are doing?" he snaps.
"Getting dressed," I answer.
I can see his longing to punish me. To hurt me. To push me away. But I also see the relief hidden behind those harsh emotions. I've seen him vulnerable now, and it has changed everything between us.
Even now, the tension still lingers. The chemistry that neither one of us can deny. His palm throbs with the craving to pull me closer. To keep me at arm's length so I can never run away from him. But I think that even Javi knows he is powerless to this force now.
He is softening. Bit by bit, I am chipping away at his armor. At his insecurities. I have seen this transformation. I have no intentions of stopping it.
I point to the comb and scissors laid out on the counter.
"I thought I might give you a haircut today," I tell him softly. "If you'd like."
His eyes move over the comb and then my face. I won't get a firm yes from him. I can already feel him slipping away. It needs to be now. I walk to him and take him by the hand. A hand that is so much larger than mine. A hand that can inflict pain and pleasure in equal amounts.
I stroke my thumb over his palm and smile up at him. Soft. Vulnerable. Nervous. I want him to say yes.
I pull on his arm, and he follows. And when I gesture to the chair next to the sink, he sits.
The chair is small, and he is large. Still naked. He doesn't like it. So I remove my towel and wrap it around his shoulders before placing another over his lap. Towels so large they swallow me whole look like mere scraps on him.
I spread his long hair out and reach for the comb. I don't know how much he'll let me cut off. I don't know if he's even had a haircut since he was a child.
"How short would you like it?" I ask.
He's quiet. Tense. Annoyed.
"Just cut it all off," he answers.
So I cut. And I cut some more. And I keep cutting, waiting for him to erupt. But he never does. When it's short enough, I pull the electric razor from the drawer and start to trim.