“No,” he says, scowling and turning away. Out of his usual suit and tie, he doesn’t look so stiff. Now that I’ve had a week with him, I know he’s not as dickish as he came off at first, but I still don’t know him well enough to predict his next move, and that scares me.
“It is,” I say, an incredulous laugh bubbling out as I bounce onto the bed on my ass. “You totally want me to rub up on you.”
“Why would I want to dance with a frigid brat like you?”
“I’m not frigid.”
King scoffs. “You literally told me your sexuality was frozen.”
I stare at him a minute. But there’s no way I’m going there with him, letting him know anything real about me. I’d rather just get it over with. He’s going to fuck me eventually, anyway. I might as well learn to grin and bear it. And I’d rather him hurt me than look at me the way he did on our wedding night, like I’m some fragile, broken thing.
Broken? Yeah, I’ll admit it. Fragile? Like a fucking grenade is fragile.
I’ll take his wrath over his pity, and I know exactly how to get it.
“Yeah, about that… I may have exaggerated,” I say lightly.
“You what?” he asks, his voice going low and deadly.
I shouldn’t have said it, oh god, his eyes are glittering with a malice that says I’m treading in very, very dangerous territory. But once you say something like that, you can’t just take it back. I don’t want to, either. It’s a relief to know this is finally happening. I’ve spent the whole week tiptoeing around him, hardly daring to breathe lest it draw his attention. I lie in bed each night trembling and petrified, sure each one will be the night he’ll be done waiting.
“Yeah, I lied,” I admit. “I don’t have a problem with sex. I have a problem with you.”
King just stares at me, his eyes incredulous and turbulent as a storm. “Youlied?” he asks at last.
“Yep,” I say. “I’m good at that. But it says something about you, too, you know.”
“What?” he asks, not moving a muscle, just staring at me. But I can see the fury inside him, can see the way he’s almost shaking with it. I know I should leave him alone, but some reckless part of me wants to just keep poking the beast. Like I said, I’ve never been one to stop at halfway. I push limits. I want to see how far I can go, what I can get away with, what he’ll do when he finally snaps. Maybe that’s partly why I keep going out every night, waiting for him to put his foot down the way no one ever has. To demand answers. But he let me have my way, just like everyone else has.
I’m the poor girl who lost her brother and her mother, after all. When I met him, I thought maybe he’d be the one to stand up to me, that he’d be a formidable opponent or even a match for me. But he’s too scared of my father, like everyone else in my life.
“You know,” I say. “It says a lot that a girl would lie about something like that just to keep from having to have sex with you.”
“You’re not a virgin, either, are you?” he asks.
I try to gauge his expression, his tone, to see how he feels about that. I don’t see disappointment in him, but there’s definitely an edge of jealousy in his voice. He does want me, despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise. The thought sends a tremor of triumph through me. I want to be wanted just like anyone else, even if it’s by a man I don’t want. I could lie to him, but I think of how important my hymen is to men and decide it will only make him want me more.
“I’m a virgin,” I say.
“Prove it.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. I knew it was coming, but my heart still lurches into my throat. “Now you’re going to throw me down and rape me?” I ask, a challenge in my voice. “That’s how you prove it to yourself, right?”
“I heard you talking on the beach on our wedding night,” King says, prowling forward. “Voices carry across water. You should know that, having a house on the beach.”
I scurry off the far side of the bed and find myself backed into a corner. Damn it. I dart forward, trying to get around the bed, but he’s too fast. He grabs my wrist and backs me against the window. My heart is racing like a scared rabbit in my chest as I look up into his deep, dark eyes.
“You wanted me to hear, didn’t you?” he asks. “You love testing me, but you don’t know who you’re fucking with,piccola.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just like you wanted me to know where to find you tonight.” A little smirk forms on his full lips, and my heart skips a beat altogether. “You said I didn’thave towait up. You didn’t tell me not to. You wanted me to wait up, to sit here wondering and worrying, didn’t you? Admit it. You wanted me to come find you.”
“No,” I say, scowling. “Why would I want some asshole to come ruin my fun?”
“Because you get away with everything, but you don’t actually want to,” he says. “You want someone to stop you. You want someone to care enough to save you from yourself.”
“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me,” I snap. “You don’t know anything about me.”