“Why the hell wouldn’t you?”
“Because I said I will help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Yes, you do. Look at how you’re barely standing.” He reaches his hand out to grab my arm, but I pull away.
“Katia will help me.”
“Why Katia?”
“Because she’s my guard.”
“And I’m your husband.”
The confident way he says those words almost makes me believe they’re real, that I somehow hold a special place in his black, cold heart.
Wishful thinking. Just like everything about him.
“You’re not my husband. I don’t know you.”
“Then you will get to know me.” He turns me around and undoes the flimsy thing that holds my hospital robe in place.
The thin material falls to my knees, then pools around my feet on the floor.
I force my body to go numb and frigid like what he did to me. It doesn’t matter how much he touches me or how much his hands used to bring me unimaginable amounts of pleasure, because my body isn’t an entity on its own. It’s connected to my brain, and my brain recognizes that he betrayed me first.
He broke the rules first.
Kyle’s fingers wrap around my nape, studying the skin after the doctor removed the soft brace. His hands are gentle, almost as if he doesn’t want to hurt me.
The injury stings, but I hold the reaction in, refusing to let him see any pain.
It’s strange how he’s touching me like this. No, it’s not that he’s touching me like this, but more that he’s not doing it in a sexual way as usual.
He runs his fingers over my skin as if he’s relearning my body. Maybe he’s recalling something. Maybe he was the one who choked me.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he was, but he couldn’t have been considering he was talking inside the room.
“Who put their hands on you?” His voice is laced with a threatening energy.
“Didn’t you hear the doctor? I don’t remember.”
“Whether you remember or not, I promise to find whoever touched you and crush them before your eyes.”
“I don’t need you to crush people for me. I can take care of myself.” I pause, unsure if that will give me away.
But I hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. “Some things never change.”
Phew.
“But as your husband, I will avenge you.”
“I don’t need vengeance.”
His voice drops. “But vengeance is my specialty, Princess.”
My heart thumps at the way he calls me that. Princess. At first, it was a term of degradation because I’m the boss’s granddaughter, but ever since he came back, it holds more meaning than it ever should.
“I’m not your princess.”
He grabs my bra and slides it up my arms, still soft and caring. “Yes, you are. You’re also my wife.”
“I don’t remember marrying you.”
“I can show you the registration papers or the video taken during the marriage when you said ‘I do’, although there was a very unfortunate event at the end of the wedding. I doubt you would want to see it.”
He straps my bra in place and loops an arm around me to run his fingers along the soft flesh of my breast. At first, the touch is experimental, innocent almost. But I should know better; there’s nothing innocent about Kyle.
His fingers linger more, becoming explorative as he feigns keeping my bra’s strap in place. He wraps his hand around my shoulder then trails it to my back, then returns to the front again.
It takes everything in me to remain still. It’s not me; it’s a chemical reaction and stupid hormones. It’s not because of Kyle, right? I would have the same reaction even if someone else were doing this.
My legs tremble as I step into the dress and he slides it up my arms, wrapping his hand around my waist in the process.
The pads of his fingers dig into my hipbone, stroking back and forth. My body’s memory kicks in from the times he used to do that while making me wear that toy.
No.
“Stop touching me that way,” I snap.
His eyes gleam as he slides the dress up. “What way?”
“Like you’re molesting me.”
He chuckles, the sound amused. “That’s impossible since you’re my wife.”
“Well, I feel molested.”
“How so? I’m only helping you get dressed ever so casually.”
“You’re not helping me get dressed. You’re feeling me up.”
“That’s because I missed you, Princess.” His voice drops as his lips touch my ear. The shiver that breaks across my skin is too violent to ignore.
I push away from him, but in my haste, I trip. Kyle catches me by the arm, an infuriating smirk tugging on his lips.
“This is what happens when you don’t accept help offered to you.”
“I said I don’t need your help.”
“Are we back into the first stage of our relationship? Should I try to woo you all over again?”
“You can try—though I doubt you ever wooed me.”
“Oh, I did. After all, you screamed my name every night.”