as dark and stormy as they’d ever been.
“I agreed to it, okay? I agreed to let those kittens fuck me, and I agreed to the goddamn beating after. You can’t rape a willing participant, and I was willing. I even came when she was fucking me. Do you understand now? I’m not a goddamn victim, and I don’t need to talk to a stupid shrink. And if you had any sense in that stubborn head of yours, you’d get the fuck out of my life while you still can. I’m no better than any of the degenerate men in my House. If you didn’t know that last week when you watched me fuck that kitten in front of you, then you should have figured it out last night.”
He didn’t try to push past me for the back stairs. Instead, he turned for the archway that led into the main part of the house. And as I heard him stomping through the hallway and up the curved stairs in the entryway, his words spun in my head until only one thing was clear.
It wasn’t pain he was holding on to. It wasn’t humiliation as I’d assumed. It wasn’t even his tattered pride. What he couldn’t get past was guilt, because in his screwed-up head, he blamed himself for what had happened. He thought he was responsible.
My heart beat hard and fast as I glanced over the wide kitchen with its white cabinets, black-and-white checked tile floor, and pristine granite counters. Until I made him face the truth, we were never going to get past this.
I took my time picking up the broken mug, wiping down the cabinets, and cleaning the floor. And I used the time to think through the best way to reach him.
I’d seen him on the edge of control twice before. Once, in Venice, when his mother had shown up at our hotel and he’d been frantic to protect me from his family. The other time had been on his island, after he’d confessed what had happened to Vittoria, the girl he’d tried to rescue from his House. In both of those instances, the way through to him had not been to give him space. Space only granted him permission to sink deeper into the darkness.
What he needed... was me. My touch. My voice. My body.
Surrendering to him completely, without restrictions, was the only thing that had gotten through to him before. I had to believe it would work again. Because this time, I feared that darkness was dangerously close to claiming him forever.
My heart raced as I climbed the back stairs to the second level and quietly made my way down the hall. His bedroom door was closed, but a twist of the handle told me it wasn’t locked. I stepped into the room only to find it empty. Water ran in the bathroom. Glancing toward the partway-open door, I realized the shower was on.
I stripped out of my leggings and sweatshirt and dropped my clothes on the bedroom floor. Crossing the room, I placed a hand on the bathroom door and pushed.
The room was dark, and steam swirled around me. He hadn’t bothered with the light, hadn’t even flipped on the fan. As I glanced toward the open tile shower that had no door, I spotted him standing under the spray, his head tipped up to the water, his hands over his face, his tan skin and gloriously naked body wet and dripping and perfect, even with the scars on his back I knew still caused him pain.
He must have sensed me step into the stall with him, because he dropped his hands and whipped around to face me, his eyes growing so wide, I saw the whites all around his unique gray irises.
“What are you doing?” He held up two hands and shuffled back until he hit the shower wall. “Get out of here.”
I stepped toward him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Natalie, this isn’t funny.” An edge of panic rose up in his voice as he held his hands out further in front of him, trying to prevent me from touching him. “Just leave before I lose my shit again.”
I shook my head. “I made you a promise, remember? I, Natalie, take you, Luc, as my husband...”
“Cazzo.” His eyes slammed shut, and he shook his head, a pained expression crossing his features. One that wasn’t filled with anger any longer but with heartache. One I was desperate to kiss away. “Don’t. Just don’t, please.”
I was done