Too late, Tori remembered why she’d protected herself, why she’d held on to her virginity. She’d thought it was a gift to be given to one of the men she loved. She hadn’t remembered that gifts could be opened, found wanting, and rejected.
He’d been quiet for a few moments, and she hoped he’d gotten the hint and left. She wouldn’t call him or write him. If she was pregnant she’d know soon and she would prep for life as a single mother because Oliver was toxic.
With a weariness she’d never felt before, she dragged her robe on and opened the bathroom door and peeked into her bedroom.
Oliver was gone. His big, angry, sexual presence lingered but the man himself had left. She was alone, thank god. She felt empty. Her apartment felt empty. Her future…yeah, empty. She was ruined both professionally and personally. God, she couldn’t even cry anymore. She would do it when she got to the palace. She would sit and hold her nephews and would find a way to purge the Thurston-Hughes brothers from her heart.
“You bastard,” a familiar voice shouted from what sounded like her living room. Callum. What was he doing here?
There was a muffled reply, followed by a crash.
“Stop it, both of you.” Rory’s shout sounded loud and clear.
Anger exploded like a bomb detonating. These men were forever fighting, and now they were using her as an excuse. Not that they needed one. Her body ached, but that was nothing compared to the pain she felt deep inside. It was good to put both aside and let the rage flow.
Tori intended to make it very clear that she was done with them. Now and forever.
* * * *
Stunned, dazed, Oliver shuffled away from her bathroom door before he did something extremely stupid like kick it in, throw Tori over his shoulder, and take her home with him. He’d behaved badly. He accepted responsibility for that, just as he would take responsibility for the manipulative little thing, but he wouldn’t give her whatever she sought.
He found his slacks and forced himself to step into them. What the fuck had happened? He could scarcely wrap his brain around the fact that she’d been a virgin. He should have suspected something when he first put his fingers inside her and felt the spectacularly tight grip of her cunt. He’d wondered if her fiancé had a tiny penis. Then the thought of James Fenway’s dick inside Tori incited particularly nasty thoughts, which had prodded him into thrusting hard and fast into her before sense prevailed and he could talk himself out of touching her. The need to make her his had overwhelmed him.
Well, she was his now. His and only his. No other cock had ever enjoyed that tight pussy. Certainly no other cock had possibly gotten her pregnant. What the hell had he been thinking? He shoved his feet into his socks and searched the room for his shirt. He hadn’t been thinking at all. He’d been delighting in her sweetness, how soft and pliable she was for him. He’d been thinking about how Callum liked to tie women up and spank them and fuck them. He’d been considering that Tori would look delicious all wrapped in rope like a gift, waiting for him to unwrap and enjoy her.
He shrugged into his shirt and wondered how the hell he should deal with this mess. A little sparkle on the floor caught his eye.
Her ring. He leaned over and picked it up.
Poor sap. Somewhere in Texas, a man waited for his perfect little virgin bride. That man was about to find out the world wasn’t fair.
Oliver had taken her. She was his responsibility now. Perhaps he’d even marry her, but by god, he would watch her like a hawk. He wouldn’t allow her the tiniest bit of leeway that she might use against him.
The one bright note? He could have the children he’d dreamed of. They wouldn’t erase the ones Yasmin had terminated, but maybe these new precious ones would ease some of the ache and guilt in his heart.
He pocketed the ring. Her engagement—former in his mind—was just one of the matters they needed to discuss after she finished her sulk and exited the bathroom.
You are the world’s biggest prick, Oliver Thurston-Hughes. Sulk? You took her virginity without being remotely gentle and gave her not an ounce of pleasure in return. She surrendered to you, and you screamed at her, accused her of all manner of perdition, and then have the gall to say that she’s sulking. You promised her kindness and the minute you were through you gave her bile and vitriol. You don’t deserve her.
His inner voice often made too much sense for his well-being. He looked back at the bedroom door. He’d closed it because he wanted space between them. He’d told himself it was so he didn’t wrap his hands around her pretty throat, but that was a lie. He needed the doors closed so he didn’t walk back, fall to his knees, and beg her forgiveness.
He couldn’t do that. No matter how poorly he’d handled the thing, he couldn’t give her that kind of power over him.
Why not? You gave Yasmin the power to ruin your life for eternity. She wins, you stupid prat. If you let Tori walk out of your life, that bitch wins. You should have just allowed her to kill you.
He really liked it better when he simply hated everything and everyone and wished he had died that day in the palace. But no. All of that had begun to change when Tori had walked though his door in her bright colors, smiling that sunny smile he knew so well.
She’d made him start to want more.
So return to her bedroom and start over. Knock on the door and beg her to talk to you because you really do care for her. Confess that you’ve handled everything horribly. Talk her back into bed and hold her, give her everything she deserves—kindness, intimacy, warmth. Do it.
As much as he wanted it, Oliver found the prospect horrifying. If he followed that voice in his head, he would be so vulnerable to her. He wasn’t ready for that yet. He didn’t know if he ever would be.
But he couldn’t walk away if she was pregnant. He wasn’t ready to leave his child defenseless again.
He was stuck, but then he had been stuck since he’d learned the truth about Yasmin and had to face his negligent complicity. He simply hadn’t believed her capable of such evil. Now, he was stuck and he had no idea how to break free.
He looked at the door between them and wished he’d met her when he’d been younger, when he believed in all that love shit, when he could possibly have given her what she needed.