Flawed Heart
Page 16
“Why?”
I hear this spat at me about five minutes later, and I jerk up to see Max standing in front of me, blood coming from his lip, eye swelling closed, fists bunched. Obviously it took a bit before they were separated. Poor Rainer, he’ll probably never let me in his bar again. I hope he’s not hurt.
“Why what?” I rasp.
“Why did you keep her from me?”
I flinch. “Why did you walk away when you saw her?”
Something dark comes across his face. “I asked you a question. Answer it.”
I stand up straight. “No, Max, because I don’t owe you an answer. You made your choices back then, and I made mine. I did what I had to do. You were an alcoholic, a gambler, and you were dangerous. There was no way I was subjecting her to that.”
His eyes flash with anger and he steps forward, pressing my back against the wall. “You do owe me a fucking answer, because that’s my fucking child!” he bellows into my face.
“Don’t you dare get in my face,” I spit, reaching over and shoving him back. He doesn’t move. He’s like a giant stone. “Back off!”
He doesn’t.
He leans down closer, panting in my face. “Are you fucking him?”
I blink. “I beg your pardon?”
“Are you fucking him?” he barks.
“What the hell would it matter if I am? You’ve been sticking your dick in random women since I left, so don’t you dare act like you’re higher than me right now.”
He grinds his teeth, and I can see the muscles in his jaw jumping as he does. He raises a hand and sticks it on the wall above my head, leaning down even closer. “You’re right. I have fucked other women. It’s been nothing more than emotionless screwing.”
That hurts.
Tears burn under my eyelids and I look away. He reaches out, grabbing my jaw and tilting my head back. “Why the fuck are you coming back into my life after this long, Blue Belle?” he rasps, studying my face. “Why the hell should it matter who I fuck?”
“It matters because I didn’t just get over what we had the way you did. It matters because I’ve been fighting for five fucking years to fall out of love with you. It matters because you are the only fucking man I’ve ever loved, and I wanted . . . I wanted you to be him again. I wanted to come back, to leave the nightmare of a past where it should be. I prayed you would be different, but you’re not, are you?”
He studies my face. “You don’t understand what happened back then, and if you did, you wouldn’t question any of this.”
“I don’t understand because you wouldn’t tell me!” I screech. “You shut down, you pushed me out, you fell out of love with me and—”
“I never stopped loving you!” he roars. “God dammit, Ana, I never fucking stopped loving you.”
I stare at him, so much hurt flooding through my body. “You told me . . . you said it to my face,” I croak.
“I wanted you to hate me, I wanted you to fucking leave so I stopped . . .”
“Stop what?” I scream.
“So I stopped seeing you break right in front of my eyes, piece by fucking piece.”
I reach up and try to slap him, so angry. How dare he? How dare he make that choice for me? He made a conscious effort to push me away, to break my heart, and now he’s standing here telling me he did it for the better good? That he did it to protect me. That he still loves me. How fucking dare he?
“Don’t,” he hisses, jerking my fist to his chest and holding it there. “Don’t you hit me.”
“Or what?” I challenge. “What will you do, Max?”
“Ana, I’m warning you. Stop this.”
“Fuck you,” I scream. “Fuck you and everything you ever gave me. I wish I never laid eyes on you, Max. I wish I never fucking met you.”
My voice hitches on the last sentence and I drop my head.
“That’s not true,” he rasps. “You fucking know it’s not true.”
I don’t answer him.
He pushes me harder against the wall, his big body trapping mine in. I feel comfort, a strange protection I need so badly. I hate it. I don’t want to feel these things around him—I just want to stop loving him so I can move on with my life.
“I hate it,” he says, his voice low.
I look up at him. “You hate what?”
“The thought of his cock inside you. The thought of his lips on yours. The thought of his hands . . .”
“Don’t,” I whisper. “You gave that up. You . . . not me. You don’t get to be jealous about the idea of another man fucking me.”
He flinches, his entire body moving in one swift jerk. “Stop it.”
“Oh, you don’t like it?” I growl. “You don’t like the thought that another man is sliding his cock—”
“Enough!” he roars.
“No, fuck you,” I spit. “Fuck you, Max.”
He reaches over in a flash, curling his fist into my hair. “No fucking man touches what’s mine. Not now, not fucking ever.”
I open my mouth to protest but he slams his over mine. I’m shocked for a minute, and my entire body goes still. This does nothing to stop him. His mouth, his hot, hard mouth, moves over mine until I can’t help it. Desperation, hunger and a little alcohol take over and I kiss him back. I don’t do it softly; I shove my mouth angrily against his, wanting him to hurt, yet wanting to taste him at the same time.
He grunts, pushing his tongue into my mouth. I can taste a little blood, but I don’t care. I should care, but I don’t. I kiss him so hard, tangling my tongue with his, moaning and pressing my body against his. He’s my husband, God dammit; I deserve this. I need this. I want this. I can think of nothing else right now except jerking his jeans down, freeing his cock and letting him fuck me against this wall.
“Fuck me,” I gasp when he pulls his mouth from mine. “God dammit, fuck me, Max.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. He growls his approval and reaches down, hiking my dress up. He reaches for his jeans, jerks them down, and frees his cock. God, I’ve wanted this for so long. I’ve dreamed of it. I’ve always loved having Max inside me; there’s never been a time when it’s been boring, or dull. Every time he fucks me, he makes it count. Even in my pain, even in my heartbreak, every time I thought of him inside me, my body would heat with need.
“Hard,” I growl as he lifts my leg and puts it around his waist. He jerks my panties aside. “Make it hard.”
“Jesus,” he grunts, wrapping his hand around his cock and pressing it to my entrance.
He thrusts in without hesitation, driving his cock as deep as he can get it. I haven’t been with another man in five years, so there’s a pleasurable sting that radiates through my sex as he fills me. “You fucking lied,” he rasps, fingers pinching my ass as he pulls me closer. “No cock has been in here since mine.”
“I didn’t lie,” I pant. “You assumed.”
“Fuck,” he hisses as he slides out, and drives his cock home again. “Sweet as I fuckin’ remember.”
He starts fucking me hard against the wall, so hard the bare skin on my back slides over the bricks until I can feel the painful frication as my skin begins to peel off. I don’t care. I clutch Max, digging my fingernails into his arms, feeling his bulging muscles. I kiss him, soft and hard, deep and gentle, gasping his name as he pounds into me.
I hear this spat at me about five minutes later, and I jerk up to see Max standing in front of me, blood coming from his lip, eye swelling closed, fists bunched. Obviously it took a bit before they were separated. Poor Rainer, he’ll probably never let me in his bar again. I hope he’s not hurt.
“Why what?” I rasp.
“Why did you keep her from me?”
I flinch. “Why did you walk away when you saw her?”
Something dark comes across his face. “I asked you a question. Answer it.”
I stand up straight. “No, Max, because I don’t owe you an answer. You made your choices back then, and I made mine. I did what I had to do. You were an alcoholic, a gambler, and you were dangerous. There was no way I was subjecting her to that.”
His eyes flash with anger and he steps forward, pressing my back against the wall. “You do owe me a fucking answer, because that’s my fucking child!” he bellows into my face.
“Don’t you dare get in my face,” I spit, reaching over and shoving him back. He doesn’t move. He’s like a giant stone. “Back off!”
He doesn’t.
He leans down closer, panting in my face. “Are you fucking him?”
I blink. “I beg your pardon?”
“Are you fucking him?” he barks.
“What the hell would it matter if I am? You’ve been sticking your dick in random women since I left, so don’t you dare act like you’re higher than me right now.”
He grinds his teeth, and I can see the muscles in his jaw jumping as he does. He raises a hand and sticks it on the wall above my head, leaning down even closer. “You’re right. I have fucked other women. It’s been nothing more than emotionless screwing.”
That hurts.
Tears burn under my eyelids and I look away. He reaches out, grabbing my jaw and tilting my head back. “Why the fuck are you coming back into my life after this long, Blue Belle?” he rasps, studying my face. “Why the hell should it matter who I fuck?”
“It matters because I didn’t just get over what we had the way you did. It matters because I’ve been fighting for five fucking years to fall out of love with you. It matters because you are the only fucking man I’ve ever loved, and I wanted . . . I wanted you to be him again. I wanted to come back, to leave the nightmare of a past where it should be. I prayed you would be different, but you’re not, are you?”
He studies my face. “You don’t understand what happened back then, and if you did, you wouldn’t question any of this.”
“I don’t understand because you wouldn’t tell me!” I screech. “You shut down, you pushed me out, you fell out of love with me and—”
“I never stopped loving you!” he roars. “God dammit, Ana, I never fucking stopped loving you.”
I stare at him, so much hurt flooding through my body. “You told me . . . you said it to my face,” I croak.
“I wanted you to hate me, I wanted you to fucking leave so I stopped . . .”
“Stop what?” I scream.
“So I stopped seeing you break right in front of my eyes, piece by fucking piece.”
I reach up and try to slap him, so angry. How dare he? How dare he make that choice for me? He made a conscious effort to push me away, to break my heart, and now he’s standing here telling me he did it for the better good? That he did it to protect me. That he still loves me. How fucking dare he?
“Don’t,” he hisses, jerking my fist to his chest and holding it there. “Don’t you hit me.”
“Or what?” I challenge. “What will you do, Max?”
“Ana, I’m warning you. Stop this.”
“Fuck you,” I scream. “Fuck you and everything you ever gave me. I wish I never laid eyes on you, Max. I wish I never fucking met you.”
My voice hitches on the last sentence and I drop my head.
“That’s not true,” he rasps. “You fucking know it’s not true.”
I don’t answer him.
He pushes me harder against the wall, his big body trapping mine in. I feel comfort, a strange protection I need so badly. I hate it. I don’t want to feel these things around him—I just want to stop loving him so I can move on with my life.
“I hate it,” he says, his voice low.
I look up at him. “You hate what?”
“The thought of his cock inside you. The thought of his lips on yours. The thought of his hands . . .”
“Don’t,” I whisper. “You gave that up. You . . . not me. You don’t get to be jealous about the idea of another man fucking me.”
He flinches, his entire body moving in one swift jerk. “Stop it.”
“Oh, you don’t like it?” I growl. “You don’t like the thought that another man is sliding his cock—”
“Enough!” he roars.
“No, fuck you,” I spit. “Fuck you, Max.”
He reaches over in a flash, curling his fist into my hair. “No fucking man touches what’s mine. Not now, not fucking ever.”
I open my mouth to protest but he slams his over mine. I’m shocked for a minute, and my entire body goes still. This does nothing to stop him. His mouth, his hot, hard mouth, moves over mine until I can’t help it. Desperation, hunger and a little alcohol take over and I kiss him back. I don’t do it softly; I shove my mouth angrily against his, wanting him to hurt, yet wanting to taste him at the same time.
He grunts, pushing his tongue into my mouth. I can taste a little blood, but I don’t care. I should care, but I don’t. I kiss him so hard, tangling my tongue with his, moaning and pressing my body against his. He’s my husband, God dammit; I deserve this. I need this. I want this. I can think of nothing else right now except jerking his jeans down, freeing his cock and letting him fuck me against this wall.
“Fuck me,” I gasp when he pulls his mouth from mine. “God dammit, fuck me, Max.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. He growls his approval and reaches down, hiking my dress up. He reaches for his jeans, jerks them down, and frees his cock. God, I’ve wanted this for so long. I’ve dreamed of it. I’ve always loved having Max inside me; there’s never been a time when it’s been boring, or dull. Every time he fucks me, he makes it count. Even in my pain, even in my heartbreak, every time I thought of him inside me, my body would heat with need.
“Hard,” I growl as he lifts my leg and puts it around his waist. He jerks my panties aside. “Make it hard.”
“Jesus,” he grunts, wrapping his hand around his cock and pressing it to my entrance.
He thrusts in without hesitation, driving his cock as deep as he can get it. I haven’t been with another man in five years, so there’s a pleasurable sting that radiates through my sex as he fills me. “You fucking lied,” he rasps, fingers pinching my ass as he pulls me closer. “No cock has been in here since mine.”
“I didn’t lie,” I pant. “You assumed.”
“Fuck,” he hisses as he slides out, and drives his cock home again. “Sweet as I fuckin’ remember.”
He starts fucking me hard against the wall, so hard the bare skin on my back slides over the bricks until I can feel the painful frication as my skin begins to peel off. I don’t care. I clutch Max, digging my fingernails into his arms, feeling his bulging muscles. I kiss him, soft and hard, deep and gentle, gasping his name as he pounds into me.
