Instigation Page 4

  My cheeks redden, and anger rises inside me as memories of this morning flood back in. He’s right. I did wake him with my mouth around his cock—not that he’s ever complained about it before. It’d been over a week since we’d shared any intimate contact, and because he is leaving for a month this time, I wanted to feel close to him. To have him hold me, perhaps reassure me that he wasn’t slipping away. That my Adrian was still in there somewhere. And even though he tried to resist for a moment, as soon as he slid inside, I caught a glimpse of him. I saw the pleasure on his face. I know he feels it; feels me. So why does he keep hiding that part of himself from me?

  Now, however, he’s retreated, and all that’s left in front of me is a cold, hollow shell of the man I fell in love with.

  “Has it become such a chore, Adrian? Sleeping with me? Because, if so, just tell me now. I can find someone else to scratch my itch if it’s too much for you to handle.”

  A low growl emits from his throat, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. However, I don’t care. It sickens me to know that I threw myself at him this morning only to find a pair of panties as I dutifully packed his luggage. A wave of nausea washes over me as I wonder if he’s going to meet her, whoever the hell she is.

  He catches my attention as he swiftly crosses the room before placing his hands palms down on the island directly across from me. “You will do no such thing,” he forbids, his tone harsh. “Never, ever say that again, Gabriella. No one but me scratches your itch. If I’m unavailable, then you wait.”

  My eyes narrow as I scoot back and stand, mimicking his stance. How dare he think he still owns me after what he’s done? Gesturing towards the crotchless, offending, red monstrosity between us, I get his attention, and his eyes widen ever so slightly, as if he’s just now seeing them. Regret flashes in his expression so briefly that I’m not sure if I’m imagining it.

  “I can do no such thing? Funny, because I thought you would never either, and yet it appears you already have. I don’t know what’s changed or what happened when you went to visit your father, but I’ve put up with a lot over the last six months. It’s as if a switch has been flipped. You’ve been distant with constant mood swings, and I tried to be understanding. Even when you wouldn’t open up to me, I attempted to make excuses that you had family issues you were dealing with. I can handle a lot, Adrian, but I refuse to stay with an unfaithful man,” I say firmly, my heart racing at a frantic pace as I realize what I mean.

  Today really is the day.

  And then I meet his eyes, and confusion sets in as the bastard has the audacity to grin. Before me isn’t a man who’s been caught cheating and is on the verge of a breakup. Instead, he’s looking at me as if he’s intrigued—amused, even—and he’s going to humor me.

  His eyes flick to the panties and then back to me. “I’ve never seen those before. My, my, you are serious, aren’t you? You know, it’s been said that those who accuse are often the offenders themselves. Is that what’s happening here? Are you so unsatisfied with this lavish life that you’ve—how did you phrase it? Oh yes, find someone to scratch your itch?” he asks, his eyes narrowing as if he actually believes what he’s suggesting. That I’m the villain here.

  I reel back as if he’s struck me. In a way, it’s almost worse. I’ve been nothing but faithful, and now that he’s been caught, he wants to accuse me? Is he really turning the tables on me?

  “Are you insane?” I hiss. “Those came from your pocket! I’ve done nothing wrong except sit on my ass day in and day out, waiting for you to come to me when you’ve been out there screwing around! You’re the one with some cheap whore’s thong in your luggage. How dare you accuse me!”

  He merely shrugs, looking bored and seemingly unaffected by my tirade as he waves a hand in the air as if to brush the entire thing off. “A mix-up at the dry cleaners, then. I apologize for accusing you of anything. I can see how it must appear, but I assure you I’ve done nothing wrong either. You’ve simply just jumped to the wrong conclusions. Now, drop it, Gabrielle. I don’t have time for this.”

  That’s it? He says that he’s done nothing wrong and I’m supposed to just blindly accept it? I don’t think so it.

  “Then neither do I,” I say firmly, grabbing my bag off the counter and slinging it over my shoulder, more than ready to make a hasty exit.

  I make it two steps before it’s yanked off my shoulder and tossed to the floor.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I gasp as his strong hands grip my hips and lift me onto the counter.

  Desire swirls in his eyes as if he likes me like this, and my heart leaps as I recognize traces of the man who once couldn’t get enough of me. My pulse quickens as my fight-or-flight instinct fails me. I shouldn’t allow him to do this, to touch me and confuse my senses, yet part of me wonders . . . What if he’s right? What if it was just a mix-up?

  Then you’re a fool, Gabriella, my conscience tells me as a battle wages in my mind.

  My sanity loses as he pushes my legs apart and his hands slide up the bare skin of my thighs. Goose bumps rise to the surface as his thumbs tease my flesh right before he rips my panties off. It’s been so long since he’s touched me like this. How can I say no? How can I say yes? Instead, I just say nothing and allow his hands to do the talking as he unbuckles his belt then unfastens his jeans.

  When he pulls his cock out, it’s agonizingly hard, sending a glimmer of hope through me that I do still turn him on. He does still want me. He positions himself at my entrance before pausing, and I wrap my legs around his waist, trying to pull him in, ready to lose myself all over again.

  “Is this what you want? One last fuck before I leave you here all alone? Is that it? Do you miss my cock when I’m gone? Must I remind you of whose pussy this is before I leave?” he growls, slamming into me with such force that I fall back against the counter. My head bounces off the granite, which sends waves of pain throughout my skull.

  Pleasure quickly masks the sting as he viciously pounds into me. His large hands grip my hips too tight. I’m sure there will be bruises later, but I don’t even try to fight it. I can’t. My body betrays me as his relentless thrusts bring me to the brink.

  But just as the waves crest, right before I’m pushed over the edge and into carnal bliss, he groans and pulls out of me. His hand quickly strokes his erection, and before I can protest, his release spills out onto my bare belly, thanks to my shirt, which has ridden up. As quickly as it arose, my orgasm dissipates. I whimper at the lost contact as my release subsides.

  My thighs clench as my pussy throbs in a dull ache. As my hand moves between my legs so I can finish myself off, Adrian grasps my wrist and hauls me up until I’m sitting straight up on the counter with him hovering just before me.

  “You are not leaving, Gabriella. You are mine. This pussy is mine. I will be the only one to fuck it until I say otherwise. And until I want to fuck it, it will wait for me. No one, and I mean no one—not even you—will touch it. Your pleasure is mine and mine alone.”

  The ache between my thighs pulsates as he drags me up and gives me a hard kiss. Defiance rises in me. I want, need, to touch myself, but I know that it’ll just make it worse. Instead, I whimper, hoping he’ll take pity on me and give me pleasure before he leaves.

  It’s wishful thinking. He tears his mouth away all too quickly. His eyes bore into mine as his jaw tightens.

  “You will not come until I return. An appropriate punishment for your ridiculous accusation. And for trying to leave.” He turns his back and begins to walk away.

  Punishment? Is he freaking kidding me? I am not a child, and I will not be treated as such, no matter how much I care about him or how many glimpses of the man I fell in love with he gives me. As much as I want it to be, I’m not sure that that’s enough. I can’t stay in this limbo, wondering if Adrian or his evil twin is going to show up.

  Anger wells up in me. Both at myself and at him. How is it that, just moments ago, I was wet for him and now I want nothing mo
re than to get him out of my sight? To get off this rollercoaster ride before it comes crashes down at a hundred miles an hour, with me its willing victim.

  “I am leaving,” I insist, my voice calm and only slightly quivering as it echoes through the kitchen.

  He stops in his tracks and his shoulders heave with each deep breath I assume he takes. Slowly, he turns, the menacing look on his face a mask of fury and disbelief. He stalks back towards me, and when he’s directly in front of me, he shocks me by fisting a hand in my hair, tugging not so gently. His other hand wraps around my throat, covering every square inch from my chin to the base of my neck. For a split second, fear washes over me, and my eyes widen with panic. I suck in a deep breath as I await his next step.

  However, he doesn’t squeeze.

  He merely holds his hand there in warning. His eyes darken, a cloudy storm of rage playing out before me, and he closes them briefly, as if to regain control. As if he’s forcing himself not to choke me. Of all the things Adrian’s done, he’s never laid a harmful hand on me, and he’s never given me cause to believe he would. But right now? I’m not so sure that he won’t.

  “You. Are. Not. Leaving,” he spits out through clenched teeth. He sighs and shakes his head as if to assuage his temper. When his eyes reopen, the storm has calmed. “Who gave you the bag you packed to leave me with? Who took you to those designer shops and watched as you gleefully picked out enough clothing that could last you years without wearing the same outfit twice? Who handed over his card to pay for them each and every time? Who, sweetheart, paid off your student loans, replaced that shithole piece of junk you called a vehicle, and has kept a roof over your head?”

  I swallow hard, knowing he’s right but not wanting to give in so easily. Is this what he wanted all along? For me to be so completely dependent on him that I couldn’t leave? How could I have been so stupid?

  “I’ll find a job. I did it before you, and I can do it without you. I don’t need your things. I don’t need any of it.”

  He laughs in disbelief before he grins down at me as if I’ve just said the most amusing thing. His hand, thank God, moves from my throat up to cup my cheek. “Oh, my sweet, sweet Gabriella. So naïve. So compliant. So trusting. Just as I knew you’d be from the moment I saw you.”

  My brow wrinkles in confusion. “Excuse me?” Does he mean at The Daily Grind? Is that why he was so keen to find out about me? My family life—or lack thereof? Oh my God. Was this all planned from the very start? Did he read me that easily? Did he know I was lost, alone, and craving affection?

  My mind reels as I wonder if everything between us has been a lie. It couldn’t be, could it?

  Before I can collect my thoughts, he interrupts, laughing me off. “Where will you go? Who will help you? Poor, little orphan Gabriella. No parents. No friends. No one but me. I am all you have, and while I may not be perfect, I have always treated you well. Have you ever wanted for anything?”

  Lately? Your affection, I think, but I know better than to do anything other than shake my head. His words replay in my head, and my shoulders slump because I know he’s right. Without Adrian, I have nothing. I have no one. And if I’m totally honest, I don’t think I even have myself anymore.

  “Exactly. Who takes care of you?” he prods.

  Queasiness forms in my stomach, but I play along in the hope that this will end quickly. “You, Adrian,” I whisper, knowing that every single penny in my bank account has his fingerprints on it. Nearly every piece of clothing I own was purchased by him. My car, the blue Honda Civic my parents surprised me with on my sixteen birthday, is probably in a junkyard somewhere, being dismantled for spare parts, while I now drive around in a Lexus courtesy of my no-longer-beloved Adrian.

  Everything I own . . . I actually don’t.

  I realize he’s right. I’m on a leash and he’s the one holding it. There is no way I can leave him. But now, instead of feeling like that queen in the castle, I feel like a common whore—and not the Pretty Woman kind. A naïve idiot who fell for the charming smile, the beautiful promises, and completely missed the treacherous snake lying beneath the surface.

  He nods, apparently blind—or uncaring—to the mental anguish rising within me. “Good. You’d be wise to remember that.” He releases my face and steps back, glancing at my Coach bag lying on the floor. No longer is it my lifeline, my escape. It’s now my proverbial chain, binding me to him. “I will forget this minor lapse in judgment, but see that it doesn’t happen again. I do not usually take kindly to such accusations. Especially when you should know me better. Nor, Gabriella, do I appreciate your threatening to leave.”

  I have no idea how he can even say that to me. As I study him, I’m aware that I don’t know him at all. Maybe I never did. Still, I nod my compliance, swallowing the bile that threatens to rise in my throat with the knowledge of how weak and pathetic I’ve become. I may not recognize Adrian, but I no longer recognize myself either. Can I fault him for that when I, as he said, was so naïve, trusting, and compliant? Did I want someone to love me so much that I was willing to give my independence away? And for what? Material possessions? Someone to take away the loneliness only to make me lonelier than I ever was before?

  All signs point to yes, and I don’t understand.

  “Words, Gabriella,” he snaps impatiently, and I know better than to argue when he’s in this mood. Grin and bear it—just like I’ve been doing for months.

  “You’re right. Thank you, Adrian. I will return those to the dry cleaners in hopes they can find their rightful home,” I tell him, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I smile brightly, like a girlfriend who actually believes her boyfriend’s ludicrous excuse. Anything to get him to leave. It doesn’t escape my attention that, instead of wishing he’d stay, I’m practically ready to push him out the door. “It won’t happen again. Have a safe trip.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head, apparently pleased with my compliance. It’s as if I’m finally seeing him for the first time. Or at least finally allowing myself to acknowledge the change in him. I no longer believe that my Adrian is in there. All traces of the charming man who loved me, cherished me, and treated me like I was his whole world are gone. Instead, there’s a stranger looking down at me with gleeful ownership just as a master would look upon his servant. I’m almost waiting for him to pat me on the head and say, “Good dog,” before he offers me a treat as a reward for my obedience. Except this time, no treat is given.

  Without even so much as a kiss, he turns and picks my bag up—apparently to take it with him. Still unmoving from my rigid position on the counter, I watch as he walks away from me. Just as he gets to the door, he turns and looks at me.

  “Oh, and, Gabriella?” he calls, pausing to ensure he has my full attention.

  My eyes meet his cold, narrowed ones.

  “Remember yourself. I have eyes and ears everywhere. I do not like to spy, so please don’t make me feel like I have to. You are mine, Gabriella, until I say you aren’t. You will be here when I get back, and you will do just as we discussed last night. You will oversee the building project to my specifications. It’s imperative they follow the blueprints to a T. Regardless of your little tantrum earlier, I trust you more than anyone, and I need someone I trust here. Do not let me down.”

  Biting my lip, I nod, torn between wanting to hate him and wanting to preen because he trusts me. I hate myself for it.

  “Good.” He sighs and rubs his hand on his chin. “I need you now, more than you know. If, in the future, you decide you still wish to leave, we can discuss going our separate ways. But for now, don’t even think about of it.”

  Whatever happened to the days of I love you. You’re mine. I’ll never let you go. Instead, I’m treated like a plaything, and it doesn’t escape my attention that he has yet to tell me that he loves me. Or, for that matter, show me any affection at all the way he used to before leaving for an extended trip.

  He clears his throat, and I look up just in time
to see his eyes glance to the panties and then back to me. “And in the future, sweetheart, it’d do you well to refrain from asking questions you do not wish to know the answer to.”

  My heart sinks at his insinuation, and I know the truth. I think I’ve always known, but now, in his arrogance, he’s told me all I need to know. The truth is that I am one of many and there’s no way I can stay.

  “You don’t own me,” I whisper as soon as he’s out of the room.

  A chuckle resounds from the hall. “Don’t I?” he challenges.

  Those two words nearly cause me to break down, but I refuse to cry. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s broken me. Instead, I close my eyes and take deep breaths, hoping he doesn’t return. I’m too numb to respond. Too numb to move. I sit stock-still, his semen drying on my stomach a reminder of his cruelty and his uncanny ability to make me still want him.

  I listen as he finishes packing and then leaves through the front door without even bothering to say goodbye. I don’t mind. I don’t want to see him again. At least, not yet. Maybe not ever.

  The longer I sit there, the more I know I can no longer do this. I may have no one. I may have nothing. But as long as I regain my sense of self, that’s all I need. And I have less than a month to do it. Hot tears trickle down my cheeks as a plethora of mixed emotions rolls through me. Sadness. Anger. Confusion. Defeat.

  I shake my head at the last thought. No, not defeat. I refuse to succumb to it. To him. He may have won this battle, but there’s a war on the horizon, and I will win—no matter what. With renewed resolve, I’m determined to rise from the ashes and become the woman I once was. The woman I was raised to be—not this weak shell that’s taken over my very existence.