Chapter 41

Jennie

Tired yet hyper after talking to my parents, I walk up the stairs toward our bedroom. Though a part of me still wishes I could've shielded my family from my new life, I'm relieved that they now know the truth.

That they know the woman I've become and still love me.

Reaching the bedroom, I open the door and step inside. No lights are on in the room, and as I close the door behind me, I wonder where Lisa might be. While I'm glad I got the chance to clear the air with my parents, the fact that she left dinner without a good explanation worries me. Did something happen, or did she simply get tired of us?

Did she get tired of me?

Just as the devastating thought crosses my mind, I notice a dark shadow standing by the window.

My pulse jumps, my skin prickling with primitive terror as I fumble for the light switch.

"Leave it." Lisa's voice comes out of the darkness, and my knees almost buckle with relief.

"Oh, thank God. For a second, I didn't realize it was—" I begin, and then her harsh tone registers. "You," I finish uncertainly.

"Who else would it be?" My wife turns and crosses the room, approaching me with the silent gait of a predator. "It's our bedroom. Or have you forgotten that?" She places her hands on both sides of the wall behind me, caging me in.

I draw in a startled breath, pressing my palms against the cold wall. Lisa is clearly in a mood, and I have no idea what set her off. "No, of course not," I say slowly, staring at her shadowed features. There's so little light that all I can make out is the faint glitter of her eyes. "What do you—"

She steps closer, molding her lower body to mine, and I gasp as I feel her hard cock against my belly. She's naked and already aroused, her hot scent surrounding me as she holds me trapped in place. Even through the separating layer of my dress, I can feel the lust pulsing within her—lust and something much, much darker.

My body awakens with a jolt, my pulse quickening on a surge of fear. This must be it: the punishment I've been expecting. With the doctors having deemed me healed earlier today, my reprieve is over.

"Lisa?" Her name comes out on a choked breath as she grips the nape of my neck, her long fingers nearly encircling my throat. Her body is uncompromising around me. One squeeze of those steely fingers, and she'd crush my throat. The thought chills me, yet a hollow ache coils in my core, my nipples peaking with harsh arousal. The anger coming off her is palpable, and it calls to something savage inside me, fueling the dark fire simmering within.

If she's decided to finally punish me, I'm going to make damn sure I get what I deserve.

She leans into me, her breath warm on my face, and at that moment, I make my move. My right hand forms a fist at my side, and I swing upward with all my strength, striking the underside of her chin. At the same time, I twist to the right, breaking her grip on my neck, and duck under het extended arm, whirling around to hit her in the back.

Except she's no longer there.

In the half-second it took me to turn, Lisa moved, as quick and deadly as any assassin. Instead of connecting with her back, the sharp edge of my palm slams into her elbow, and I cry out as the impact sends a shock of pain through my arm.

"Fuck!" Her furious hiss is accompanied by a blurringly fast movement. Before I can react, she's got me encircled in her arms, my wrists crossed in front of my chest and her left leg wrapped around my knees to prevent me from kicking. With her holding me from behind, I can't bite her, and my attempts to head-butt her chin fall woefully short as she keeps her face out of my reach.

All that training, and she subdued me in three seconds flat.

Frustration mingles with adrenaline, adding to the fury brewing inside me. Fury at her for taunting me with tenderness these two weeks, and most of all, fury at myself.

My fault, my fault, it's all my fault. The words are a vicious drumbeat in my mind. Guilt, bitter and thick, rises in my throat, choking me as it mixes with the aching grief.

Rosé. Our baby. Dozens of men dead.

The sound that bursts out of my throat is something between a growl and a sob. Despite the futility of it, I begin to fight, bucking and twisting in Lisa's iron hold. I don't have much leverage, but with one of her legs restraining mine, my frantic, jerky movements are enough to push her off-balance.

With a loud curse, she falls backward, still gripping me tightly. Her back takes the brunt of the fall. I hardly feel the impact as she grunts and immediately rolls over, pinning me to the hard wooden floor. Disregarding her heavy weight on top of me, I continue fighting, struggling with all my strength. The cold wood presses into my face, but the discomfort barely registers.

My fault, my fault, all my fault.

Half-panting, half-sobbing, I try to kick back, to scratch her, to make her feel even a tiny fraction of the pain consuming me inside. My muscles scream with strain, but I don't stop—not when Lisa wrenches my wrists back and ties them at the small of my back with her belt, and not even when she drags me up by my elbow and hauls me to the bed.

I fight as she tears off my dress and underwear, as she fists her hand in my hair and forces me up on my knees. I fight as though I'm fighting for my life, as though the person holding me is my worst enemy instead of my greatest love. I fight because she's strong enough to take the fury inside me.

Because she's strong enough to take it away from me.

As I writhe in her brutal hold, her knee forces apart my legs, and her cock presses against my entrance. In one savage thrust, she penetrates me from behind, and I cry out at the pain, at the unutterable relief of her possession. I'm wet, but not enough, not nearly enough, and each punishing thrust scrapes me raw, hurting me, healing me. My thoughts scatter, the chant inside my mind disappearing, and all that's left is the feel of her body inside mine, the pain and the agonizing pleasure of our need.

I'm rushing toward orgasm when Lisa begins talking to me, growling that she'll always keep me, that I'll never belong to anyone but her. There is a dark threat implicit in her words, a promise that she'll stop at nothing. Her ruthlessness should terrify me, yet as my body explodes in release, fear is the last thing on my mind.

All I'm cognizant of is sheer and utter bliss.

She flips me onto my back then, releasing my wrists, and I realize that at some point, I did stop fighting. The fury's gone, and in its place is deep exhaustion and relief.

Relief that Lisa still wants me. That she'll punish me, but won't send me away.

So when she grips my ankles and props them on her shoulders, I don't resist. I don't fight when she leans forward, nearly folding me in half, and I don't struggle when she scoops the abundant moisture from my sex and smears it between my ass cheeks. It's only when I feel her thickness poised at that other opening that I utter a wordless sound of protest, my sphincter tightening as my hands move to push against her chest. It's a weak, mostly symbolic gesture—I can't possibly move Lisa off me that way—but even that slight hint of resistance seems to enrage her.

"Oh, no, you don't," she growls, and in the faint light from the window, I see the dark glitter of her eyes. "You don't get to deny me this, to deny me anything. I own you . . . every inch of you." She presses forward, her massive cock forcing me open as she whispers harshly, "If you don't relax that ass, my pet, you'll regret it."

I shudder with perverse arousal, my nails digging into her chest as the tight ring of muscle gives in to the merciless pressure. The burning invasion is agonizing, my insides roiling as she pushes in deeper and deeper. It's been months since she's taken me like this, and my body's forgotten how to handle this, how to relax into the overly full sensation. Squeezing my eyelids shut, I attempt to breathe through it, to remain strong, but tears, stupid, betraying tears, come anyway, trickling out from the corners of my eyes.

It's not the pain that makes me cry, though, or my body's twisted response to it.

It's the knowledge that my punishment isn't over, that Lisa still hasn't forgiven me.

That she may never forgive me.

"Do you hate me?" The question escapes before I can hold it back. I don't want to know, but at the same time, I can't bear to keep silent. Opening my eyes, I stare at the dark figure above me. "Lisa, do you hate me?"

She stills, her cock lodged deep within me. "Hate you?" Her body tenses, her lust-roughened voice filling with disbelief. "What the fuck, Jennie? Why would I hate you?"

"Because I miscarried." My voice quavers. "Because our child died because of me."

For a second, she doesn't respond, and then, with a low curse, she pulls out, making me gasp in pain.

"Fuck!" She releases me, moving back on the bed. The sudden absence of her heat and her weight over me is startling, as is the light from the bedside lamp she turns on. It takes a moment before my eyes adjust to the brightness and I make out the expression on het face.

"You think I blame you for what happened?" she asks hoarsely, sitting back on her haunches. Her eyes burn with intensity as she stares at me, her cock still fully erect. "You think it was somehow your fault?"

"Of course it was." I sit up, feeling the stinging soreness deep inside, where she was just buried. "I'm the one who wanted to go to Chicago, to go to that club. If not for me, none of this would've—"

"Stop." Her harsh command vibrates through me even as her features contort with something resembling pain. "Just stop, baby, please."

I fall silent, staring at her in confusion. Wasn't that what this whole scene was about? My punishment for disappointing her? For endangering myself and our child?

Still holding my gaze, she takes a deep breath and moves toward me. "Jennie, my pet . . ." She takes my face in her palms. "How could you possibly think that I hate you?"

I swallow. "I'm hoping you don't, but I know you're angry—"

"You think I'm angry because you wanted to see your parents? To go out dancing and have fun?" Her nostrils flare. "Fuck, Jennie, if the miscarriage is anyone's fault, it's mine. I shouldn't have let you go to that bathroom on your own—"

"But you couldn't have known—"

"And neither could you." She takes a deep breath and lowers her hands to my lap, clasping my palms in her warm grasp. "It wasn't your fault," she says roughly. "None of it was your fault."

I dampen my dry lips. "So then why—"

"Why was I angry?" Her beautiful mouth twists. "Because I thought you wanted to leave me. Because I misinterpreted something you said to your parents tonight."

"What?" My eyebrows pull together in a frown. "What did I— Oh." I recall my offhand comment, born of fear and insecurity. "No, Lisa, that's not what I meant," I begin, but she squeezes my hands before I can explain further.

"I know," she says softly. "Believe me, baby, now I know."

We stare at each other in silence, the air thick with echoes of violent sex and dark emotions, with the aftermath of lust and pain and loss. It's strange, but in this moment, I understand her better than ever. I see the woman behind the monster, the woman who needs me so much she'll do anything to keep me with her.

The woman I need so much I'll do anything to stay with her.

"Do you love me, Lisa?" I don't know what gives me the courage to pose the question now, but I have to know, once and for all. "Do you love me?" I repeat, holding her gaze.

For a few moments, she doesn't move, doesn't say anything. Her grip on my hands is tight enough to hurt. I can feel the struggle within her, the longing warring with the fear. I wait, holding my breath, knowing she may never open herself up like this, may never admit the truth even to herself. So when she speaks, I'm almost caught off-guard.

"Yes, Jennie," she says hoarsely. "Yes, I love you. I love you so fucking much it hurts. I didn't know it, or maybe I just didn't want to know it, but it's always been there. I spent most of my life trying not to feel, trying not to let people get close to me, but I fell for you from the very beginning. It just took me two years to realize it."

"What made you realize it?" I whisper, my heart aching with relieved joy. She loves me. Up until this moment, I didn't know how desperately I needed the words, how much their lack weighed on me. "When did you know?"

"It was the night we came back home." Her throat moves as she swallows. "It was when I lay here next to you. I let myself truly feel it then—the pain of losing our baby, the pain of losing all those other people in my life—and I realized I'd been trying to protect myself from the agony of losing you. Trying to keep myself from loving you so it wouldn't destroy me. Except it was too late. I was already in love with you. I had been for a long time. Obsession, addiction, love—it's all the same thing. I can't live without you, Jennie. Losing you would destroy me. I can survive anything but that."

"Oh, Lisa . . ." I can't imagine what it took for this strong, ruthless woman to admit this. "You won't lose me. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know you're not." Her eyes narrow, all traces of vulnerability fading from her features. "Just because I love you doesn't mean I'll ever let you go."

A shaky laugh escapes my throat. "Of course. I know that."

"Ever." She seems to feel the need to emphasize that.

"I know that too."

She stares at me then, her hands holding mine, and I feel the pull of her wordless command. She wants me to admit my feelings too, to bare my soul to her as she's just bared her to me. And so I give her what she demands.

"I love you, Lisa," I say, letting her see the truth of that in my gaze. "I'll always love you—and I don't want you to ever let me go."

I don't know if she moves toward me then, or if I make the move first, but somehow her mouth is on mine, her lips and tongue devouring me as she holds me in her inescapable embrace. We come together in pain and pleasure, in violence and passion.

We come together in our kind of love.

The next morning, I stand next to the runway and watch as the plane carrying my parents home takes off. When it's nothing more than a small dot in the sky, I turn to Lisa, who's standing beside me holding my hand.

"Tell me again," I say softly, looking up at her.

"I love you." Her eyes gleam as she meets my gaze. "I love you, Jennie, more than life itself."

I smile, my heart lighter than it's been in weeks. The shadow of grief is still with me, as is the lingering feeling of guilt, but the darkness no longer clouds everything. I can picture a day when the pain will fade, when all I'll feel is contentment and joy.

Our troubles aren't over—they can't be, with us being who we are—but the future no longer frightens me. Soon, I'll need to bring up the pretty doctor and Jackson's plan for revenge, and at some point later, we'll have to discuss the possibility of another child and how to deal with the ever-present danger of our lives.

For now, though, we don't need to do anything but enjoy each other.

Enjoy being alive and in love.