Throne of Truth (Truth and Lies Duet #2)(67)

“Fucking hell...” Pulling his fingers away, he brought them to his lips and licked. His eyes rolled back, his knees buckled. He stumbled away to slam onto the bed. “Christ, I missed you.”

I expected him to command me to join him. To reach out and tug my wrist to strip me of everything and command me to my hands and knees. I didn’t care what position he wanted. I just wanted.

But he leaned forward with his hands clutching his head, the slickness of my desire still coating his fingers. “As much as I want you. Shit, I can’t—”

Ice water replaced the fire inside. I brushed my skirt down, wishing I had scaffolding for my knees to hold up the wreck he’d made of them. “Wh—what?”

He shook his head, bending over his legs. “I can’t. We’re in fucking prison. You came here for me. You’re ruining your life for me just so I can get laid.”

“Hey!” My temper burst. “You have it all wrong.” Moving to stand in front of him, I snapped, “I’m here because I want to be here. I want you to do this.” I stroked his hair, running my fingers through the overgrown strands. “I need you to do this.”

He looked up, swatting my hand away with rage. “I’m not going to fuck you in jail, Elle.” His eyes turned tortured as they skimmed over the beads of my nipples visible in the tight singlet I wore. “Even though I’m dying to be inside you.”

I stepped back, searching his face.

In all my planning and hounding for this night to happen, I never envisioned him refusing me.

God, it hurt.

My chest squeezed as if my ribs had become an overzealous corset. My heart slunk away, reprehended with its tail between its legs. My breath caught when he looked up, glowering with unflinching morality. “You should go, Elle.”

“Go?”

He nodded. “I can’t do this with you.”

I hated he was firm with commitment and convicted with certainty. The decision to deny what we desperately needed from each other all because of some stupid ideal.

He’d made that decision without me. He’d reached that conclusion without discussing it.

As we stared, I fought for calmness. An assurance that he couldn’t just kick me out. That we had twelve hours. I’d paid ten dollars for this room. I’d signed the forms that promised no cameras would record our time, no recording devices, or guard supervision.

We were on prison property, but this room was neutral ground.

I crossed my arms. “Nope.”

“Nope?”

“Just nope.”

He frowned. “What?”

“I’m not going to let you ruin this.”

Anger etched his face. “Let me ruin this?” He pointed at me. “You’re the one ruining it.”

I threw my hands up. “How exactly am I ruining this? We have an entire night together. We should be tangled almost at an orgasm by now, but you’re the one who pulled away and complicated things.”

He stood, raking fingers through his hair with a rage that sent my heart grabbing a white flag of surrender. “Don’t, Elle. Don’t start a fight you can’t win.”

“Oh, it’s a fight now?”

How had this veered off course so badly?

But maybe...maybe that was what we needed?

We’d never had a fight. We’d started under false pretenses and then been torn apart before we could reconcile them. I still had unresolved frustration at being lied to. He still had issues from the past. Everything I knew about Penn was obscure and given to me by third parties.

The more I searched inside—past the guilt at being the reason why he was locked up, beyond the drive to get him free, was anger.

I thought I’d let it go. That I’d forgiven him for treating me as if I was nothing. That I understood why he’d been a jerk.

But...I haven’t.

The anger still burned, bright and red and throbbing with explosives ready to spread shrapnel far and wide.

“It’s not a fight if you just leave. Go home where I know you’re safe.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want you here, Elle.”

I understood his pride. His desire for me not to see him caged like an animal. But at the same time, he had to get over that. This was our life—for however long the gods in power wanted to play with us mere mortals.

He couldn’t take the brief moments of happiness we might find and throw them in the gutter.

“What about what I want?”

His head whipped up. “What about it?”

My eyes burned with tears, but they were rage-filled tears. Tears I could hold back and swallow while I spoke the words clambering over one another to be spoken. “Don’t I get a say in any of this?”

“Any of what?” His jaw clenched. “You’re not the one locked up, so don’t—”

“You’re right. I’m not. But I am the one paying for what I failed to do three years ago.”

All the oxygen evaporated.

I couldn’t breathe.

Penn didn’t breathe.

We stood in solid gravity, waiting for life to return.

When it did, it smashed into us, and everything we’d held back—all the truths we daren’t speak and accusations we daren’t think ricocheted like bullets.