Forget Her Name(42)

‘That their little girl isn’t quite so little anymore, I expect. But you have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s about time they stopped treating you like a child.’

His arms tighten about me, strong and comforting. I take several deep breaths and instantly feel better. Calmer, able to face the world again.

Dominic knows when I’m hiding something from him, though. He always knows. Putting a gentle finger under my chin, he tips my head back. ‘Hey, you okay in there?’

I gaze up at him silently.

He makes a noise under his breath, then kisses me. I kiss him back, hungry for affection. We sway together, and after a few minutes his hands slide down my spine, pressing me hard against him.

He’s aroused, I can feel it.

Then he cups my breast, running his thumb firmly over my nipple.

‘Dom . . .’

He doesn’t answer as he guides me backwards in a few shuffling steps to the sofa. I sit down, startled, his weight on top of me, and we keep on kissing.

His breathing has quickened, his tongue in my mouth. My heart hammering painfully, I cling onto his shoulders, my eyes shut tight, and hope he’s only playing. He likes to do stuff like this sometimes, to make love spontaneously, and push things too far. It’s not something I’m hugely comfortable with. But I think Dominic enjoys that element, too. Knowing that he’s forcing me beyond my limits, taking me places that I would never otherwise go.

Tonight though, I’m not in the mood to be pushed.

‘Not here,’ I say, our mouths close together. I panic, my skin in a cold sweat. ‘Let’s go in . . . in the bedroom. Please.’

He ignores me. Perhaps he thinks I’m play-fighting.

‘Dominic, no.’

I fight him in earnest, and he growls in my ear like an animal. A second later, he grabs my wrists and forces me back against the sofa cushions so I can’t get away. Then he crushes my mouth under his, effectively silencing me.

This isn’t a sex game anymore. It’s for real.





Chapter Twenty-Five

Dominic’s kisses are an assault. Or that’s how they feel. I wrench my head sideways and struggle for air. I’m suffocating under him. I can’t bear it any longer.

‘I said no, Dominic.’ I twist away, breathless and shaking. ‘I wasn’t joking, okay? I’m not in the mood.’

For a moment he stays where he is, kneeling on the sofa, his chest heaving. Then he pushes away from me and stands up, adjusting his clothing.

‘Sorry,’ he says thickly. ‘I forget sometimes that you . . . that we have different tastes.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

He makes a helpless gesture. ‘Nothing.’

‘Dom?’

He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I’m not trying to get at you. It’s just sometimes you can be a bit too passive in bed.’

‘Too passive,’ I repeat blankly.

‘For me.’

‘What, so now we’re sexually incompatible? That’s news to me, Dominic. Perhaps you could have discussed that with me before we got married.’

‘I thought . . . I assumed . . .’

But he doesn’t finish. He makes an angry noise under his breath and buries his head in his hands.

I stare at the wall and say nothing. The minutes pass, both of us silent and unmoving. I recall Rachel lying on her bed in here once, reading a vampire novel. It looked interesting, a glossy, exciting cover with a snappy title, but she wouldn’t let me see it. ‘It’s mine,’ she kept saying, her voice mean and taunting. ‘It’s a teen romance. With sex and everything. Not suitable for little girls.’ Though she could barely have been thirteen herself. But she thought of herself as mature, of course. Almost an adult. And I suppose she was frighteningly precocious.

Sometimes you can be a bit too passive in bed.

If Rachel had still been alive, would she have caught Dominic’s eye when we first started dating? Might he have preferred my more exciting sister to me?

I push the awful thought away. But it’s unsettled me, my hands clenched into fists. I shouldn’t have moved back into my parents’ house with Dominic. It was a mistake. There are too many bad memories here.

Dominic stands up eventually and turns, studying me. He holds out a hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and I can tell that he means it. That he’s worried by my silence. ‘That was a bad call. I misjudged your mood. I shouldn’t have treated you so roughly. Or said . . . that.’

I stand up too, taking his hand. I feel numb inside after our row. But perhaps he’s right, at least in part. Perhaps I’m not as demonstrative towards him as I should be. He’s my husband, after all.

‘It was a misunderstanding,’ I say.

‘All the same . . .’

‘I love you,’ I whisper.

He smiles then, the deep frown lines disappearing. His whole face lights up, as if the sun has suddenly appeared from behind dark clouds. ‘I love you too, Catherine.’

‘I meant what I said though.’

‘About?’

‘About Rachel still being alive.’

He shakes his head, then gently strokes a finger down my cheek. ‘You know that’s actually impossible, right?’

‘Is it?’