Breaking Him (Love is War #1)(65)

“I did it to hurt you,” I admitted, the words wrenched from my soul.

He tried to kiss me, but I fought him, heaving away.

“What about you and her? Was that only to hurt me?”

He looked so crushed at the question that I lost my breath.

He couldn’t even meet my eyes.

“Answer me. I answered you, so you answer me, you son of a bitch. Was that only to hurt me?”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was unsteady. “It’s complicated.”

I should’ve known better than to ask. The wound had been festering but at least it hadn’t been fresh. Now it felt opened anew, and it hurt much more.

Of course, that wasn’t what I’d wanted to hear. I wanted an answer as uncomplicated as mine had been.

The Bastard.

But I’d known the answer before I asked it. The timeline didn’t add up. He’d betrayed me with her before he ever had a reason to want to hurt me like that.

“I hate you,” I told him, quietly and vehemently.

“I hate that I still love you.” Just as quiet, just as vehement. Far more destructive.

God, with just a few words he’d almost defeated me. I was a sore loser, though, so I did my best to recover and limp away.

I was nearly clear of the room, one foot already in the bathroom, when he finished me.

“I hate that I’ll never stop,” his voice was soft but no less impactful.

I went into the bathroom and locked him out.

I was in the shower before I realized what he’d done. I’d gone to bed with one chain around my neck and woken up with two.

I held up the newest one. It was a key.

The bastard had put it on me while I slept.

He’d keep me chained to him in spite of everything. This I knew. I hadn’t needed proof.





CHAPTER





THIRTY-ONE





PAST


We were at our old swimming hole. We hadn’t meant to come here, we’d just been walking and talking and stumbled upon it, and once we saw it we remembered.

The spot was nothing new to us, and it shouldn’t have been so strange, except that it’d been a long time since we’d been here, years at least now that I thought about it, and I didn’t have a swimsuit.

Still, when we were kids I’d gone swimming in my T-shirt all the time. Dante never said anything about it, in fact, even though I was sure he had more swim trunks than he could count back home, he’d usually just join me in his shorts, and even though I knew he only did that to make me feel better, which should have made me feel worse, I appreciated the gesture.

My shirt now was too short for me. It barely reached the top of my high-waisted, too tight jean shorts, but I didn’t care. I figured my underwear covered at least as much as most bikini bottoms, and I had a nice flat tummy that seemed to draw Dante’s eye whenever the least bit of skin was exposed.

We couldn’t be near each other these days without him fixating on me. And if I showed a bit of skin, well, that was even more gratifying.

I absolutely ate it up. I couldn’t get enough of his attention.

“We doing this?” he asked me with a smile.

In answer, I unsnapped my bra through my shirt, wiggled out of it, then shimmied my shorts off. Wearing nothing but a thin white, almost half shirt and lavender panties, I made a dash for the water, leaving Dante behind.

I didn’t look back at him until I was fully submerged to find him still staring at me.

I smiled. He was slack-jawed and hadn’t so much as shrugged off his shirt. “You coming in or what, slow-poke?”

That seemed to shake him out of it, and I had my own moment of slack-jawed staring to do as he peeled off his shirt and then took off his jeans.

He joined me in nothing but his boxers. He was about three steps into the water when I rose out of it, watching his eyes on my body, the way he swallowed, how his breathing changed to ragged.

And my eyes moved down his body to stare in fascination at what his boxers couldn’t hide.

What I saw made me realize two things at once—how badly he wanted me, and how quickly this was going to get out of hand, both of which galvanized me into action.

With a cocky grin, I strode by him to the shore, past it to the wall of rock and started climbing. It was a short climb and easier than it looked. The wall of rock was dotted with almost perfectly placed handholds and inside each one a nice thick patch of spongy moss had grown big and strong enough to grab and hold. I scaled the wall and made it up onto the rock in less than a minute, just like old times, as though it hadn’t been years since we’d done this.

I waved to him from above. He hadn’t moved, and I’d caught him again very obviously staring at me.

I glanced down at myself. With my thin, white shirt wet, I may as well have been topless. Actually, somehow it felt even more indecent than that. Almost without thinking, I tried to cover myself with both hands but as I did, I realized that grabbing handfuls of myself was even worse.

I looked at him again. He was still frozen in place, staring intently. He looked like he wanted to devour me whole.

With a trembling breath, I let go of my breasts, letting them bounce free, straining against the thin, wet material of my shirt. With a smile I took a running jump off the rock.

He was on me the second I surfaced, hands on my hips. He yanked me to him and started kissing me, his hands slipping around to my ass, pushing my sex flush to his.