The ride home is silent after that. Tense and heavy.
Marie’s quiet next to me. She reached over to take my hand after Aslan’s outburst. But hasn’t said anything.
Aslan’s grip on the steering wheel is tight, his knuckles pale, muscles flexed under the ink lining his hands. His face is a stony mask. I’m trying really hard to calm down and push away images of him shattering a guy’s face for barely touching me.
The SUV glides through Boston’s streets, the city lights flashing past us. I shift in my seat, sneaking a glance at the back of his head.
I don’t know what I expected. For him to yell at me some more? Throw me over his knee for a spanking? Instead, he’s locked down. He’s stiff and silent. Like all he had to do was flip a freaking switch. And I fucking hate it.
* * *
When we pull into the driveway, Aslan doesn’t bolt from the car this time. Instead, he steps out first, scanning the dark patches of trees by the gate. When he’s satisfied we are safe, he opens the car door for Marie and me.
“Inside,” he orders in a low bark I don’t even think about defying.
I expect him to leave after that, storm off like he did last time. But he follows us to the front door, standing just behind. When I step into the warm glow of the entryway, he pauses.
“Goodnight,” he says roughly.
Marie gives him a hesitant smile. “Thanks, Aslan.”
His eyes flick to her, and his features soften a bit as he gives her a nod.
Then his gaze cuts to me. And something dark flares in his icy blue eyes. His cut jaw clenching. Fuck, he’s hot. Scary, as all get-out, but panty-melting.
“Good. Night,” Aslan repeats, but this time it sounds more like a warning.
I open my mouth, having no clue what I’m about to say, but before I can speak, he’s gone.
* * *
Marie goes to the couch, flopping down on it with a sigh. I hover by the door, worrying my bottom lip.
Marie’s eyes are half-lidded. It’s late, and she must be tired from missing her husband and all my shit with Aslan.
I want to talk to her about the way he grabbed me earlier. How his fingers wrapped into my hair like he was barely holding himself back. And everything else that happened… I want to tell her about how I can’t decide if I want to slap him or kiss him. But I can’t.
Instead, I say. “I don’t think Aslan likes me.”
Marie yawns but her voice is soft when she replies, “he doesn’t really like anyone. Don’t take it personally.”
Yeah. That’s the problem. I can’t help taking everything that man does, and doesn’t do, way too personally…
* * *
Later, when I’m alone in my room, laying flat on my bed, in the dark, I can’t stop thinking about everything that went on tonight. I keep replaying it all, the club, the car, the way his fingers dug into my flesh like he wanted to mark me.
He’s cold, impossible to read, all hard edges and heavy silence. But he also makes me feel good. So fucking good… I should let it go. I should forget all about this impossible man and focus on trying to figure out what I’m gonna do with my life. But I can’t stop thinking about the way his gaze burns me like a brand. How his big hands feel all over me, inside me… I bury my face in my pillow and groan.
