Page 32 of Untying the Knot
“Cut the shit, Nichole. You know the last thing I want to do is say hi to you.”
“What a greeting. And here I thought we were friends.”
“We were until you convinced Myla to break up with me after her father passed. Since then, you’ve been someone I’ve tolerated because I love my wife.”
Nichole’s face falls, and she’s about to open her mouth to reply, but I move Ryot out of the kitchen and toward the guest bedroom, out of earshot. The last thing I need is a fight between them.
When the door is closed, I turn toward him and say, “Don’t be rude to her. That was a while ago, and we’ve moved on.”
“She might have, but I never did. What is she doing here anyway?”
“She thought I needed support.”
“You, support?” he asks, his eyes blazing with fury. “How the fuck are you the one who needs support? I’m the one whose heart is being ripped out of his goddamn chest. I’m the one who was blindsided. I’m the one who thought everything was fine with this marriage.”And therein lies the problem. Ryot simply has no idea how desperately invisible I’ve felt for months. He’s lost sight of me in his world. In us.It’s why my heart feels so utterly crushed. Why I’ve felt so alone.
“That’s the problem, Ryot. It wasn’t fine. Nothing was fine about this marriage.”
“So you’re just giving up and tossing in the towel? Are you going out with Nichole so she can attempt to hook you up with some random guy?”
No, not even close. I don’t want to hook up with anyone, but I don’t like his tone or assumption, so for some stupid reason, I don’t deny it.
“I can do whatever the hell I want, Ryot.” I try to move past him, but he stops me with his hand on my hip. His domineering body towers over me as he moves me against the wall where his other hand falls to the white surface, right next to my face.
“You’re still my goddamn wife, Myla. That means you’re mine.” The hand gripping my hip tightens. “This body, it’s mine. That sassy mind of yours is mine. And those rose-colored lips that have explored every inch of my body? They still belong to me.” I stare up at him, ready to throw up my defenses, ready to tell him otherwise, but my body betrays me as my lungs pant for air, and my tongue wets my lips.
Ryot has always had control over my body. Not because he’s stolen it or taken what was not given to him, but because I offered every part of myself to this man, and he’s coddled it. He’s held it close to his heart. Like I said, sex has never been an issue. Ever. And right now, I can feel that urge, that need, that want to be with him. To have him pin me to the bed on my stomach, lift my ass in the air, and drive into me with that delicious cock of his.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asks, the cockiness in his voice immediately irritating me.
“No.” I look away, but he grips my chin and forces me to meet his intense glare.
“Yes, you fucking are.” His fingers now fall to my jaw, where he tips my head back against the wall. “You’re thinking about my cock and how delicious it feels thrusting in and out of you. You’re thinking about the control, the command I have on you. Tell me I’m fucking wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, my hands pushing at his chest. Even though he’s stronger than I am and would normally be unfazed by my push, he steps back, giving me space. “None of this matters.”
“The fuck it doesn’t,” he says. “You’re my wife. Therefore, you’re not permitted to even think about another man, not until those papers are signed.”
“Permitted?” I fold my arms. “Where do you get off acting like you control me?”
“You took vows, Myla,” he says in a low growl. “And until those vows are severed, you will respect them.”
“Uh-huh, and would that apply to you as well?”
“They don’t need to apply to me.” He closes the space between us and, this time, takes both of my hands in his and pins them above my head. He leans in so his nose grazes my cheek. “I don’t want anyone else. I don’t need anyone else. It’s you I think about. It’s you I want in my goddamn bed. It’s you I want wearing my ring.” His lips skim my ear. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Myla.”
“Don’t,” I choke out. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“Tell me you don’t love me.”
I shake my head. “No, because that would be a lie.”
His lips brush against my cheek. “Tell me you don’t want me.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t want you.”
“And that you can lie about?” he asks as his hand travels to the hem of my skirt and his fingers slip under the tight fabric. The calluses from many years of holding a bat drag over my sensitive skin as he smooths his hand all the way up to my hip, pulling the hem of the dress with it.
“I don’t want to want you,” I say.
