She doesn’t mean what she’s saying. She’s angry. She would never leave me. Yes, I lied to her. Yes, I paid a shit-ton of money to make it look like her brother’s benefits were cancelled. But it was a temporary fix. She would have come crawling back to me eventually if it weren’t for that. I just made it easier on her.
“Is that what you think? That you’ve been a prisoner here?” I ask. “Do I not give you a place to sleep? Buy your groceries? Give you nice things? Allow you to go to college? Drive my cars?” I walk across the kitchen and don’t slow down when I reach her. I walk her backward until she’s pressed against the wall, my hands caging her in. “Don’t you dare stand here-in my home-and imply that you didn’t have every opportunity in the world to walk out that fucking door.”
I push off the wall and point toward the living room. “Go. If you don’t love me anymore, fucking leave!”
She would never leave. I know this, because if she left, that would mean she’s been using me for my money these last two years. Using me as a sole means to support her goddamn waste-of-space brother. If that’s the case, that would make her a whore by definition.
And I’m not marrying a fucking whore.
Sloan glances at the door and then looks back at me. She shakes her head, and I swear she smiles. “Goodbye, Asa. Enjoy your life.”
She begins walking toward the front door. “I do enjoy my life, Sloan. I enjoy it a whole fucking bunch!”
I allow her to reach the front door before I walk after her. She’s not even to the grass before I have my arm wrapped around her waist, my hand over her mouth. I turn her around and walk her back into the goddamn house she’s so ungrateful for. I carry her straight up to the bedroom and kick open the door. I toss her onto the bed and she tries to scoot off and run around me.
How cute.
I grab her by the hair and swing her back to the bed. She screams, but I put a stop to that with my hand. I climb on top of her, covering her mouth with one hand and holding her wrists down with the other. There’s not much I can do about her legs as she does her best to kick her way out from under me, but I have more strength in one finger than she does in her entire body. It feels more like she’s tickling me than attempting to hurt me.
“Listen up, Babe,” I whisper, staring down at her. “If you try to insinuate that you don’t love me, I’m going to be really upset. Really fucking upset. Because that would mean you’ve been pretending with me since the day you walked back through my door. That would mean you’ve been faking every orgasm, every kiss, every word you’ve ever spoken to me-simply for a monthly check. And if that were true, that would make you a whore, Sloan. Do you know what men like me do to whores?”
Her eyes are wide with fear. Hopefully that means I’m getting through to her. She’s no longer attempting to kick her way out from under me, so that’s a good sign.
“That was a question, babe. Do you know what men like me do to whores?”
A tear falls out of her eye as she shakes her head. I can feel the breath from her nostrils slamming against my hand; she’s struggling so hard for more air.
I lower my mouth to her ear. “Please don’t make me show you.”
We lay like this for a few more moments, making sure my words are sinking in. I pull back and look down at her. Her expression hasn’t changed, but now she’s crying so hard against my hand, snot is coming from her nose. It’s on my fucking hand now. I pull it away from her mouth and wipe it on the bed. Then I grab the sleeve of my shirt and I wipe her face clean.
Her lips are quivering. I don’t know why I’ve never noticed how fucking attractive that is. I kiss her softly, closing my eyes while her lips tremble against mine. “Do you love me?” I carefully whisper the words against her mouth. “Or are you a whore?”
A shaky breath passes her lips. “I love you,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I was just upset, Asa. I don’t like it when you lie to me.”
I press my forehead to the side of her head and exhale. In a way, she’s right. I probably should have never lied to her about her brother. But if she were in my shoes, she’d have done the same thing.
“Don’t ever get angry like that with me again, Sloan.” I pull back and brush her hair out of her face. It’s sweaty, and sticks to my hand. I run my fingers through it, smoothing it out with the rest of her hair.
“I don’t like what it does to me,” I say quietly. “What it makes me want to have to do to you.”
She nods. “I don’t like it, either,” she says.