“To kiss me?”
A lifted shoulder is his only reply. I purse my mouth.
“Wow, okay. My bad for looking for a little affection.”
“I don’t really do affection, now do I?”
“Guess not,” I snap coldly, stepping back from him.
Kratos levels a withering gaze at me. “If that’s going to be a problem for you, perhaps you should have thought twice before torching my car.”
I bark a cold, brittle laugh. “Wow, we’re still on that?”
“It is what it is.”
“Married people kiss,” I mutter.
“Well, we’re not really a married couple, are we?”
I bristle, my eyes hardening on him. “I guess not. Actually,” I snap coldly, “I guess we’re not a real couple at all.”
I whirl to storm away. Then I flinch when he roughly grabs my arm and spins me back around. I shiver when I come face to face with his wrath, his face darkened and angry.
“I don’t do lovey-fucking-dovey, Bianca. I don’t do snuggles, or affectionate kisses.” His nostrils flare. “I don’t do kisses at all, actually.”
I roll my eyes. “Right, sorry, my mistake!” I spit. “You just like to chase girls around in the dark wearing a fucking mask and playing out rape fantasies with them!”
“You’d know.”
I stiffen, glaring at him. “What are we?” I hiss. “An arrangement?”
“We’re a peace treaty, Bianca.”
“So,” I seethe, “none of this matters? None of this means shit?”
He leans closer to me, his grip on my arm tightening.
“Do you enjoy it when I chase you?”
I swallow.
“When I catch you, and hurt you…” He looms over me, that ominous inky black power I always feel radiating off him in the church flexing around us. “When I fuck you?”
Kratos’ hand suddenly teases across my stomach. I tremble, my breath sucking in as his fingers slip into the waist of my yoga pants before pushing lower. His hand delves under the lace of my panties, and I bite my lip as his thick finger pushes lower, dragging through my wet lips.
He chuckles darkly to himself.
“Your drippy, messy pussy says yes.”
It should turn me on. Okay, it does turn me on. A lot. So much so that part of me wants to beg him to take me right here.
But still, it’s not the same. And not just because we’re not in the church and he’s not wearing a mask.
All the other times we’ve played this game, it’s on equal footing. Yes, I play the role of the submissive, and him the uber Dom. But we’re coming to it with the same needs, wanting the same thing for the same reasons.
This time, he’s doing it to win an argument. To “prove a point”, or at the very least, to silence my dissent.
And that really, really rubs me the wrong way.
Somehow, summoning almost superhuman powers, I grab his wrist and shove his hand away, stepping back until it slips out of my panties.
Kratos looks half pissed and half amused as I adjust my yoga pants. Then I glare at him coldly.
“Is that all this is?” I choke. “Is that all we are? Just…sex?”
He gives me a hard stare. The seconds tick by as my nerves fray raw.
“That’s all I have,” he growls quietly. “Better get used to it.”
I physically recoil, like he’s just slapped me. Then I draw in a breath, collecting myself.
“I’m going for a walk.”
Without another word, I turn, storming downstairs and out the front door.
Fuck you.
Anger, resentment, and humiliation boil inside me as I power walk through my new neighborhood. I almost want to scream, or break something, or maybe go get drunk. Instead, I find one of the many small little gardens that dot the Lower East Side and plant myself on a bench.
