Chapter 35 : Miscommunications, Blah...

***Rosella...***

*...You never fucking belonged.*

Adrian's words haunt me like a nightmare; even after breaking out of the dream, the terror remains in the memories.

He called me by that name last night. The name that connects me to a family that brought me up but never was mine.

*Why would he do that?*

*And why did the clipped tone of his voice irk me so much?*

I overthink everything while I rock back and forth on the bed. Sheets pulled all the way down, I sit pressed against the headboard with my knees tucked under my chin, my fingers latched around my ankles.

I remember the moment Adrian walked out on me, muttering the most devastating words over his shoulders that have been threatening to destroy my sanity since then. I asked him for space. He gave it to me. But I chose the wrong words. So, he pushed me away like he hadn't just revealed his darkest muse.

*Why did he do that?*

I need answers. I have so many questions.

But above all, I have to tell him what I think and how I feel. I'm not sure, but I think I'm starting to understand how this whole thing works. At least, the thing that's between me and him. I don't have any experience in the dating sector. But I know enough that whatever it is between us, it's not romantic or stable. It won't bring us utter happiness.

*But it will be real. It'll be alive and passionate. I'll be something different and unique.*

Absent-mindedly, I trace the angry red welts on my inner thighs and shudder. Erotic memories assault my senses, deepening my breathing and spurring up my heart into quick action.

I don't know if I'm being overly optimistic to avoid the painful truth or I've become so desperate to be with him that I'm ignoring the physically bruising consequences of our union. What I do know is… I want to belong to him. The man who fills me with dread and sensuality. The man who's so fierce and hurtful in his possession, that he and only he has the potential to bond with me on a level that's deeper than flesh and bones.

*Something beyond physical… heartbreakingly beautiful in its depths and excruciatingly painful in its eternity.*

Pulling the black shirt closer to cover my body, I allow my tears to fall and purge my soul of all the anguish, before I begin to work on my courage so that I can face him again. Show him what he means to me and why he's the one I can't deny. I'm done fighting him and myself over the thing we both want but are wary to accept for different reasons.

But now, if we really want to be together, to suffer, to sacrifice and love each other all through it, then we'll have to choose. Fear or Fatuation. Both are equally woeful, but most rewarding in the end. We all have got issues and baggage, though it never stops us from living, even if it's just survival. It's certain that we'll never be free of our past. We'll struggle for the rest of our lives, both in the same way, for almost the same reasons.

*Then why not struggle together?*

I brush away the last of my tears with the sleeves of the silky shirt and make up my mind.

*When we can understand and heal each other in so many ways, then not be together? Why punish ourselves for the rest of our lives by settling with someone else who may or may not understand us, give us what we need and get why we need it in the first place?*

Scooting out of bed, I march into the closet and fling open the black ornate doors of the armoire. My eyes scheme over the range of wildly sexy and insanely expensive gowns, looking for the one that'll fit for a confession and a commitment that's exciting in its mystery and terrifying in its multiple results.

*With consent, Adrian may get carried away, take it too far and I end up dead.*

The thought pops out of nowhere. Every other concern on my mind dulls in front of its blazing inevitability. *How can we fix that? Is trust and faith enough?* A quiet voice in my head screams no. Adrian's control is non existential around me, especially when his emotions are driving his actions. He unravels in my suffering, lives for my pain. *How can I be sure that a few strokes and slaps would be enough for him? How can I be sure that he would stop before it's too late?*

I mull over the pensive thoughts and reach out randomly. Pulling free a long triple layered plum dress, I stare in astonishment at the stunning garb as I come to the expected conclusion that this issue can only be fixed through talking. Biting my lip, I turn to the side and press the dress against my front and watch the dark cloth drape over my snowy skin. This is the one.

The last of my doubts vanish when I settle with the purple dress and with the knowledge that my voice affects him. It's on a subconscious level, I realize now. Whenever I spoke to him in a certain manner, with a certain tone, he seemed to snap out of the darkness, as if my voice were his light and his way out of the depraved pits in his mind.

That's the only thing I remember that worked on him and gave him a pause and time to think over his actions. If it weren't for the effect of my voice, I think I'd have been done and dusted for a long time ago.

Sighing deeply, I clutch the dress close and exit the walk-in closet to rush to the bathroom.

It may have taken me a cold rejection and a sleepiness night in a cold bed to realise all this. But right now, I'm just glad that I realise this at all.

*I just hope it's not too late.*

**~**

When I come down, it doesn't take me long to seek out Adrian. All I have to do is follow his distant conversation into the kitchen and find him perched on one of the high stools.

“I'll be waiting here for both of you.” Adrian mutters in his phone then drops it beside his plate and digs into his food.

Barefoot and the long skirt of my gown bunched up in my fists, I pause near the threshold and take a minute to admire his straight back before I go in to face him head on. An elderly woman is scrambling around with pots and pans behind the counter, who I think is the new chef.

I catch her eyes and press my forefinger to my lips when her mouth gapes. I don't get it until later that her mouth had opened not only because of seeing me sneaking into the kitchen, but because of how I was doing the sneaking, in which garb. When I clasp my hands and silently plead with her to keep quiet, the woman swallows, glances at Adrian — turns even more pale — and quickly turns away.

I sigh and shift my gaze to settle on Adrian's back so that I can calm down my frayed nerves. But as soon as I shift, my eyes connect with piercing blue eyes instead of landing on silvery grey cloth stretched across a muscled back. I stop breathing, frozen by his haunting glare.

He has turned in his seat to watch me over his shoulder. But as his eyes trail down my body, I see his pupil dilate. He swallows the bite he had taken from his meal without chewing and drops his spoon with a loud clatter in his plate. My heartbeat turns erratic, spurring on my shallow breathing when he abandons his chair and charges at me. Jaws locked, eyes tight with anger.

*Oh shit!*

My first instinct is to scramble. But I fight the compulsion and drop my skirt to just stand there. The force of his whirling emotions buffets me when he reaches me, grabs my upper arm and jerks me closer. I gasp, stumbling on the sweeping length of my skirt curled around my feet and land on his chest as I try to regain my footing.

“What the hell are you wearing?” His electric eyes, charged with intense emotions, bore into mine. Unable to bear the intensity, I shy away from his glare and glance over his shoulder to find the old lady staring at us with huge, fearful eyes.

Somehow, her presence gives me an illusion of safety. I swallow to wet my dry mouth and meet his eyes again. “A dress. I'm wearing a dress, Adrian.” My eyes flicker back to the woman and worry for her safety begins to gnaw at me. “Can we talk? Alone?”

The haze of anger lifts for a moment as he frowns, considering my words in awkward silence. I squirm against his bone-crushing grip on my arm and try to dislodge his fingers. He watches me struggle with a terrifyingly distant look in his eyes which dulls the shimmering blue.

“Adrain, you're hurting me. Let go.” I demand in the same quiet and cautious tone that gets to him every time. He loosens his tight grip but doesn't let go.

“Get her breakfast ready.” He barks over his shoulder, making me jump in the process and drags me out of the kitchen.

We haven't even turned into the hallway when Adrian stops and throws me against the wall. I shudder against his solid length when his body crowds me, enveloping in his feverish heat. Planting his hands on either side of my head, he bows his head and I tilt my chin. But our lips never touch. His sinfully plump lips remain out of reach by a few inches.

“You're torturing me!” He growls when I rise up on my tiptoes and try to kiss him. Our lips brush lightly and he jerks his head back a few inches more. I moan. “Stop!”

Chastised, I drop back on my heels and glare at him. “You stop. What's wrong with you?”

“What's wrong with me!?” He sounds incredulous. “I should be the one asking that question. What are you doing to me? And what the fuck are you wearing? You can't go out in front of them wearing that! It can barely cover your fucking tits!”

“Screw you, Black!” I scowl at his foul language and shove his chest, bursting out with hurt. We both are caught off guard when I manage to send him stumbling back a few steps.

“Did you just call me?” His voice is deadly quiet. Temper throbs in the vein protruding from his forehead covered in a thin layer of perspiration.

I raise my chin in defiance, crossing my arms over my chest, my own temper rising. “Black. I called you Black. What are you gonna do? *Punish me.*” I mock him by making air quotations with my fingers. “Like you did last night, you fucking sadist.”

“Oh, now you're just begging for it.” He groans and pounces at me. I gasp and can barely suck in a breath before his mouth latches onto mine and his hands begin to tear at my clothes. His blunt nails scrap the soft mounds of my breast, tweaking my already hard nipples with his fingers.

I moan in his mouth and arch my back, trying to get closer to his scorching heat. This time, he gives into me, digging his throbbing cock into my stomach as our hips collide. All thoughts of confession and commitment flee my head as I lose myself into the spiralling sensations, into him. I slide my hand down from his shoulder and squeeze it between us to wrap my fingers around his thick and hot length. He hardens in my touch, animalistic groans escape him as I work him with my hand as best as I can.

Intoxicating power surges through my bloodstream, turning me on more than him as I watch him lose his focus and control. Drunk on it already, but still needing more of this, I drop to my knees and unbuckle his belt before his hands can stop me.

“What are you doing?” He rasps above me and I look up at him through my eyelashes.

“I want you in my mouth. I've been dying to taste you since the day I first saw you rock hard for me.” He lets out a guttural growl and profanities rain from his mouth.

It's true. I might not have been able to admit it to myself, but I find him utterly captivating, so beautiful. A part of me, the one that I'm still getting to know, always wanted to lick and taste him, feel him stretching my mouth the way he stretches my inner walls.

I squeeze my thighs together when I feel myself drip. My cheeks taint with red as I free him and stare at his veinous cock, throbbing with heat and its crown glistening with precum.

Without breaking eye contact, I lean forward to lick as my fingers try to encircle his thick shaft but find it not possible. He glares down at me, lust and deep rooted desire swimming in his eyes, along with an unreadable emotion that makes his jaw lock.

“Get up!” He grabs my hair and jerks me up to my feet. “Get the fuck up!”

Pain prickles my scalp and my fingers release his shaft to grab his wrist and ease off the pressure. When I'm all the way up, he flings me against the wall and stumbles away from me as if I repulse him. He quickly pulls up his grey trousers and buckles up, sparing me a hateful glance only when he's done tucking in his shirt.

“Don't you dare touch me without my permission again. You don't have that right anymore.” He spits out, dragging fingers through dark hair.

My eyes slam shut, finding it hard to look at him right now. I cross my hands over my chest and hunch my shoulders in a defensive gesture, feeling so stupid and at my lowest. *Oh god, I tried to go down on him against his will. That's not me!*

I don't get much time to indulge in self-loathing as I hear the sound of footsteps and freeze. My eyes fly open to find Adrian staring at me, his eyes, once again, conflicted.

“Adrian, we are here.” A sweet feminine voice announces, followed by a weathered muscle huff, “Why am I here, Black?”

Adrian peeks into the hallway from around the edge of the wall then glances at me. I watch him warily as his gaze drops and tightens on my chest. “Go upstairs and change into some decent clothes. I won't let anyone lay their eyes on you in that dress.”

“Who are they? Why am I going to meet them?” I ask, perplexed.

“Yes.” He says, his voice layered with an unfathomable emotion. “Go get ready. It's time for you to go home.”

With that, he pivots on his heels and stalks away to greet his guests.

Numb to the bones, I turn around and sprint up the stairs. But before I can disappear up the first flight, I hear him answer his guest's question.

“You're here for your daughter, Mr. Carson.”