My fingers faltered with the hitch of my breath.

When he said things like that, I wanted so badly to believe him. But no words—no matter how achingly profound—could change the past.

“You hurt me.” My voice splintered. “Unforgivably.”

His chin descended to his chest, magnifying the slopes of his proud shoulders as he regarded me from beneath the intensity of his brow.

I was losing my nerve, my arousal, the desire to torture him.

My thoughts had never been so contorted, my tongue so knotted. Dear lord, it was a good thing none of my crew bore witness to my lapse in cruelty. They wouldn’t understand.

“Give me her name.” Needles stung the backs of my eyes.

“No.”

My heart galloped fiercely, but I would not cry.

When it came to secrets, Priest was an impenetrable steel cage. He’d kept his mouth shut about our marriage, and despite my threats, he continued to protect his anonymous lover. He would never break his silence.

“Tell me about the burn scars on your leg,” I said.

“No. Don’t ask again.”

Another secret.

I closed my eyes and curled my fingers, cupping the heat in the valley of my thighs, teetering on the verge of giving up. Sitting here, completely exposed with my legs open… I felt sick.

This wasn’t me. I tortured evil men. Killed monsters without hesitation or regret. But I’d never been a tease. When I offered myself, I followed through on that promise. Anything less was weak.

“Bennett.” His Welsh cadence caressed my bare skin, making me shiver. “Look at me.”

My lashes felt too heavy to lift, but I opened my eyes, not surprised to find the churning storm in his.

How foolish was I to underestimate him? There were no answers in his intractable gaze, no hint of surrender beyond the next thought. There was only this moment and an offer of punishment and pleasure.

“Hurt me.” His eyes gleamed with the command. “Touch yourself. Do it knowing I would die to be your hands, to slide through all that wetness, to experience the heat of your orgasm, to feel it gripping and sucking for more.” He wet his lips. “To hold me at arm’s length and deny me your love… It’s the worst torture.”

“Worse than watching me with another man?”

“Same thing.” He let his gaze drift downward, absorbing every curve and indentation of my body, lingering so long in places I could have sworn my skin caught fire. “Whether you’re alone or with another, the result is the same. You’re not with me.”

Silence fell around us, shutting out the world and suspending us in a volatile cocoon.

He remained on his knees, head down, watching me through his lashes. His fists squeezed on his thighs, the inflammation turning his fingers dark red and swollen.