Things I Wanted To Say: Chapter 49

IT FEELS LIKE A TRICK, being with Whit again, as if he never left. Even more so, actually being happy with him, amongst other people, in public. He holds my hand as we walk through the streets of Paris, as if he’s afraid he’ll lose me forever if he lets me go.

And maybe he does actually feel that way, I don’t know. One minute we were together, and the next I was gone.

Never to be seen again.

Monty sends me endless text messages throughout the afternoon, but I ignore them all. I’m mad at him. He knew what he was doing the entire time, putting together a scheme with Whit behind my back, and while I can’t necessarily complain that I’m in Whit’s company, I can be hurt by the one friend from my old world who deceived me.

Proving he’s just like everyone else. Easily influenced by money and power, the two things Whit uses as his arsenal.

Throughout the afternoon, Whit steals me into dark corners or hidden behind walls. A thick grove of trees. Anywhere, everywhere, he pulls me into the darkness, his mouth finding mine, his hands searching for my aching parts. Between my legs. My breasts. Smoothing over my back, my ass. He fucks me against a brick wall deep in the heart of Paris, tucked away in a little alcove that feels private but definitely isn’t. He makes me get on my knees in front of him in a darkened, forbidden corner of the Louvre. That felt wrong, as if we were desecrating a sacred place, but he didn’t care. He was insistent.

He made me come every single time.

We end up at a beautiful café right on the Seine late in the afternoon, drinking and noshing on a light snack in the waning sunlight. It grows chillier, and I’m grateful for the black cardigan and dress Whit had brought up to the room from the hotel boutique while I showered, along with a delicate lace and silk bra and panty set. I had nothing to wear beyond the scandalous dress, not even a pair of panties, and I’m impressed Whit thought of everything. Even the sweater.

Whit’s phone buzzes and he smiles as he reads the text before he sends a reply.

“You’re ignoring Montgomery and he doesn’t like it. He claims he’s jealous of my dick,” Whit says. “Since you’re giving it all of your attention instead of him.”

“He probably wants it for himself,” I mumble under my breath, feeling petty. Immediately feeling regret for my words, I sigh. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t mean it.

“I told him earlier that you’re mad at him. That’s why you’re not responding,” Whit says.

“It’s true. I am mad at him.” I take a sip of my wine, wishing it were stronger. “I don’t like that he tricked me.”

“He did it for you.” Whit reaches across the table, settling his big, warm hand over mine. “He knew you missed me.”

“He did it for you.” I send him a look through my lashes. “I never once said I missed you to Monty.”

Whit rests his other hand against his chest. “I’m offended.”

“I never talked about you at all.” I shrug, slipping my hand from beneath his. “It hurt too much to think of you.”

He stares at me, the sunlight cutting across his face, enhancing his stupid male beauty. Why did I have to fall for a boy who’s so achingly gorgeous? Just looking at him makes my heart hurt. Knowing what he’s capable of, the power he has over me, also makes me cautious.

Something I don’t want to share with him.

“I’m here. I want to be in your life. I don’t care what you did in your past, or what happened between you and your stepbrother.” He leans closer yet I don’t move. I’m too shocked by his declaration. We’ve never spoken of my past, nor has he mentioned what he read in my goddamn journal that is currently sitting in his hotel room. If I could burn that thing, I would. “I want you to come home with me.”

His tone is so earnest, his expression so raw and open, my heart cracks. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” His voice changes, just like that. Becomes deep and commanding, as if he won’t accept any answer but the one he expects. “It makes sense, Summer. Come home with me. Live with me in New York. You can study art history there. You can do whatever you want. You won’t have to work. You can sit on your knees all day and suck my cock continuously. I won’t complain.”

He grins.

I scowl.

His smile falls and he leans forward, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “I didn’t come all this way for you to reject me, Savage. I expect you to come home with me.”

“You can’t just waltz into another country and demand I do what you tell me to,” I say wryly. “I have my own place with a lease I can’t break. I go to school. I have a job. Friends. Things I do every day that I enjoy. A routine I’ve made. I like it here.”

“Have you met someone? Is that it?” His expression turns fierce, and he tries to control it, but it’s no use. I see jealousy and fury war in his gaze.

“No,” I admit softly. “I’ve been too busy. And I…didn’t know if I could ever find someone to replace you and what we shared.”

I close my eyes the moment the words leave me, hating that I just confessed so much. Too much. I should never give him the advantage. He knows how to use it against me.

“Share,” he corrects, and I open my eyes when he slides his hand along my cheek, tilting my head back so I have no choice but to accept his soft kiss. “We still share it,” he whispers against my lips. “And I will do whatever it takes to make you forget anyone else has ever touched you.”

A shiver slips down my spine at the possessive gleam in his eyes. He pulls away from me, his hand dropping from my face, his fingers curling around the stem of his glass and bringing it to his lips. “It’s settled then,” he says once he’s swallowed.

“What?” I ask him.

“You’re coming back to the States with me.” His smile returns, triumphant now. “We’ll be married.”

I gape at him. “Married? Whit, we’re still young. I don’t want to marry you.”

“Why the fuck not?” He sounds offended.

“Because—marriage is so legally binding. It’s just a piece of paper. I don’t want it. Or need it.”

He watches me, just before he throws his head back and laughs. “Any other woman would die to marry me. They’d want that lock on my money. And here you sit, calling it a piece of paper we don’t need. You don’t want it.”

“I don’t,” I stress. “Marriage isn’t for us. Not yet.”

“There’s no one else for me,” he says, his blue eyes glowing. “No one else. Only you.”

I can’t find any words to say. To protest. No way to convince him otherwise, so I do the first thing that comes to my mind.

I settle my hand on his thigh and kiss his stubble roughened cheek, breathe in his familiar, unique scent. Despite everything, despite my wariness still, I want to believe Whit. I want him in my life, caring for me. Protecting me. We’d protect each other.

But he didn’t say the words I longed to hear, like declaring his undying love for me. I suppose it’s not about that with us. It’s about something else. Something different. Edgier. Darker.

Love shouldn’t be dark. All-consuming. That’s passion.

Obsession.

And won’t we eventually get tired of that?

Grow tired of each other?

“I should go home,” I tell him as he practically drags me into the lobby of his hotel after a late dinner at a very cozy, very expensive restaurant. I’d felt sorely underdressed in my flowery dress and cardigan, my bare face and messy hair thanks to Whit’s endlessly seeking hands. I saw the looks we received when we first arrived, the people at the tables staring down their noses at us.

They had no idea one of the richest men in the world was in the restaurant, and once the waitstaff realized exactly who Whit was, our service was impeccable. We sat at a table directly in the middle of the restaurant, the wine continuous, the food, endless. Rich and delicious, to the point that I couldn’t make myself eat another bite. Eventually, people figured out Whit was important, and by the time we left the restaurant, paparazzi was there, taking our photo.

It was shocking, finding them outside of the restaurant, waiting for us. Despite Whit throwing his hand up to block the photographers and me tugging my cardigan over my head, someone got a photo of me. With Whit. They’ll eventually put together who I am, and our past family connection.

And it could possibly turn into a frenzy with the tabloids all over again.

“No. We need to talk first,” Whit tells me as we walk across the lobby, every employee in the hotel nodding in his direction when he makes eye contact with them. An endless stream of, “Bon soir, Monsieur Lancaster,” follows his every step.

The beauty of the hotel, the man beside me, the dream-like quality of it all, can’t go on forever. Not for me. I couldn’t be so lucky. I need normalcy. Crave it. I want to sit in my small flat and sleep in my narrow little bed and go to class in the morning. I want to be reassured that my life won’t change just because he re-entered it.

This won’t last. I know him. I know myself. We want each other, but it becomes too much. It’s all-consuming. We will destroy each other.

Just like last time.

“Whit, please.” I clutch his arm as he guides me into the elevator and the moment the doors slide shut, he’s upon me, his mouth on my neck, his hands beneath the hem of my dress, hot fingers teasing my thighs.

“I’m never letting you go, Summer. Can’t you see?” He pushes me hard against the wall, grunting with the force, and I blink my eyes open, staring at his face, shocked to see so much emotion there. It’s as if it’s permanently etched into his skin, and I remember the Whit of old. The boy who would stare at me with blank eyes. Who looked at me as if I didn’t matter. Who would actually tell me to my face that I didn’t matter to him at all.

He’s gone. Replaced by a seemingly overly passionate man whose entire focus is on me and no one else.

“We can’t have this conversation right now,” Whit says.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not prepared.”

“Whit, you’re making no sense.”

“That’s all your fault, then.”

The doors slide open moments later and we’re out, Whit’s fingers curled around mine as he practically drags me to the suite’s double doors, he’s so fast.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he says once we’re inside the suite, the both of us panting from the exertion. “Take your sweater off.”

I remove it with trembling hands, my entire body shaking. He’s scaring me, he’s so intense.

“The dress,” he says once the cardigan is gone, his voice short. “All of it. I want you naked.”

I do as he says, his urgency frightening, until I’m standing in front of him without a stitch of clothing on. The hotel’s heating system chooses that moment to click on, and the rush of warm air over my bare skin sets gooseflesh rising, my nipples hardening into aching points. My knees are practically liquid and I lock them, sucking in a breath when Whit brushes past me, walking deeper into the room.

I start to turn but pause at his sharp voice.

“Don’t look. Face the door.”

I inhale, paying attention to my breathing, desperate to keep it measured. In and out. In. out.

In.

Out.

He’s rustling around in a suitcase or a dresser, I can’t quite tell. I don’t know what he’s looking for. A strap to smack my ass? In his eyes, I probably deserve it for wanting to get away from him.

He pulls something out of a bag. Or a box. I’m not quite sure. I hear his soft footsteps approach, his rich, masculine scent surrounding me, until he’s right there, directly behind me, his breath touching my bare shoulder.

“I have a present for you,” he says, his voice low and full of promise.

“What is it?”

“Open it and see.” He reaches around, his hand in front of me, clutching a pale gray velvet box. I stare, afraid to open it, though I couldn’t explain why. “Summer.”

He sounds exasperated with me and so I take the box, opening it with trembling fingers. I flip back the velvet layers, revealing a necklace that takes my breath away.

The diamonds glitter despite the dim light. Delicate flowers form a thick diamond chain, fanciful and gorgeous and terribly expensive, I can tell.

“I absolutely cannot take this,” I whisper.

“You can and you will.” He reaches for the box, plucking it from my fingers and gently pulling the necklace from it, undoing the clasp. He winds it around my neck carefully, the weight of the stones heavy on my skin and I close my eyes when his fingers brush against my nape, connecting the clasp. “It’s white gold. Twenty-four carats worth of diamonds in a flower design. I saw it and knew immediately that it belonged to you.”

“I don’t want to know how much this cost,” I whisper, reaching up to lightly touch the heavy diamonds.

“You’re worth every penny.” He kisses the side of my neck and my eyes pop open, my gaze catching on our reflection in the mirror on the wall across from where we stand. “What do you think?”

I stare at the two of us, my gaze going to the diamonds circling my neck. It’s exactly what I described to Monty, when I said I wanted a heavy necklace, like a collar, so I could feel the weight of it and know that I’m owned. That I belong to someone. This necklace isn’t just a gift.

It’s a claiming. Whit Lancaster owns me.

I belong to him.

“I wanted to wait. I wanted to give you this necklace and say these words to you later. I wanted to spend the next week lavishing you with my undivided attention and take you all over Paris. I wanted to buy you whatever you wanted and eat with you and drink with you and fuck you everywhere I could, but you keep trying to pull away from me. And I can’t let you go,” he says, his voice full of agony as he presses his cheek against mine, turning his face toward me so he can breathe in the scent of my hair.

I’m breathless with anticipation, unable to say anything for fear I could ruin the moment. I can tell he wants to say more and I wait, dying to hear his next words.

“I’m in love with you, Summer,” he whispers, his mouth right at my ear, brushing the sensitive skin. “I have been since I first laid eyes on you all those years ago.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” I say, my lips curling into the faintest smile as I try to contain the joy that’s rising within me.

Whit loves me.

He’s in love with me.

“I was an idiot. I still am. But I will do my damnedest to prove to you that I love you. Every single day for the rest of your life, as long as you let me.” He rests his hands on my shoulders, squeezing them gently, and my gaze finds his in the mirror once more. “Look at you. You’re so beautiful. I’ve missed you so much. I searched for you everywhere, when all along Monty knew you were here. I only asked him about six months ago if he remained in contact with you. Did you know that? He wouldn’t reveal shit to me at first, either. Said he didn’t trust my motives.”

It’s reassuring that Monty didn’t just blab to Whit where I was the first time he asked. “I wouldn’t trust your motives either.”

“We arranged all of this, and while you may feel tricked, and you’re angry at both of us for not being truthful, I had to do it this way. You would’ve run if you knew I was here. You would’ve never agreed to see me.” His hands slip down my arms, his light touch making me tremble. “Say something. Tell me you want to be with me. Tell me you forgive me for being such an asshole. Just…anything, Summer. Please.”

I don’t believe I’ve ever heard this man say the word please before in my life.

And he just did. For me.

I turn to face him, tilting my head back so our gazes can meet. “I love you too.”

He inhales so deeply, his chest brushes against my naked skin and he leans in, pressing his forehead to mine. “Thank Christ.”

I frown. “Did you think I would tell you no?”

“I didn’t know what to think.” He closes his eyes, shielding the vulnerability in his gaze. Too late, I already saw it, and I’m clutching it close to my heart. “You love me.”

“I love you.” I reach up, press my mouth to his. “I’m in love with you. And I don’t want to marry you, Whit. Not yet. Let’s just…be together first. We can do that later. Or maybe never. I just want to enjoy my time with you without all of the responsibilities the Lancaster name brings with it.”

Such as heirs and duties. Like he’s part of the royal family. It’s ridiculous, but there are expectations set upon him from birth that he won’t be able to dodge forever. If we got married, they would want babies right away.

And I don’t want babies.

Not yet, at least. We are far too young. And I’m not about to trap him either.

“What about school? I know it’s important to you,” he says.

“I only said that because you weren’t saying what I needed to hear.” When he opens his eyes and frowns at me, I continue, “you declared your love for me. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“It’s real. My feelings for you. They overwhelm me. I don’t know what to do with them,” he whispers, his hands finding my breasts, cupping them. “I love you so fucking much.”

“Show me how much you love me, Whit.” I touch his face. Slide my hand along the front of his chest. “Show me.”

He takes me to bed. He loves me with his mouth and his hands. He makes me come over and over, and when he finally enters me, his throbbing cock touching the deepest part of me, his gaze locked with mine, he traces his fingers along the diamond necklace, his light yet possessive touch making me tremble.

“Mine,” he whispers. “You’re mine, Summer.”

“Always,” I tell him as he begins to thrust.

Always.