Page 79 of Caging Liberty
I scoff and pull away. Frustration draws his lips into a thin line, and he doesn’t reach out to me again.
“You’re not protecting me. Youcan’tprotect me. You’re not even here.”
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t respond.
“Tonight, men watched me dance naked in a fucking cage, Angel, and you don’t even care.”
“You have to give Sawyer something. No one is expecting you to fuck anyone, but you have to contribute somehow, and this is the best option.”
“Why?” I ask, frustrated tears pricking my eyes. “Why do Ihaveto give Sawyer anything? He already took my fucking freedom.”
Angel’s face softens as he releases a long breath through his nose. “I know.”
I take Angel’s hands, scooting as close to him as possible. It seems like I’m always desperate when I’m around him. Begging, pleading… Pathetic.
“I’m not safe like this. No one at the manor is. You have to know that.”
Angel looks away.
“If I was yours…”
“Stop, Liberty.”
“It would be almost theexactsame thing. You're gone so much, all it would be is me hanging out in your house.”
He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like an excellent idea.”
My brain races. “Then I could stay at the manor while you're away. Isn’t that what other women do while their…” I struggle to say the word, like acid on my tongue, “master … leaves the island?”
“I don’t care what other people do. I do not own slaves. Period.”
My mouth opens and closes while my brain searches for words that could appeal to him. That could make him change his mind. This isn’t the first time I’ve hinted at this—him never acknowledging the attempts—but it’s the first time I’ve asked him outright.
“Please,” I beg when I can’t think of anything else. “I can’t do this forever.”
His lips separate, and I can see the venom he’s about to spew. That’s how it works with us. I say shit I shouldn’t, and he says shit to shut me up. It’s a never-ending battle between us. He must see the pitiful plea in my expression because he stops himself, his eyes softening and mouth closing.
I climb on top of him, straddling his thighs, and put my hands on either side of his face. “Please.” His face twists with pain, and I press my lips to his before he can give me an answer that’ll hurt me.
His lips relax, and when my tongue darts out, he opens his mouth for me. Even my kiss is desperate, too hard, too hurried.
He urges my shoulders back, breaking away from me. His voice is soft when he speaks, like he’s afraid I’ll fracture. “That’s enough.”
“It wouldn’t be the same as before. It doesn’t have to—”
“Enough.” He shoves me off him, and I land on my elbows on the couch, my legs still slung over his lap. I slowly pull my legs away, expecting a river of tears to come, but they don’t. I don’t feel sad. I feel hopeless.
I plant my feet on the floor and face the TV, staring at a stilled image of a dead cat.
“I’m sorry,” Angel says, sounding pained. “I just…”
“You can’t,” I finish for him.
Silence engulfs the room as we sit awkwardly within inches of one another, no idea who should speak first. Unsure how we’ll be able to move on from this.
It’s simple for me... I need him. I really fucking need him, no matter how much I hate it.
He doesn’t need me.