Betting with the Bride

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ivory

My body is overtaken by uncontrollable tremors, and I can't find the nerve to turn around and square up my demons, a demon named Adam. As his footsteps signal the close proximity between us, and his deadly scent engulfs me: cinnamon and cigarettes.

I haven't seen him in years, yet his image is engraved in my mind. To anyone, even to me once, he looks like a normal, attractive man. Standing at six foot four, his height and broad shoulders makes him seem intimidating. His angular jaw and green eyes can make any woman swoon. He's not unattractive, that's for sure. He's even a smooth talker, but then he ticks and explodes and destroys everything in its wake.

"Oh, I did miss you! You were a very naughty girl leaving me," he reprimands me; a gentle hand forces me to face him. "Why did you leave me, sweetheart?"

Stubbornly, I focus on anything but him, not willing to become docile. A few tense seconds pass, and he gingerly threads his fingers through my hair while waiting for me to answer. When I don't, he impatiently jerks my hair, so I am unwillingly made to look at his hellish features, his clenched jaw, his twitching eyebrow, and his enraged eyes. I arch my back to lessen the pain erupting from my scalp. I should be used to the sharp tingles, but over the years I've been away from the devil, I forgot the horrible sensation.

"Answer me, sweetheart," Adam warns however I am no longer cautious towards his tone.

Gritting my teeth, I dig my fingernails into my palm, almost drawing blood. "Don't call me that," I order in a low tone, not daring to answer his question.

"What, sweetheart? I couldn't quite hear you," he tempts me, knowing I'll bite the bait.

"Don't call me that!" I shout, but I cower slightly when I see his anger grow.

His hand releases my disheveled hair, and I jerk back and warily stare at him, waiting for the explosive reaction. The palm of his hand stings my cheek so hard that I collapse on the stained carpet. "Get up," he growls with disgust. After hesitating a second too long, a shoe lodges itself in my side, causing me to grunt.

I struggle to stand back up on my feet. "Adam, stop, please," I plead, clutching my stomach, worried for the unborn child.

"My dear Ivory, what's wrong?" he asks, but then his eyes zone in on my stomach. "Oh! You whore! First, you leave me, and next, you get pregnant by that bastard!" he accuses me with distaste. He menacingly takes a step towards me, making me take an automatic step backwards.

Creating distance between us, I raise my hands defensively. "Adam," I reason, "I'm sorry." I take a step side ways, heading for the door.

Following me, he continues with his speech, ignoring me, "After all I did for you, you repay me with this." My back is now leaning against the door closest to me, and my sweaty palm wraps around the doorknob. His hand traps me in, and his body becomes flush with mine.

"Adam, I told you I'm sorry. What more do you want?" I ask, becoming desperate now.

He leans closer, and his breath stirs my hair as he whispers huskily, "I want you."

I release the doorknob and press my palms flat against his chest, trying to push him away; I am unsuccessful. Since Adam is stronger than me by a lot, he is able to seize both of my wrists with one of his hands and hold them above my head. His lips violate my neck, and the hand that isn't busy restraining me gropes my body.

"Adam, stop, please," I whimper. A shiver of repulsion courses through my body, but Adam recognizes it as pleasure. "Adam," I try again, the tears breaking the damn, "stop!"

Suddenly, Adam pulls away sharply, and my other cheek is reddened. "You ungrateful tease!"

A gravelly plea from the corner of the room seems like a shout in the silence, "Adam, stop this!"