Emily felt as if she was suffocating as he curtailed out of the parking spot, his hands tightening around the steering wheel, his jaw clenching and unclenching. As thoughts of Gavin fired off in her head, she noticed that they were heading in the wrong direction.
“I need to go back to my apartment,” she whispered, the blood whooshing through her veins. It pounded and correlated with the throbbing pain in her chest.
“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m letting you go back to your place,” he snapped, his eyes never leaving the road.
Emily’s heart seized and then started racing as though it was about to burst right through her rib cage.
“You’re staying with me tonight,” he added, his tone harder. “I’ll bring you home in the morning to get your shit before the ceremony.”
Fumbling for something to say, she stared at him but cowered back when he whipped his head in her direction, the fury in his eyes threatening to torch her into flames. For the remainder of the ride, she kept quiet, and by the time they pulled up to his townhouse, she was sure she was already sinking into the fiery pits of hell. Getting out of the car, he didn’t utter a word to her as they climbed the stairs to his front door.
With her nerves trembling and crawling against her skin, Emily jumped as Dillon slammed the door after they walked in. Ripping his jacket from his body, he loosened his tie and moved into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of Jack Daniels from the cabinet. After plucking a glass off the counter, he filled it to the brim, chugging half of it down. Brows knitted together, and hostility brimming in his irises like burning coals, he motioned her over to him with his finger.
Emily couldn’t take in enough air as she slowly peeled her coat off and dropped her purse onto the sectional sofa. Staring at him from across the room, a cold spiral of fear ran down her spine.
“Come here, Emily,” he said, his voice laced with a sickening calmness.
She swallowed, looking at him as he stared back at her. Inhaling as her footsteps echoed against the marble floor, she cautiously inched her way into the kitchen, the anxiety steadily building within her. Approaching him, bile rose in her throat when he darted his hand out, yanking her by the arm into his chest. Feeling his heart pound against hers, she didn’t bring her eyes up to meet his. She couldn’t. Something darker than fear had taken her over. Trying to catch her breath, she stared at his mouth that curled lopsided into a wicked grin.
Bringing his knuckles under her chin, he slowly lifted her face, looking into her eyes, his voice low. “You fucked him, didn’t you?”
“No,” she whispered, her voice weak, her muscles growing weaker by the second.
With his breath hot in her face, his tone remained the same but his eyes hardened. “And you expect me to believe that?”
“Yes,” she answered, trying to keep her body from shaking.
Emily felt her stomach churn when he brought his other arm around her waist, kneading his fingers into the small of her back. He dipped his head, slowly running his nose along her brow. She pulled in a sharp breath as he used the weight of his body to push her back, pinning her against the cold granite counter. With tears welling in her eyes, her heart tripled over as she stared at him.
His dirty-blonde hair—usually meticulously styled—hung over his forehead. “You do know that if you fucked him, you mean absolutely nothing to him,” he whispered, grazing his lips over the shell of her ear. “He’ll fuck anything that opens its legs for him.”
Though dread of what he’d said washed over her, and her heart felt exposed with torn open fresh wounds, she didn’t reply as she tried to mentally push his words aside.
Burying his face in her hair, he pulled her tighter against his rigid chest. “Did you fuck him?”
“No, I didn’t fuck him.” Body still shaking, the whispered words slid from her mouth, her voice feigning innocence.
Slowly, he dragged his fingertips across her cheek and slid the pad of his thumb along her quivering lips. “Do you love me, Emily?” he asked, his eyes pinning her with malice.
Staring up at him, she was confused by the question and wasn’t sure how to answer it. Her gaze reflectively dropped to the ground, her mind racing as she searched for something to say.
“We’ve had a rough couple of months, Dillon,” she whispered, bringing her eyes back to his.
He cocked his head to the side. “You didn’t answer my question.” He leaned in closer, his breath whispering against her cheek, as his one hand gripped her waist while the other cupped the back of her neck. “Do you love me, Emily?”
She swallowed hard and stared at him, a sob breaking past her lips. “I do love you, but I think—”
He cut her off, quickly bringing his fingers up to her lips, silencing her.
Breathing heavily, her body trembled as he dropped his hands and placed them on the granite counter, caging her in like an animal.
“Then prove it to me,” he whispered, his face inches from hers, the smell of liquor oozing from his mouth. “If you didn’t fuck him—and if you love me, Emily—then prove it.”
She stared at him—body, mind, and soul shaking—as he slowly slid his fingertips down her arm. Reaching for her hand, he hastily led her into his bedroom. He snapped the door closed and started removing his clothing. The entire time his eyes never left hers, their intent revealing an urgent dominancy to reclaim her.
“Take your clothes off,” he ordered, his voice low as he approached her.
Standing completely naked before her, he breathed out heavily, the sound hanging in the air. Emily stood rooted to the ground, unmoving—dying inside little by little.