Page 4 of Dual

The realization sends a heady rush through me.

But beneath the rush is something darker, something I don't want to name. Fear? No, not fear. Not exactly.

"What is this about, Mads?" he asks, his voice gentler now, probing. He's still searching, still trying to find her—the softer, sweeter version of me. The version he thinks he understands.

My throat tightens, and for a fleeting moment, I want to give him what he's looking for. I could smile and tilt my head. Let my voice soften.

I could be her, just for tonight. I've done it often enough over the last few months.

He'd hold me and make me feel whole in a way that nothing else can.

But then what? When the night ends and daylight creeps in, I'll still slip away as she takes back control. Because I'm the one he thinks is too much. Too dangerous. Too broken.

So I don't fucking care. I can't let him pull me into his world unless it's on my terms.

Not Anna's. Not his. Mine.

Even if I have to wrestle control away from both of them, inch by inch.

"She's a coward who can't face me or the darkness in you. You're living a charade, and it will crack in time. I'm trying to help you both."

I step closer, tilting my chin up, so there's barely a breath between us. "You want me?" I murmur, my voice steady now. There's no tremor or hesitation now. "Then take me. I've missed the pain. You take it so easy on us when you think it might be her. And she plays so coy, doesn't she, wanting you to think it's her taking that fat cock of yours sometimes? But it's always me."

I see the frown he tries to quickly hide.

"Every time?"

"Every single time." I annunciate each word and enjoy watching the realization land.

"You're lying."

"I hear denial is a lovely little land to live in. How's the weather there?"

His features harden. "Since when do you do gentle?"

"Oh, honey." I arch an eyebrow. "Any cock is better than no cock. So I pretended to be Little Miss Demure if it meant I got your shaft pumping me full. After all, role play is hot."

His nostrils flare. There he is.

I tip my head down and flip my eyelashes at him. "Do you want to punish me, Daddy?"

"Don't ever call me that," he bites out.

I smile. I'm getting underneath his skin. Breaking through the façade. He's already on the edge. I felt the need in his kissmoments ago, and I've seen the darkness he's barely holding at bay for months now.

Then, just when I think I've got him, when he's about to drag me over his knee or order me to the spanking bench?—

His features soften, and he tilts his head at me.

"Mads," he whispers, all the bite gone from his voice. He reaches out a hand and caresses it down my face, calling on the connection that has zinged between us since the first time I saw him in that internet café in Dublin back when we were both children. "What are you doing?"

Suddenly, the tables have turned on me again, and all the control I felt in my hands just moments ago is gone. Damn him! I feel like a stupid girl, not a confident woman.

I laugh, but it comes out jagged. "What I always do, Domhnall. Trying to survive."

It's the truth, and more than I meant to give him. God, the weight of it feels like a tether tightening around my throat. It would be so much better if it were his leash. I want his control over me even as I need to steal it from him.

I take a step back, then another, needing the distance, needing to breathe.