Chapter 190

Latisha held him, tilting her head back to meet his gaze with a pleading look. She opened her mouth, silently forming the word: *Don't.*

Clifford looked down at her. She was still trying to mouth words, her lips forming them with a stiff, precise effort.

*Please, she mouthed.

He lifted her chin, his voice low, the raw fury replaced by a dangerous calm. "It's a little late to be begging now, don't you think?"

She shook her head, tightening her hold on him. She knew he didn't love her, but this—this desperate, physical closeness—always seemed to work. If it couldn't win his heart, at least it could temper his anger.

She rubbed her cheek against his chest, a soft, supplicating gesture. It was a universally disarming act, like a kitten nudging its owner's hand. He visibly calmed, but he remained still, making no move to hold her.

Latisha rose on her toes and began to kiss him-his jaw, his throat, his lips-a frantic, clumsy attempt to appease him.

Her desperate efforts ignited a different kind of fire in his eyes. Suddenly, his hand was at the back of her head, pulling her into a bruising kiss. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

Latisha's body tensed for a moment before she went limp, closing her eyes and returning his kiss with a sense of resignation.

When he was angry, he was always rough. His kisses were bites, his touch a brand.

Latisha gripped the sheets, her knuckles white. She opened her eyes, watching him as he moved above her.

Only in moments like these did she see him lose control, see a flicker of something that looked almost like passion, almost like love.

And only in these moments could

she pretend that he felt something for her it was a fleeting illusion but for years, it had been the

only thing that kept her by his side.

But now, even that feeling was fading. He had told her to stop loving him. Perhaps, very soon, she would finally grant his wish.

Her eyelids fluttered shut as a single tear escaped and traced a path down her

temple. She finally succumbed to the darkness, her strength completely gone.

When she woke again, she instinctively reached for the space beside her, expecting to find the cold, empty sheets she always did.

This time, her hand met the solid warmth of a man's chest. Latisha's eyes flew open. Her breath hitched For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating. She tentatively reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek. The skin was warm, the touch real.

Then a hand closed around hers.

They stared at each other in silence. After a long moment, Clifford lifted his own hand, his fingers gently tracing the line of her eyebrow is voice was low and raspy with sleep.

“Latisha,” he said, almost to himself, “there's something missing from your eyes."

She just looked at him, her expression unreadable.

He didn't seem to expect an answer. "I don't like it when you look at me like that," he added, then sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Latisha's eyelashes trembled. She studied his sharp profile for a moment before letting her gaze fall.

They lay in silence. After what felt like an eternity, she remembered what she needed to ask. She reached out and poked his shoulder.

Clifford turned his head to look at her, waiting.