Chapter 6

Chapter Six

RHETT

I place the pan down on the stove, ignoring the way the oil pops and sizzles, and turn to face her. Cara. My girl. My little nightmare.

She's sitting at the table, staring at me with those wide, challenging eyes, but there's something else beneath the surface today. I can't pinpoint what it is exactly, but it's there, just out of reach. A part of me wants to pull it out of her, to see if it's real or just another trick. But I hold back. She's good at playing games and making me question everything.

I can't afford to slip, not now.

"What's that?" she asks, nodding toward the pan with a hint of suspicion. Her voice is soft but layered with sarcasm. She doesn't trust me, and she shouldn't. But there's something unusual laced in her words—a crack in her usually sharp tone.

"Breakfast," I mutter, turning back to the stove and flipping the sad excuse for an omelet. It's burnt on one side, undercooked on the other. A mess, like everything I try to do for her. But it's not like I can fucking give her a knife or let her handle anything too sharp. She might hurt herself.

My girl's unpredictable.

"Looks... great," she lies, her tone almost convincing. I glance over my shoulder, raising a brow. She's not even trying to hide the smirk tugging at her lips, the one she always gives me when she thinks she's gotten the upper hand. She's still fucking with me, still playing me, but fuck if I don't want her to.

I'm enjoying this little game between my girl and I, way more than I should.

My pulse quickens as I plate the food and carry it to the table, setting it down in front of her. She stares at it for a long moment, and I feel my stomach twist in knots, something unfamiliar rising in me. I'm not used to caring about what someone thinks of me, especially not something as trivial as a meal, but for some reason, I care about what she's going to say.

Something inside me actually cares about pleasing my little nightmare.

Cara picks up her fork, hesitating for a second before stabbing at the overcooked egg. She takes a bite, her face expressionless, and for a brief moment, I think I might've actually done something right. But then, her lips twitch, and she coughs.

"Not bad," she says, forcing the words out, her eyes darting to mine with a flicker of amusement. "Could use a little less charcoal, though."

I narrow my eyes, leaning against the counter as I watch her. She's definitely fucking playing with me. I know it. But beneath the fake compliment is something softer. She didn't need to say anything nice. She could've spit it out, told me it was shit, and fuck, I'd have expected it.

But she didn't.

"Eat it," I say, my voice low, commanding. I need her to eat something, to keep her strength up. I don't want her passing out on me again.

She doesn't argue. She takes another bite, this time chewing slower, her eyes never leaving mine. The tension between us thickens with every second that passes, and I feel my chest tighten. There's this pull between us, like a rope being drawn taut, ready to snap at any moment. It's been there since the beginning, since that first night in the café, but it's stronger now, almost suffocating.

I need to control it. I need to control her .

Cara's fork clinks against the plate as she sets it down, pushing the food away slightly. Her eyes flicker up to mine, and I can see the challenge reflecting back at me. She's testing me again, waiting to see how far she can push before I break. But that's not the only thing her gaze reveals. There's something else behind those pretty eyes that has my heart racing.

"You gonna watch me all day?" she asks, tilting her head slightly. Her voice is soft, almost teasing, but there's an undercurrent of something real.

"I don't trust you," I respond, my voice rougher than I intend.

She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "Trust? I didn't think that was part of the deal, Rhett."

The way she says my name, low and deliberate, sends a surge of heat through me. She knows exactly what she's doing, how her voice affects me, and how her presence gets under my skin. But this time, there's something different in the way she looks at me. There's a crack in her armor, and I just don't know if it's genuine or just another one of her fucking games.

I step closer, my pulse quickening as I stand over her. "You think you're clever, don't you?"

She doesn't flinch, just meets my gaze head-on, her chin tilted up in defiance. "I don't think. I know ."

My breath hitches in my throat as her words wash over me, but this time, it's not anger that rises in me. It's something darker, something primal. I want to break her, to make her submit to me again and again, but I also want her to stop fucking hiding and choose me.

To want me the way I want her.

Without thinking, I reach out, my hand brushing her cheek. Her skin is warm, soft under my calloused fingers, and for a second, she doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans into my touch, just a fraction of an inch, but enough to send a bolt of electricity through me.

"I could take you right now," I whisper, my voice rough with need. "You'd let me, wouldn't you?"

Her lips part slightly, her breathing shallow as she stares up at me, her eyes wide and uncertain. For a moment, I think she might give in. That she might finally stop fighting me. But then, a small, almost invisible smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, and I feel the doubt creep back in.

Is she playing me again?

"Maybe I'd let you," she whispers, her voice breathy and taunting. "Maybe I want you to fuck me. Maybe I crave it."

Her words ignite something inside me, something wild and uncontrollable. I grip her chin, tilting her head back so she's forced to look up at me, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw.

"You don't get to play with me," I growl, my face inches from hers. "Not like this."

She swallows hard, her breath coming in shallow gasps, and for the first time, I see something flicker in her eyes—fear? Desire? Maybe both. But I still can't tell if it's real or another one of her tricks.

Her lips part, and for a moment, I think she's going to say something, but instead, she just stares at me, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

I don't think. I act.

My lips crash into hers, rough and demanding, and she gasps against my mouth, her hands instinctively flying up to grip my shirt. The kiss is hungry and fierce, and all the anger, the confusion, and the need I've been holding back surges forward in a wave of heat. Her fingers curl into the fabric, pulling me closer, and I can feel her body trembling against mine.

I push her back against the table, my hands roaming over her body, gripping her hips, her waist, every part of her that I can touch. She's warm, soft, and I can't get enough of her, can't stop the way my body responds to hers.

But there's a part of me that's still holding back, still wondering if she's playing me. If this is just another one of her manipulations.

Cara's breath is hot against my lips as she pulls away slightly, her hands sliding up to cup my face. Her eyes are dark, filled with something I can't decipher.

"Rhett," she whispers, her voice shaking. "I'm not—"

She doesn't finish the sentence, but I can hear it in her voice. The vulnerability. The rawness. It's not something she shows often, and it sends a jolt of something unfamiliar through me.

I press my forehead against hers, my breathing heavy, trying to regain control. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying," she breathes, her hands sliding down to grip my arms, pulling me closer. "I'm not playing games."

I want to believe her. I need to believe her. But the doubt is still there, gnawing at the edges of my mind. I pull back slightly, searching her face for any sign of deceit, but all I see is her. Her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, her eyes filled with something real.

Fuck. I can't tell.

Her hands trail down my chest, her fingers dancing over the buttons of my shirt, and I feel my control slipping. My pulse quickens, and I know I'm on the edge, teetering between giving in and pulling away. My girl is drawing me in. She's pulling me under, and I don't know if I can stop.

But I have to.

I grab her wrists, stopping her before she can go any further. Her eyes widen in surprise, confusion flickering across her face.

"Why are you stopping? Let me touch you," she whispers, her voice barely audible, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

I let out a ragged breath, my grip on her wrists tightening. "Because I don't know if I can trust you, little nightmare."

Her lips part, but she doesn't say anything, just stares at me, her eyes searching mine. For a moment, neither of us moves, the air between us thick with tension.

Then, she leans in, her lips brushing against my ear, her voice a soft, breathy whisper. "Then don't trust me, just fuck me."

I hold her there, my body pressed against hers, our breaths mingling in the space between us. Her lips are slightly parted, swollen from the bruising kiss, and her hands are still tangled in my shirt, gripping me like I'm her anchor. But I can't shake the feeling crawling up my spine, that nagging doubt that tells me I'm walking into a fucking trap.

I pull back just enough to look into her eyes. They're dark, almost black, pupils blown wide with desire, but there's something deeper and more dangerous.

Something that, for once, I can't read.

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, I see a flicker of vulnerability, a crack in the armor my girl wears so well. But is it real? Or is it just another one of her fucking tricks, another game to pull me deeper under her spell?

"Rhett…" Her voice is a whisper, soft and trembling, and my name on her lips makes my chest tighten. It's a sound I'll never tire of. She tilts her head slightly, her lips brushing against mine again, and I feel the heat radiating off her, the pull of her body against mine. My girl is begging for more.

She fucking wants it. Wants me.

But I can't give in. Not this time.

"You think I'm that easy to fool?" I mutter, my voice rough as I pull back farther, putting distance between us. The tension is thick and electric, but I force myself to stay in control, not to lose myself in the haze of lust clouding my mind.

Her brow furrows, confusion flashing in her eyes. "What?"

I step away, leaving her standing there against the table, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. I can see the frustration building in her, the way her hands curl into fists, the way her jaw clenches.

"I'm not playing any games," she says, her voice low, defensive. "At least, not right now."

I scoff, shaking my head. "You always are. It's all you do. You play me, push me, see how far I'll go before I lose control."

Her eyes narrow, the fire returning to them. "You don't know me as well as you think you do, Rhett."

"Don't I?" I shoot back, my voice harsher than I mean it to be. "You're lying to me right now. I can feel it. Lying to yourself, too. We both know how you fucking feel. We both know how much your body craves my rough touch. How much it likes it. That's the side of you I want. The fucking truth I want you to give me."

She takes a step forward, her gaze locked on mine, but there's something different in her expression now—something desperate. "And what if I am? What if I don't know how to give you everything you want from me?"

Her words hit harder than I expect, cutting through the walls I've built to protect myself. I swallow hard, my fists clenching at my sides. There's a vulnerability in her now, something real, but I can't trust it. I can't trust her .

I shake my head. "I don't need everything, Cara. I just need you to be honest with me. Stop these fucking games."

Her eyes glisten, and for a moment, I think I see something real—something raw. But then she blinks, and it's gone, replaced by that same hard, defiant mask she always wears.

"You don't know what you're asking. This girl you think I am? This vision of the precious little nightmare you've created in your fucked up head, that's not me," she says, her voice shaking slightly.

I step closer again, my hands reaching for her wrists, holding her in place, but I don't pull her in. "Then show me," I say, my voice softening, my thumb tracing slow circles on her skin. "Show me who you really are."

She bites her lip, her eyes searching mine, and for a second, I think she might finally give in. But then, she jerks her hands away, stepping back. The distance between us feels like a chasm.

"I can't," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

My chest tightens as I watch her, that familiar frustration building, twisting in my gut. She won't say it, but I know it. I've seen it in her eyes since the night we met.

"Why?" My voice is sharper than I intend, but I can't help it. I step closer, but she backs away. "What are you so afraid of?"

Her lips press into a thin line, eyes guarded, refusing to let me in. She does this—puts up walls, tests my patience, pushes me just far enough to keep me on edge. She's never easy, never lets her guard down for long. It's why I've been chasing her, why I'll never stop.

Finally, after what feels like forever, she speaks, her voice barely a whisper. "You."

The word hits me like a knife to the gut. I pause, the breath catching in my throat. I knew she was scared, but hearing her say it? Admitting it?

Of course, she's afraid. I've killed for her before. And I'd do it again in a fucking heartbeat. I'd kill anyone who so much as looked at her the wrong way. She's mine. My girl, and no one is taking her from me.

But I wouldn't hurt her. Not like that. Not like the others.

"You shouldn't be afraid of me," I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. "I'd never hurt you, Cara. You know that."

She doesn't answer right away, just stares at me, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if that could protect her from me. Her walls are high, but I know her better than she thinks. I know the way her mind works, the way she flinches, like she's always expecting me to snap.

"I don't trust myself around you," she finally says, her voice shaky, barely holding it together. "You make me feel things I don't want to feel. You make me weak."

Weak. I hate that word. It grates at me, sharp and raw, because I know that's not what she is. I've seen her strength, seen how she pushes back even when she's terrified. My little nightmare is a fighter. There's nothing weak about her.

I take a step toward her, but she holds up a hand, stopping me in my tracks. That small act of defiance should fucking piss me off, but it doesn't. It just makes me want her more.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I repeat, quieter this time, but the words feel hollow, even to me. I know I'm capable of hurting people—I've done it more times than I can count. But not her. Never her. "Not like that."

Her eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see it—the fear isn't just of me. My little nightmare is afraid of herself, of what I bring out in her, and of the dark part she tries so hard to bury.

"You already have," she whispers, her voice cracking.

A flicker of doubt crosses my mind. Maybe I've pushed her too far. Fuck, maybe this is the moment she slips through my fingers. No. I won't let that happen.

She's mine. All fucking mine.

I step closer, closing the space between us, my hands finding her waist, pulling her flush against me. Her body tenses, but she doesn't pull away. That's the thing about Cara—no matter how much she pretends to fight me, there's always that part of her that craves this, craves me .

"You don't have to be afraid. We're both fucked up," I murmur, my lips close to her ear. "We both crave things people wouldn't understand, but you're not alone in this. I'm not going anywhere."

She exhales sharply, her breath warm against my neck, and for a second, just a second, I think she might break. But then she pulls back, her walls slamming into place once more.

"I can't give you what you want," she says, her voice cold, distant. She's trying to shut me out again, but it won't work. It never does.

I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. "Then give me what you can."

Her eyes search mine, desperate, like she's trying to find a way out. But there isn't one. Not anymore. She knows it as well as I do. Slowly, her body relaxes against mine, her head resting on my chest, her fingers gripping my shirt like she's holding on for dear life.

There it is. That moment of surrender, the one I've been chasing since the night we met. But I know better than to think this is the end. She'll fight me again, maybe even try to run. But she won't get far. I'll always find her.

And if anyone tries to take her from me? I'll make sure they regret it.