The Gender Game 2 by Bella Forrest (positive books to read txt) 📗

and without a second thought, I stepped under the spray of water, letting the scalding hot water pepper my skin. I was mesmerized by the streams of water—more mud—that came off of me and collected at my feet.

Soaping myself, I exhaled in relief as the water coursed over me, cleansing me of everything. It felt like a weight was being lifted off of me as I scrubbed my skin, turning it red.

Washing my greasy hair—hair that had not been washed in what felt like eternity—was probably one of the best things that had happened to me in that same eternity.

There was a certain amount of civility that came from having a shower for the first time in a long time. It was like I ceased being an animal locked in a constant battle over fight and flight reflexes, and started being a higher functioning human.

As I stepped out of the stall, steam billowing behind me and fogging up the mirror, I felt more whole, like a small part of my dignity had been restored.

As I entered the bedroom, Viggo was sitting on the bed waiting for me. I almost screamed, I was so surprised to see him there. I clutched my towel closer to me, and gaped at him.

He was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlaced into a fist that he used to support his chin.

A flash of irritation flowed over me—I just needed a moment of peace!

“Get out,” I ordered, stepping around him over to the door. I rested my back against it, and used my free hand to point out the door, further emphasizing my need for him to leave.

He didn’t react, save to adjust his seat so that he was facing me. His green eyes twinkled in amusement, and I felt the spark of rage from earlier flare up again.

“Fine,” I spat, reaching over to grab the clothes I had collected from the bed. “I’ll go.”

His hand moved with the speed of a snake, but he was gentle as he caught my arm. I tugged at him, but he pulled me to him, his strength overcoming my own. Although, to be honest, I didn’t struggle that hard.

He pulled me into his lap, and I flushed, very aware of how vulnerable I was in this position, wearing nothing but a towel. I pressed my hands against his chest, trying to push away from him, but he held me fast.

Before I could stop him, he had sunk his hands into the wet tendrils of my hair, holding my head in place.

I gave a little gasp, and then his lips were pressing against mine urgently. Something snapped in me, and I pressed against him, my free hand wrapping around the back of his neck. I kissed him back hungrily.

Viggo was careful as he kissed me, holding me only by my hair. Even his kiss was controlled. It was slow and domineering, flooding my senses with electricity that ran from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. I moaned involuntarily.

We broke the kiss after a long moment.

“What was that for?” I breathed.

His eyes seemed to pierce me. “I wanted your full attention,” he replied, the corner of his mouth turning up.

I swallowed, clutching the towel tightly, keenly conscious of its meager protection. “You have it,” I replied carefully.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second, before opening them. “I believe you,” he said, his voice somber and sincere.

I studied his face for a long second—both eager and reluctant to trust him—searching for a clue to his true intention.

After a pause, he repeated himself. “I believe you,” he breathed across my face, pressing his forehead to mine. He hugged me closer, crushing me into his chest.

“Really?” I whispered. I hated how hopeful I sounded. It felt like a weakness to want and need Viggo’s trust.

He nodded, his eyes closed and his face solemn. “Really,” he replied, pressing his lips to mine once more.

I hesitated again. “Why?”

Viggo peered down at me, and sighed. “After you stormed out… Ms. Dale said something that was in line with my own suspicions about you.” My stomach clenched in uncertainty as I watched him. “But the more I thought about it, the more I felt like it was turning a blind eye to the truth. Ignoring evidence to make the narrative work. That’s not who I am or who I want to be. You made mistakes, Violet, but I want to believe that you were in over your head, in an impossible situation. I’m choosing to believe that.”

Tears began pouring down my cheeks. I hadn’t even been aware that they had been forming. The relief I felt in that moment was palpable, like another stone I could stop carrying.

“Thank you,” I sniffled, scrubbing my cheeks with one hand.

Viggo smiled a small smile, and disentangled his hands from my hair in order to wipe my tears away. “You’re welcome.” He pressed his lips to my forehead.

We held each other for a long moment, just taking comfort in the other’s arms. It was exactly what I needed, what I had been searching for. I felt stronger, like I finally didn’t have to shoulder everything on my own. I was afraid of the future, but now it felt like I didn’t have to face it alone.

25

Viggo

Violet had drifted off to sleep again, but I was wide awake. Coming to the decision to believe Violet, believe everything she had told me, had been hard. I'd had to come to terms with things that weren’t exactly comfortable for me.

Everything I had told her was true. I had no desire to be another pawn in whatever this game was that our two governments were playing. The easiest way to win this game was to stop playing. But it was more than that—forgiving Violet for her part in the bombing had been hard. It was like I had a bitter peach pit in my stomach, slowly dissolving to acid.

Until I thought