“Tate, step –”

“I was through with her before. We’d been fightin’ this battle for ten years. Broken promises from her which led to us bein’ in and outta court for control of Jonas. Her ass**le of a husband would lose another job or lose another game of cards and back in court we’d go, not for custody, for more support so I could prop up her and that dickless husband of hers. Jonas can’t suffer so what do I do, Lauren? What do I do?”

“Tate –”

“I give more, he drinks it or gambles it, she snorts it or smokes it, Christ, who knows?” Tate bit out. “I gotta juggle everything so I don’t miss a weekend with him. Twice a month I get to see him. That is, twice a month until that night, when she showed up at the hotel room, I got inside and my son wasn’t there and I knew her game. I knew, no matter how sweet she could tell her lies, she’d played me again and used my kid to do it. So that was it and she knew it. We didn’t fight. I told her to get her shit sorted because my attorney would be in touch. She tried to play me again but I was done. You don’t use my kid against me, not for a f**kin’ orgasm, for f**k’s sake.”

“Tate, I –”

“I haven’t seen him in two months, Lauren. Your shit, Tonia’s shit, needin’ to work so I can pay my bills and keep my kid fed because neither of those two do jack. I haven’t seen my boy.”

“I’m sorry, but –”

“I get home, that scene goes down and you… what? I don’t even know what the f**k you’re on about.”

“I know why you’re with me,” I told him.

“Yeah, babe? And why’s that?”

“I…” I took in a breath then started again. “I don’t have any kids but that sounds awful, Tate. I’m sorry about that, it sounds… I’m sorry about it. And I can understand why you’d do anything you could to get Jonas but you can’t act like Neeta. You can’t play someone else to take care of your son.”

His head tipped to the side. “Act like Neeta?”

“To make a home for your son. Make a family. Make something a judge would look at favorably and use me to do it.”

His brows snapped together under narrowed eyes.

“Use you to do it?” he repeated.

“Yes,” I stated. “That’s why you’re with me. A man like you… a woman like me.” I shook my head and whispered, “I didn’t get it but I get it now.”

“Tell me you’re shittin’ me,” he demanded.

“Sorry?” I asked.

He moved quickly and he did this to pound the side of his fist on the wall by my head.

He got in my face and shouted, “Tell me you’re shittin’ me!”

I jumped with the fist action and went still at his shouting in my face then I shouted back, “No Tate! I am not shitting you! I get it! You can stop…” I got up on my toes and got into his face too, “fucking… playing me!”

He took a step back and then I was in the air. I blinked at his back in surprise and realized I was over his shoulder as he turned and stalked to the door of the closet.

“What on –?”

“Shut it,” he growled.

“Tate, put me down!” I shouted, putting my hands to his waist and pushing as my feet kicked and he rounded the bed.

I felt his palm smack my ass, it wasn’t light, it wasn’t harsh but it made a point.

“Shut it, Lauren.”

I shut it. I’d never been spanked before. Not in my life. My Dad wasn’t afraid of discipline but he dished it out verbally.

Tate carried me to the bathroom, the light went on, he bent and put me on my feet. Then he jerked my body to facing the vanity and mirror and he moved in, pinning me to the edge of the basin counter.

“Look,” he ordered.

“What?” I whispered, still recovering from being hauled bodily into the bathroom and pinned to the counter against my will.

One of his arms locked around my ribcage, his other hand curled under my jaw and he leaned in, forcing me forward over the basin.

“Look,” he demanded. “What do you see?”

“Tate –”

“What do you see?” he repeated on a growl.

With no choice and more than a little scared, I looked at him in the mirror and answered. “I see me.”

“What do you see?” he reiterated.

“Tate, I see me,” I whispered.

“Lauren, look at you, not me. What the f**k do you see?”

I stared at him in the mirror and then my eyes went to my reflection.

“I see me,” I said softly and I did.

“Who did it to you?” Tate asked, releasing my jaw and he bent further forward, his hand covering mine on the counter.

“Did what?” I asked.

“Twisted what you see,” he answered. “’Cause, babe, I’m guessin’, with that shit you just fed me, what you see ain’t what I see.”

My breath caught and I remained silent.

“I know it ain’t your folks, they see what I see so who did it?”

“Tate,” I breathed but said no more. My heart was beating wildly, I could feel it in my chest, my neck, my wrists and my legs felt like jelly. If he wasn’t pressing me into the counter and holding me up, I was certain I’d fall.

His hand left mine at the counter and his arm at my ribs moved us slightly back so he could pull up the tee, exposing my panties and bunching the shirt under his arm then both of his arms locked tight around me and he pressed me into the counter again.

“Baby,” he whispered, “I don’t f**kin’ get it. Is it easier for you to see what he made you think was there? And if that’s it, why? What the f**k are you protecting yourself from?”

“I…” I swallowed, “I don’t understand.”

“No, babe, you don’t. He twisted it in so deep, you can’t straighten it out but look, look at you.” My eyes stayed locked to his in the mirror and he urged softly, “Laurie, baby, look at you.”

I forced my eyes to my reflection and I took it in, all of it. Not only me, my hips, undies and belly exposed, my br**sts resting on his forearm, my hair a mess around my makeup-free face and Tate behind me, tall, dark, broad and beautiful.