As I said before, this isn’t a big space and so he reaches me in a few long steps. And when he delivers his next statement, he’s right here, leaning down over me, his wolf eyes all fiery. “Because this time it’s not me, it’s you. Who lied.”
“Lied about what?”
Bending down even more, he puts both his hands on the dresser behind me and I feel a shake at my back. “About Toby.”
My breaths hiccup then.
Toby.
Right.
I’ve been so engrossed in everything over the past weeks that it never even occurred to me that he might’ve figured it out. That he might’ve somehow found out that I was in fact a virgin.
That he was the one who took it, my virginity, like he wanted to.
“How do you…”
“How do I know?”
“Yes.”
“Because I saw it.”
“Saw what?”
Another shake at my back. “Your blood. On my dick.”
My thighs clench. “My b-blood.”
The vein on the side of his neck pops out and pulses. “You bled, didn’t you?”
I claw my fingers on the dresser. “Yes.”
I did.
I hadn’t noticed it until I got back to the dorm. There were red spots on my cream panties, the hem of my ivory dress. On my thighs too, super high, just by my core, and God, I saved it.
I saved the dress.
Like some lovesick fool, I put it in the back of my drawer, never to be looked at but never to be thrown away either.
Reed’s face blanches for a second at my answer and I almost put my hands on him. I almost soothe the tight lines but I stop myself at the last second.
I stop myself from touching him. Even though my fingers are starving.
“I made you bleed,” he says roughly. “I hurt you. You made me hurt you with your lies.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” I blurt out.
He scoffs. “I felt you, Fae. I felt how tight you were. I’ve been jerking off to it. Like an asshole, I’ve been blowing my load all over my bedsheets for three goddamn weeks to how tight you were. How I made you cry with my first stroke.”
“I —”
“Because you did, didn’t you? You cried. So yeah, I hurt you. I hurt her. I hurt your fairy pussy that hasn’t had anything inside her. Has she?”
“No.”
“No,” he rasps, his eyes flicking over my features. “Not a single thing, huh?”
I swallow again, blush burning my cheeks. “My fingers. Sometimes. And a t-tampon.”
I don’t know why I say it.
Why I tell him that, but I couldn’t not.
With the way he’s watching me. With the way he’s depending on my answer like that, hanging on it.
At my reply, an additional vein on his temple makes its appearance and pulses. “A tampon. So you made me feed my fat dick to a pussy that’s only known a tampon. You know my cock is fat and big, don’t you? You felt it.”
I curl my toes inside my flats as a phantom throb starts up between my thighs. “Yes.”
“And you lied to a guy like that. You lied to me.” He grinds his jaw. “You pissed me the fuck off with your made-up stories and —”
“I wasn’t making up stories,” I tell him, craning my neck up. “Toby was real. He did kiss —”
“Shut up,” he snaps. “Shut the fuck up right now, Fae. You don’t want to finish that sentence. You don’t want to finish it when it’s been killing me.”
“Killing you?”
“Yeah, it’s been killing me that I hurt you and I didn’t even get to make it better.”
“But you did make it better, remember? You hugged me and you —”
“Not like that.”
“Then how?”
I feel him shake the dresser again, the biggest shake yet I think. I notice his chest heaving, expanding under his t-shirt, those veins pulsing, beating like the heart he doesn’t have as he says, “It’s killing me that I made her cry and I didn’t get to lick her tears off. I didn’t get to soothe her with my tongue. She must’ve been all sore and puffy. Swollen and red. After the way I abused her. After the way I beat her up with my cock and I didn’t even get to suck that soreness away. I didn’t even get to make nice with her with my mouth. I didn’t even get to tell her that my dick, the thing that hurt her, he’s a horny bastard. He wants to hurt her again and again. He wants to use her up but I won’t let him. I won’t. Not until I take away her pain. Not until I kiss it all better. It’s killing me, Fae.”
I was wrong.
The shake that I feel when he finishes is the biggest one yet and I lose the battle with myself.
I touch him.
I touch the furious lines of his features, rub my thumbs over his arched cheekbones and the hollows of his face. I even touch him with my body, crash my softness against his harsh surfaces, his hard and heated muscles.
He shudders and I can’t stop the undeniable relief that floods through my veins at getting to touch him when I thought that I never would.
Going up on my tiptoes, I tell him, “It’s okay, Reed. I swear I was fine. I swear —”
“Was she though?” he asks, cutting me off. “Was she all red and puffy?”
That throb in my core grows and becomes a current, strong and thrumming. “A little. But —”
“Was she swollen too? All bruised up.”
“Reed —”
“Was she?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
I press my hand on his face even harder, press my body into his as I answer, “A couple of days. I couldn’t…”
“You couldn’t what?”
“I couldn’t sit in class,” I whisper.
His nostrils flare and his jaw jerks under my palm. “You couldn’t —”
“But it was fine. I promise. I went to the nurse and I got medication.”
“You got medication.”
I nod. “For the pain, and so it was fine.”
I did.
I kept throbbing between my legs so I went to the nurse and told them I had a headache. Which wasn’t that far from the truth anyway. Every part of my body was hurting back then.
I didn’t mind the soreness between my legs though.
During all those miserable days, that soreness was the one thing I didn’t wish away. And now that it’s gone, I wish it back.
I want it to come back, that fullness, that delicious stretch, that hurt, so he can make it better. Because for all my hate and anger at him, I can’t see him like this.
I can’t see him regret our night, what we did, what I wanted to happen.
“I took care of myself, see?” I continue, looking into his eyes, reassuring him. “I told you. You don’t have to protect me all the time. It’s not your job.”