It takes everything within me not to quiver. “No.”
“Are you stupid?” He raises a brow. “Or do you trust me that much? Same thing, really. Trusting someone gets you nowhere. You know this.”
We say nothing to each other. I stare into his icy gaze, a breath leaving me when he draws the silken tie completely around my throat. His fingers brush the back of my neck, sift through my hair and I close my eyes at the gentle touch, reminding myself it means nothing.
He hates me. This is torture. He gets off on seeing my pain. He’s almost eighteen and completely fucked in the head.
But then again, so am I.
“No one will hear you scream out here.” He tugs on either end of the tie, the fabric tightening. Just enough to let me know it’s there. Not tight enough to hurt.
Yet.
“You won’t hurt me,” I say with far more confidence than I actually feel.
“What makes you so sure?” He dips his head, his mouth hovering just above mine. “I’ll smother your screams with my lips. Swallow them whole.”
He sometimes becomes poetic when he speaks of hurting me. “I won’t scream.”
“I’ve made you scream before.” He drops one end of the tie, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of my skirt.
Gooseflesh rises where he touches me and the dull ache that’s always there between my thighs when I’m with Whit roars to life. “That’s a different kind of scream.”
“Pleasure. Pain. It’s interchangeable. You of all people should know this by now.” He rests his hand against the front of my panties. “You’re wet.”
I reach for him, my hand settling over his erection. “You’re hard.”
“I got hard when I thought about choking the life out of you.” His lips curl in the barest smile.
I don’t believe him. Maybe this makes me foolish, but seriously. It’s more the fantasy that turns him on versus actually wanting to hurt me. “You won’t kill me.”
He raises a brow. “What makes you so confident?”
“You don’t want to destroy the family name. Whittaker Augustus Lancaster, murderer? Your parents would disapprove.”
Anger flares in his beautiful eyes and his mouth touches mine in a brutal kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth, his fingers slipping beneath my panties to stroke my bare flesh, toy with my clit at the same time he bites my lower lip so hard, I cry out.
And come all over his fingers in a gush.
He laughs, shifting away from me, removing his fingers from my panties. My cheeks burn with shame at how easy that was, my entire body a shaky mess and when he shoves his fingers between my lips, I suck them, tasting myself, hating how badly my clit throbs in anticipation of what other punishments he’ll deliver upon me.
“You hate me so much, yet I barely touch you and in seconds, you’re squirting all over my fingers.” He drops a kiss on my nose, smiling. Though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Little whore. I bet you like it when I tell you how much I want to hurt you.”
My throat is clogged with too many protests, and I swallow them down. There’s no point in saying them. He’ll just laugh. Call me a liar.
Deep down, I know he’s right.
“Want me to fuck you now?” He tilts his head to the side, contemplating me. “Maybe you want to get on your knees and choke on my cock.”
I furiously shake my head, like the ideas he’s just put into my head terrify me.
They don’t. I want him to fuck me right here, in the dappled sunlight and the hushed quiet of the forest. I can smell the ocean nearby, hear it lick at the shore. In and out. Rhythmic.
Like sex.
I’m not surprised when he reaches both of his hands beneath my skirt and grabs at the thin waistband of my panties, tugging them down my thighs and off my legs. I watch as the delicate fabric falls to the ground, my mind buzzing. I’m breathless. My heart beats so hard, I swear it’ll burst from my chest. I keep my head angled away as Whit undoes his belt, the clank of metal making me wince.
All the while, he talks. Of how much he hates me. How badly he wants to fuck me. Hurt me. Split me in two with his cock.
He’s damaged. Scary. More intense than usual. I don’t understand his thoughts, his desires. They’re wrong. Demented. Sick.
But they satisfy something inside of me I’ve never experienced before. Something I struggled with for years. Something I fought against. I always called it ‘the darkness,’ and when he reads my journal, he must recognize it.
We’re the same, Whit and me.
His trousers drop, forming a puddle around his feet. When I dare look at him, I see his cock, thick and long, the head glistening, a drop of pre-cum pearling at the tip. His pale blue boxers are shoved just below it, and he’s coming for me.
My legs fall open in welcome. He sneers, his hands rough on my hips as he angles my body to take his. He thrusts, a sharp push of his hips against mine, filling me completely and I scream so loud, a flock of birds flutters away, their flapping wings frantic as they make their escape.
“You’re soaked,” he says through clenched teeth as he thrusts and thrusts, my body, my desire making it easy. It’s not a challenge when he fucks me. I’m never dry, and I’ve experienced that before. The dryness. The resistance.
I don’t imagine that will ever happen with Whit.
“Why do I always want to fuck you? Why?” He increases his pace.
Slowly I come to life. When he’s inside me, it’s like fuel. Nourishment. I lift my head, my gaze meeting his and I wonder what he sees. His expression softens. His movements slow. I reach for him, trailing my fingers along the side of his face and his eyes fall at half-mast. His lips part. His cock throbs inside of me and I shift, my ass dragging against the rough brick beneath me, scraping my flesh.
“Tell me you hate me,” he says just before he kisses me. His hot lips on mine feel like a gift, and I don’t reply. I just take what he gives me, wrapping my arms around his neck, sinking my fingers into his silky hair.
He’s hard everywhere but his hair. And his mouth—it can say such cruel things and do so much damage, but when he kisses me like this, they remind me of a cloud. Fleeting.
Ethereal.
I think of those other soft spots he tries to keep hidden. The skin on the inside of his arms that tickles when I touch him there. The dark, secret spot behind his balls that makes him groan when I touch it. His inner thighs.
His heart.
The realization slams into me. I don’t care how dark he claims to be, or how cruelly he treats me. There’s a wall there, but it’s crumbling. Much like the remnants of this building that surround us. I’m patient. I’ll tear down those walls and I’ll find the soft underbelly of his beating heart.
“Fuck.” He breathes the word against my mouth like a curse. A prayer. “You feel so good.”
I smile and open my eyes to find him watching me. His thrusts are rhythmic, pushing me against the brick, and I know my backside will be scratched and bruised by the time he’s finished with me.
“Tell me you hate this,” he says, his voice desperate.
“I hate it.” I don’t sound like I hate it at all. My voice caresses each syllable, as if I gain pleasure in saying it.
“Say you hate me.”