Lost wet strands stuck to her neck along with the beads of water she failed to dry off as the rest of her hair piled carelessly on top of her head.
Mia’s golden-brown eyes pinned me still, glowing and full of life.
She was perfectly fine, never slipped. Perhaps she had always been fine without me.
Mia had me imprisoned in the heartache, and it hurt to look at her. The agony intensified, burrowing into the marrow of my bones. I wished I could rip them out.
Standing feet away, I took notice in the way her tiny hairs raised over her bare arms. My eyes roamed over her, inch by inch. Goosebumps coated her, and my eyes made the journey down to her bra-less chest, staring at me, taunting me like the bloody shadows.
She turned away, and I wanted her to stop this pain eating away at me—put me out of my misery. It was the least she could do.
She lost her bloody grip, yet I still loved her to the point I hated her.
And right now, I wanted to fuck her to show her how much.
Like when water was so cold, it burned.
Frostbite.
mia.
It wasn’t just six hours ago I’d pushed Ollie away, yet he stood there staring at me like I was a snack—jaw tensing, fists clenching, nostrils flaring. Feral cat-like eyes nailed me in place. It only took one glimpse into his angry eyes to know I’d gotten to him.
I pushed my door open, and an inferno landed against my back, guiding me forward through my doorway. Familiar fingers gripped my sides eagerly, digging into the crevices of muscle and bone. A gasp rolled from my lips, and Ollie kicked the door closed behind us. All my belongings dropped to the floor. Recognizable lips brushed my earlobe as his tall frame pressed against me from behind, pinning me to the door.
Ollie—familiar, warm, safe. My heart hummed from his closeness. A heated breath raked over my cold skin, and the familiar minted aroma became a well-known passenger between us. Wordlessly, Ollie slid his fingers inside the band of my pajama bottoms and panties, pushing them down my thighs, scraping fingers over my skin.
“Ollie … ” The tears in my eyes blurred the scene around me, and my sex ignited, begging for a fix of him—to be touched and adored by him. Pushing him away would’ve been an impossible task.
His teeth scraped over my shoulder to the nape of my neck as his hard length rubbed against me. I reached behind me wanting to touch him, to feel my fingers in his messy hair, but he snatched my wrist and gathered both my hands in one of his, planting them over the door before us. His demeanor was off-kilter—needy and angry.
With one hand, he pushed against the middle of my back until my face flattened against the door. His grip tightened around my wrist, and his knee broke apart my legs. Defenseless and exposed, the fangs of desire sunk their teeth into me as my center pulsated to his tune. Ollie would never hurt me, and my heart needed to be refueled by him.
“I wanted to fuck her, but I couldn’t,” Ollie informed, his voice stiff and without emotion. “I physically couldn’t because I’m a slave to you.” A single finger slid through my sex, and I shivered. Ollie dropped his head over my shoulder, drawing in a breath. I tried to turn to look at him, but he withdrew his hand and pressed my face against the door again, pinning me in place.
Confusion seized me blind.
His palm returned to me, dragging through my dripping wet center, not focusing on pleasing me, but every movement he made was for himself—and again, I did nothing to stop him. I embraced him; the closeness of him, his touch, his ragged breath spilling over my skin. I embraced it all.
Fingers pushed inside me—stretching me, thrusting into me, fucking me.
“Tell me to stop,” Ollie warned, his voice broken and troubled as he pumped in and out. When I didn’t answer, he pulled me back against him before gripping the back of my neck with his other hand. He thrust into me harder—hungrier, and more demanding. “Dammit, Mia. Stop me!”
“No!” I screamed.
He released his grip from my wrist, and in a moment when I thought something snapped inside him, his cock emerged from his pants, grinding and rubbing between my crack—hard, solid, and untamed. Ollie embodied a wave of fury, clenching my hipbones, and dragging me from the door before slamming me against the desk.
Still, I wasn’t scared, only worried for him … because this wasn’t him. He’d never manhandled me. He’d never pushed me. He’d never fucked me. And everything screaming inside me knew it was exactly what he was about to do. For the first time, Ollie was going to fuck me. Before I had the chance to turn and face him, Ollie wrapped his fingers in my bun and pressed my face down.
As if I lost all will to move, I morphed into whatever he needed because I didn’t want to say no. This time, I was his punching bag. With my chest pressed against the—now cleared—desk, legs spread wide, and my bottom in the air, I felt his fingers pull me apart as his swollen cock drove inside me. I chewed my lip to fight a sound from escaping until blood drew and crept into my mouth as he continued his revenge on me.
Over and over, he pounded into me with a fist in my knotted hair, yanking my head back.
Over and over, his familiar pelvis slammed into me in an unfamiliar way as my eyes stayed fixed on the mattress where we used to make love.
Over and over, fingers digging, leaving marks deeper than the skin, until warm semen pumped inside me from his pulsing weapon.
Then everything stopped.
Silence.
Stillness.
He stayed pinned, deep inside me. His entire body trembled as he gasped for a steady breath. Time passed slow—too slow—as we both froze in the moment still connected. I never saw his face because he refused to let me see him like this. It was as if he faced me, he wouldn’t have been able to go through with it, yet it still broke him because his body shook in regret.
Finally, he pulled out, and the warm liquid dripped down my thigh, but I still couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I gripped my eyelids shut, turning my teeth to the inside of my cheek.
Seconds passed, and the sound of my door closing behind him was the only indication his unsettling retribution was over.
The small hand lingered over the three as I waited for Ethan to come through the door. He should have been here by now. The one night I desperately needed to not feel alone, I was. I remembered the days when all I’d wanted was to be alone. I’d never needed anyone until I fell victim to love.
I wasn’t angry with Ollie for what he did, if anything, he showed me a part of him, and I finally understood. Like a blanket, he wrapped me up in the hell—the place he couldn’t break free from—to give me a morsel of the torture he faced daily. Each word he’d uttered, I’d felt the struggle inside him. Each time he’d gripped me tighter, it had been an unsaid cry for help. Each breath had been a scream. Every thrust had been a beg for mercy, and the only person who truly took the beating had been him.
I’d felt it.
Like a ghost walking the planes of the earth aimlessly, lost and confused, unheard and unseen, I’d felt Ollie’s internal pain. And it was that same feeling that kept my eyes open in the slow passing hours of the night.
My eyes stayed open, heavy yet fighting, locked on the door across the room until the sun came up blazing through the window. The only sound was the rattling of the vent. My mind spun like a frantic racing hamster on a wheel. Round and round. The visit from my father. Ollie. The glass in my mattress. Ollie. The dead cat. Ollie. Focusing turned into an impossible action I couldn’t grasp.