“Easy,” he whispers. Rubbing my back, he rocks me against him. Not sexually, but like a child in his arms.
The fact he’s trying to comfort me after what I did to him widens the ache in my chest so much more. I burn with it from the inside out. I feel the shame of leaving him and then not even being able to do it properly, only for him to hold me, save me from ruin all over, and wash between my toes where somehow even blood managed to reach.
“I think you’re going to need some new furniture,” I say against his chest.
A thread of humor enters his tone. “What?”
“I got blood everywhere. I don’t know if anyone will be able to get it out of the car or the chairs in the bedroom.”
He pulls away to stare into my eyes. A tiny crease lines his forehead. “You’re worried about the furniture?”
Before I can answer him, he’s shut off the water, herding me from the shower and wrapping me in a towel. I don’t have time to do anything with my curls or do little more than dab off some water as he again guides me from the bathroom toward the bed.
I climb up onto it and crawl over to my side even though it feels wrong to be there while things are still so volatile between us. He wants answers, and eventually, he’ll drag them out of me one way or another. It’s not as if he doesn’t know every single one of my buttons, both for pain and pleasure.
He tugs my ankle, sliding me across the bed on my back, the towel bunching enough to pull free, leaving me naked, spread eagle, and wanting him so badly my stomach aches for it.
Except he doesn’t touch me. After he maneuvers me into the position he wants me in, he removes his hands and guides both of them up and down his shaft. “Oh no, Angel, you haven’t earned the right to come anytime soon. I plan to make you work for it. If you don’t have any answers for me, I don’t have anything at all for you.”
My fingers tingle, and my stomach roils. Every fiber in my body screams at me to rub my clit and take things into my own hands. But if I do that, he’ll be angry. In his mind, it would be cheating. So I ball my fists along my thighs, squeezing the dove gray coverlet hard enough so that it bites into my skin.
I watch him jerk off. One hand reached down to play up my inner thigh, the other pumping furiously while he stares at my nudity. My face burns hot at the intensity of his gaze. I look away until he slaps my inner thigh hard enough to sting. “I didn’t give you permission to hide yourself.”
I swallow hard and nod faintly, my eyes trailing once again to his erection, clutched tightly in his grasp. He works himself more, faster, his other hand digging deeper into my skin. I don’t think he realizes it, nor the fact that I’ll be bruised tomorrow. None of it matters as I track a bead of pre-cum leaking from his dusky crown. He gathers it on his next pass, adding it to the water he didn’t dry from his body after our shower.
I lick my lips, and he grits his teeth hard. It’s almost slow motion as he comes, shooting the white sticky mess across my thighs, my hips, and even a tiny splatter up on my sternum.
Then as I watch, my mouth hanging open, he rubs his spend into my skin, meeting my eyes in challenge until every trace is sticky against my body.
I stay still, watching, waiting while my body is strung tight like a bowstring. It would take him seconds to get me off right now. My heart pounds in my ears, and I’m panting as I squeeze the bedding tighter.
“Stay here, Angel. I’ll be right back.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to call him back, urge him, tease him into releasing me from this sensual hell. Of course, I don’t do it, not wanting to draw his ire further. Soon enough, he’ll peel the answers he wants out of me one way or another.
I relax into the mattress, even with my slick thighs and pounding heart. It was a long day. One I can’t think about at the moment. Not with everything so fresh. Right now, I need to focus on my future and how I can protect myself when Adrian learns the truth about what I did to his mother.
I roll on my side and curl my knees into my chest, covering my nudity, my shame.
Adrian stalks back into the room, all rippling muscles and elongated gait. He’s so beautiful it takes my breath away. I just watch him approach the other side of the bed, then crawl up with me into the mussed covers.
I didn’t notice he had something clutched in his hand on his trek in. This time, I recognize it as the tracking gun the doctor used on me after I woke up. It was only months ago, but it feels like years, decades even, since I was that whimpering girl paralyzed in the dark.
He holds it up and turns me by the hip to face him, my head cradled on my arm as I rotate to the opposite side.
“Here’s the deal…” he says, loading something in the small device and pressing a plunger at the back. It sort of looks like a hot glue gun except the tip is sharp and damn painful.
I wait for him to finish his thought.
“This time, I’ll put the tracker here.” He traces his fingers along the muscled curve of his neck. “You won’t be able to remove it without probably killing yourself. I would have done it that way the first time, but it didn’t occur to me you’d go back on our deal.”
Hot slimy guilt eats at me from the stomach up to my throat. More so for the venom in his tone when he says it.
I swallow and nod. What other choice do I have? If I don’t agree, he’ll probably kill me and save himself the hassle later. If I do agree, he’ll kill me anyway when he learns the secret I’ve been hiding. There are no good choices here, so I have to take the one I can live the longest with.
I sweep my still wet curls to the side and tilt my head to expose my neck.
He shuffles forward on the sheets, his knees meeting the tips of my breasts as he leans down to find the spot where he wants to do the injection. “Good girl.”
I latch on to his bare knee for support when the first pinch of the gun shoots through me. It’s over in seconds, and he’s leaning back, scanning my face. A hot pearl of blood slides down my neck to land on the bedding, staining it too.
“Are you alright?”
I nod, swiping at the tears overflowing my eyelids right now. More out of anger and despair than actual pain. It’s nothing but a dull ache under my skin. Hopefully, it will be gone by morning. “I’m fine. Can we go to sleep now? I’m so tired.”
Without a word, he scoops me up into his arms and walks us across the bed on his knees to lay my head on the pillows. My pillow. Our pillow.
More tears fall, and I can’t stop them now. I don’t bother trying. Quietly, he uses his phone to turn down the lights.
He gathers me into his arms so I’m pressing my wet face against his chest, the tears falling to land on him. I feel even worse letting him comfort me right now, knowing what he’s about to go through when he learns the truth. But I can’t give him comfort. Not while I’m at my weakest. Maybe in another day or two, I can gather my strength and try to save all of us again. For right now, this is what I need to keep going.
“Angel,” he whispers into the now darkened room. “If you leave me again, I will kill you. I won’t hesitate, and I won’t take excuses.”
Fear arches through me, chasing my sorrow. His voice is calm, honed, like the sharpened edge of a blade. One he already uses on me with deadly accuracy.