I want this man like I’ve never wanted anything before, and if he realizes what I do to myself, I’m afraid I’ll never see him again.
Not knowing how long before he’ll be here, I rush through a shower to wipe away any evidence of my dirty secret. Just like when Zach comes by, I collect the few razor blades I have, putting them in a bag and shoving them in the back of the toilet.
I need help. I know I do. There’s a glitch in my brain that I can’t seem to turn off, or maybe, it’s that I can’t turn it on. I have a hard time expressing my emotions. Cutting is the only way to expel them. I never meant to do it. It was accidental, but the relief? God, did that feel good.
Standing naked in my bedroom, I trail my finger down a deep, red scar right beside my belly button. I had cut too deep, too long. Closing my eyes, I can remember the burn, the blood as it slid down the side of my stomach while I was laying down. With every drop that hit the mattress, I could feel all the pain, fear, and sorrow leave my body. I wasn’t afraid of my punishment in that moment; I didn’t feel the pain from the beating I’d taken from my cellmate.
Best of all, the terror that had taken hold since my conviction washed away like tears in the rain. I felt…Nothing. It was fucking glorious. And addicting.
Knocking on the door startled me from my thoughts. “Son of a bitch.” He was here. Panicking, I raced to get dressed, all the while I could hear him calling my name. “Hang the hell on!” I finally scream back.
Pulling the door open, I’m momentarily stunned by his presence. A form-fitting Henley with sleeves rolled halfway up his arms showcases every muscle in his chiseled torso. Tattoos peak out around his neck. Boot-cut jeans cling to his masculine thighs, and I can see the bulge in his crotch, unsure if it’s just how large he is or if he’s getting hard. My eyes skitter back up to his.
“I told you not to come,” I snap, turning around, eyeing my small apartment for imperfections or clues.
“And I told you I was coming.” His voice heats up at the last word, just as his hand tangles in my hair pulling me back towards him. “Don’t,” he growls, “walk away from me.”
“You don’t–.” Before I can finish, his grip tightens, my scalp tingles, and I’m forced to my tippy toes.
“Don’t finish that.” There’s a threat in his voice.
Lust zips through my entire body at the dark undertones of his voice. I can feel my breasts getting heavier, my panties dampening, my womb contracting. I’m sure he doesn’t miss the fact that my breathing hitches either.
“Last warning.” I feel his breath on the side of my neck. “Don’t fuck with me, Ashley.” His lips connect softly to my skin just as his mouth opens, and I feel his teeth bite down, and he sucks hard.
Hissing in a sharp breath, I know that from the moment of pain there is going to be a deep bruise there, and I won’t be able to hide it.
This man. God, this man. He does things to my body I never would have ima
gined before. Never would have consented to, let alone enjoy. I have a hard time correlating my need to fix my life with my need for him.
Without letting his grip on me go, Declan walks us over to my small ratty sofa. Sitting down, I’m forced on his lap by his hold on my hair.
“Will you let me go?” I ask as he plants one large hand on the inside of my thigh, just brushing his fingers against my core. My body tenses because he’s got his warm palm covering the spot where I’d cut last night. I’m nearly vibrating with tension and trying to control my reaction when he yanks my head back, so I’m flush to his chest.
“Relax,” he purrs roughly in my ear. “Now tell me why you think you’re so damn broken.”
How do I tell a man that’s larger than life, a man that oozes sex that I’ve fucked my way through a dozen or more men and women to find some kind of pleasure? How do I make him understand I did it to feel something?
“I just…am.” It’s lame.
With his hand still on my thigh, he lifts it, slapping down. The whip-cracking sound precedes the pain as I gasp. “Tell me,” he demands.
I shake my head from side to side. I will fight him with everything I am. Another slap, this time closer to my heated core. The burn is still the same, except there’s an inkling of pleasure.
“Fuck. You. Declan.” I bite out between clenched teeth. I don’t know why I’m baiting him. He can easily overpower me, do whatever he wants, and there isn’t a single thing I can do to stop him. A sick part of me wants to see how far I get pushing him. The rest, well, she’s screaming in fear.
“You sure you want to play this game, little girl?” His voice is full of fire and just as deadly, too.
Remaining quiet, I wait. An alarmed quiver runs through my bloodstream. I both hate it and love it.
“You’ll tell me, cupcake,” he breathes in my ear. “Or I’ll strip you down right here, right now, and take my belt to your bare ass.”
My body locks in terror. His threat is real.
“I can’t reach an orgasm. Never have been able to. I’m defective, Declan.” The words rush past my lips so quickly; I don’t think he understands.
His grip in my hair is lighter, his hand on my thigh is soothing now rather than punishing. Turning my head towards him, he murmurs against my lips, “I made you come last night, Ash,” just as they crash down in a searing lock.