Beauty in the Broken

I reach out, needing something to hold on to. My fingers tangle in damp hair. A hint of winter and citrus drifts over my senses. The harsh tendrils of reality finally strip me of my comfortable dream. Opening my eyes, I stare into a pair of dark ones. Damian hovers over me. My dream and reality merge. He’s inside me. He cups my face and rocks his hips with that lazy rhythm that creates beautiful dreams and frightening realities. Sucking in a breath, I tense.

“Shh.” He kisses my lips, never ceasing his movement.

A part of my memory is missing. I have questions and fears, but I’m too far down the road to release to stop him. His hand moves between our bodies, finding my clit. I jerk when he applies pressure, the touch too intense and not enough.

“Come, Lina.”

I convulse around him. Needing him deeper, I wrap my legs around his ass. He groans with approval, driving his hips harder.

“Please, Damian.”

He gathers my slick from where we’re joined and runs it over my clit with the heel of his palm. He rubs in a circular motion, holding my eyes, reading me like the open book I am. I still feel disorientated, like I’m lost at sea, but the pleasure he creates with his hand and cock outshines my fear.

“Come,” he says again.

I dig my nails into his shoulders, feeling adrift and unanchored. “Where am I?” I recognize his bedroom, but I have to be sure this is real.

“Where you should be.” He grips my hair and pulls lightly, bringing my focus back to him. “Come.”

“Damian.”

He pinches my nipple. “Come.”

When he kisses me, I do. The minute I let go, so does he. We come long and violently, breathing hard and shuddering in each other’s arms. He holds me until the very last aftershock has passed before turning us on our sides, keeping our bodies locked together. He winces as he does so.

Alarm tightens my chest. I should feel many things, apprehension being on the top of the list, but I’m not myself. I’m disorientated, and with my mind’s rational ability suppressed, all I feel is concern for the man whose seed is still inside my body, the man who makes me feel so safe, so warm, so good. So awful.

“What’s wrong, Damian?”

“Nothing important. Just a broken rib.”

My emotions are all over the place. Tears well up in my eyes.

The sound he makes mirrors the chuckle from earlier. “Your concern is endearing, but it’s nothing to cry over.”

The languid pleasure from earlier evaporates. My fear becomes sharper, but for a different reason. “Are you going to punish me?”

“Relax, angel.” He kisses my lips. “I’m not going to punish you today.”

I blow out a slow breath of relief, forcing myself not to think further than today so my body can once again relax and soak up his warmth. If I don’t, I’ll freak out about what has happened, Zane and Anne’s last conversation returning with unwelcome clarity to my mind.

“Why did you run, Lina?”

Biting my lip, I try to look away, but he grips my chin and forces me to look at him.

“Was it the cane, or because I broke skin?”

“Both.” My voice cracks. “I can’t handle it. I can’t handle you.”

I’m not crazy enough for his darkness and not strong enough for his punishment. I can’t take the depth of what he needs to find his warped pleasure. I may as well admit what my actions have already confirmed.

“What about the whip? Did you want to run after that, too?”

Will my answer have repercussions?

“I want your honesty,” he says as if reading my mind. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I wanted to run then, too.” I still do, but for different reasons.

“Fine.” He brushes a thumb over my lips. “I’ll have to find a different way of punishing you.”

The vice around my heart squeezes harder. I don’t want to be punished at all.

“Relax.” He rubs my back. “Your spine is about to snap.”

Making a conscious effort, I try to relax my muscles.

“Good,” he coos. “Are you going to tell me about it?”

“About what?”

“About what happened after you ran.”

He makes it sound as if I have a choice, but there isn’t one. One way or another, he’ll find a way of making me talk. It doesn’t matter. These aren’t the truths I want to keep hidden.

“What do you want to know?”

“Did they hurt you?”

“Other than hitting me on the head, no.”

“I had a doctor check you out, but I want to be sure.”

Automatically, my fingers find the egg at the back of my head. “It doesn’t hurt, any longer.”

“The doctor injected you with a painkiller. You may have a mild concussion, so you need to rest.”

“What happened to your rib?”

“I took a knock in the fight.”

My muscles tighten again. “What fight?”