Master of Illusion
Dallas pretty much hated himself. Worse, he was damn sure that Jane hated him, too.
He was a fucking mess, and it's a wonder she didn't just kick him in the balls. He sure as hell deserved it.
With a groan, he bent forward and lowered his head, letting the spray from the shower pound against his aching back, wishing that it could wash away all his mistakes.
His body ached as he remembered the way she'd felt on top of him, his cock hard inside her warmth. But he'd only been half there. The rest of him lost in a dream.
A dream of darkness. And torment.
A dream where he was at her mercy--Jane's, the Woman--it didn't matter because in the dream they'd been all mixed up. They'd been one. They'd been taunting him, torturing him, using him.
The first time he'd awakened to find himself hard and inside of Jane was like a fantasy come true. It had rocked him to the core, and the way she had taken control had aroused him so fully that for the first time he had hope that he might actually be able to finish inside her.
And now the memory of the Woman was destroying that pleasure. Taking something he cherished and turning it around on him, twisting it up now, seventeen years later, just like she'd done when he was a boy.
Fucking bitch.
He couldn't take it any longer. He couldn't live with the memories. With the fear. He couldn't live knowing what she'd done to him.
And all he could hear was Jane's words in his head. She took control? Take it back.
Well, fuck if that wasn't exactly what he'd tried to do.
Except it wasn't the Woman who was riding him. It wasn't the Woman he'd tossed to the ground, slammed against the wall. A damp concrete wall, hidden away in an underground fortress.
It wasn't the Woman he'd grabbed by the throat, holding her tight--so damn tight--as he'd thrust his fingers hard inside of her. Claiming her. Taming her. Proving that it was he who held fast to control.
It wasn't the Woman he was punishing. It wasn't a cell he was inhabiting.
It was Jane. It was her bedroom.
But he hadn't stopped. Goddamn him, he'd kept holding her. He'd kept fucking her. He wanted to claim her, needed to have her. Completely. Fully. Needed to know that she meant it when she said she would go with him as far as he wanted to go.
Then he'd looked at her--really seen her. More than that, he'd really seen himself. His hand on her throat. The brutality with which he was taking her.
He'd thrown himself off her, then scrambled back, horrified, leaving her to sag to the floor, limp and coughing.
She'd told him it was okay. She'd told him that she was fine.
But he knew better.
It wasn't okay.
And so long as she was with a guy as fucked up as he was, she wouldn't ever be fine.
Once again, he closed his eyes, then shivered as he realized the water in the shower had gone cold.
With a curse, he turned off the water, then pushed open the door and reached for a towel. He was wrapping it around his hips when Archie's voice crackled over the intercom.
"Liam is here. He's waiting for you in the ops center."
"Thanks." His voice was hoarse, and he realized he'd been crying.
Well, why wouldn't he have been? First he'd lost himself. Then he'd lost Jane.
God only knew what he'd lose next.