I rake a hand downward over my open mouth and begin to pace, debating whether or not to go speak with her. To apologize. An hour ago, if someone told me I’d be deciding whether or not to say sorry to anyone, I would have laughed. But here I am. My chest feels as though it has been jackhammered into broken up pieces and I cringe every time I catch my reflection in one of the kitchen’s reflective surfaces.
Who have I become?
A bitter, hateful ogre who pillages young girls without a fucking thought to their comfort? To their future?
What I’ve done here tonight is inexcusable.
The Sebastian I used to be would be appalled.
I should let her go. I should give her a load of cash and wish her on a peaceful journey. That way, I couldn’t inflict any more damage on Chloe.
But I find I can’t do that.
I can’t just let her leave—and that’s how I answer my own question about what I’ve become. I’ve turned into a selfish bastard, that’s what. Because now that I’ve tasted redemption on her lips and been baptized in her grace, now that her sweet voice has touched the rafters of his lonely house, I can’t bear to remain here without her.
Chloe stays.
She stays.
That decision fills me with such relief that I cease pacing and slump sideways against the kitchen counter, my chest rising and falling as if we only stopped making love mere seconds ago. However, when I glance at the clock on the stove, I see hours have passed during my flight into madness and self-disgust. Fingers of light are beginning to reach into the horizon, waking up the birds in the trees that surround the house. Birds whose songs have always annoyed me, but now, I find myself hoping she enjoys them.
I refuse to catch even an hour of sleep, worried she might leave while I’m unconscious. Instead, I shower and change. And I go stand in front of her door, hands braced on either side of the frame, just waiting for her to come out. My heart raps violently in my chest every time I hear her sigh in sleep on the other side of the door. Every time the springs groan gently to signal the fact that she’s turned over. My cock is erect. Pulsing. If she was alone in the room, I’d go inside, cut through the darkness and cover her in my weight.
So it’s a damn good thing the child is there, acting as a deterrent.
Because she’d probably beg me to stop. Not again, she would most likely scream, still disturbed by the frenzied way I fucked her in the kitchen, making her want to flee as soon as the sun comes up. The fact that she’s probably scared of me now fills me with shame. I remember the trusting way she looked up at me on the cliffside five years ago. I think of how she came here last night, believing I would help her again—only to be forced to barter her virginity—and I want to tear my hair out.
I’m…going to fix this.
Somehow.
I can’t stand the idea of her hating or resenting or fearing me.
Which is funny, because that’s usually the reaction I aim for in another person.
Not this girl, though. Not Chloe.
I need to make her feel…safe. I need her to trust me, the way she did when I caught her hand and pulled her back up onto the grass. Until now, I didn’t realize I’ve carried her trust all these years. It might be the one thing that kept my humanity from flickering out completely. The memory of her hand in mine. Her relief when she collapsed into my arms.
My throat is tight beyond belief when I hear soft feet hitting the floor on the other side of the bedroom door. Chest rising and falling, I drop my hands from the frame and step back, almost pouncing when Chloe emerges, her eyes soft from sleep, her shoddy dress still twisted slightly from my hands during sex.
When she sees me, she skids to a halt. “Sebastian,” she exhales roughly, pausing for long moments to recover from the surprise while all I can do is devour the sight of her. “I-I was only going to get a glass of water. Curtis is always thirsty when he wakes up and I was planning on getting on the road early.”
“No.” I fairly growl the world and immediately curse myself, searching for a softer tone. “I mean to say, please don’t leave, Chloe. I would like you to stay.”
Please don’t make me resort to imprisonment.
“Oh,” she murmurs, wringing her hands. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You’re worried I’ll accost you again.”
“Well…” Only a slight hesitation, a wrinkle appearing between her brows. “Yes.”
Shame wraps around my windpipe. What else can I expect when I’ve banged an innocent girl against a kitchen island without any foreplay ahead of time? What can I expect when I’ve coerced her into the act? “Understandable.” I clear my throat hard, but it does nothing to remedy the terrible, crowded feeling. “What if I promise to keep my hands off you?” My hard dick mocks me from below. “Unless, of course, you want them on you.”