“Apparently, a lot, if it’s making you hit me.”
“You hit me first.”
That was childish, but I’m regretting mentioning the dream. I refuse to admit that it was about him, and I am absolutely adamant he never finds out that he was about to fuck me in it.
“What was the dream, bella?” he asks again, his tone dropping wickedly. And just like a goddamn wizard, I’m opening my mouth to tell him exactly that.
“You know what? Whatever. When a man and a woman are attracted to each other, they have coitus. That was about to take place in my dream, and you fucking ruined it. Happy? Get off me now.”
It was my intention to make it sound as unsexy as possible—a fantastic distraction technique—yet his weight seems to have only grown heavier as he leans in more.
“It was about me,” he states plainly. I open my mouth to deny it, but it feels like my lungs have been incinerated. The air between us is smoldering, and even if I did have lungs to speak of, I wouldn’t be able to breathe through the tension.
Arousal is rebuilding between my thighs, and I’m transported back to that place of needing something that I should never have had to begin with. I never should’ve touched Enzo Vitale.
“What was I doing to you?”
“N-nothing,” I stutter. “You woke me up, remember?”
“That’s another lie, Sawyer. I can smell your pussy from here. That’s not nothing.”
A whimper whittles out of my throat, despite my desperate attempts to swallow it down.
I don’t know what to say to that. It’s much easier to just spread my legs and let him have his way.
The sound of the chains begins, starting from the metal steps, up to the hallway, and down toward Sylvester’s room.
I hold my breath, waiting for Enzo to roll off me and let the sounds of a lost prisoner take over.
Except he doesn’t. Instead, he draws my wrists together, holding them in place in one hand while his other slowly trails down my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps. I shiver as his fingers catch the collar of my t-shirt, brushing across my skin, then moving down again.
“What was I doing?” he asks again, quieter this time.
I have a mouth full of sand, unable to formulate a coherent thought beyond his touch.
Hours ago, he spat in my face about how much he hates me. He also swore that he wouldn’t fuck me even if I begged him to.
What good is that promise now while he plays with the edges of my shirt, as if my body is a composition where his fingers engrave each note of intention within?
He’s no better than me—throwing away his integrity for selfish needs.
“You were going to fuck me,” I tell him. “You were going to do exactly what you said you would never do again.”
He’s quiet for a beat, and part of me wishes I just kept my mouth shut and let him fuck me. Wait to remind him how much of a liar he is after he’s come inside me.
“What’s one more nightmare to live with?” he whispers.
It’s a punch to the chest, enough to bring tears to my eyes.
Normally, I’d thrash to get him off me and refuse him, but a different type of anger courses through me. If he thinks I’m a nightmare, I’ll be the worst one he’s ever had. I’ll be the one keeping him up at night for the rest of his life, waking without me there but always yearning for me.
I’ll let him have me one more time, only because he’ll regret losing me after.
“What’s one more,” I echo forlornly.
Tonight, he’s determined to do this, and I wonder if it’s only to escape his own mind. More than anything, I want him to tell me what plagues his dreams at night, but the lingering sting of his words and the hard press of his cock on my lower stomach keep me silent.
“Were you naked?” he prompts.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He hums, then grabs the end of my t-shirt and pulls it up, releasing my arms to remove the fabric altogether.
My nipples harden as the chilly air settles on my flushed skin, coercing goosebumps to the surface. I shiver, despite how I’m burning up inside.
Next, he slides my bathing suit bottoms off, then spreads my legs so he can settle between them.
My cheeks burn when I feel just how slick my inner thighs are. My brain is split into two sides of the same coin. I want him to feel how badly I need to be touched, but I don’t want him to know it’s only for him.
Gathering my wrists back in one hand, he once more pins them above my head, hovering above me. Hot breath fans across my sensitive flesh and I can’t help but squeeze my thighs around his hips.