His words only make me cry harder, but just as he promised, it slowly chases away the voices.
An indescribable amount of time passes before I finally calm down enough to string together a sentence.
“Sometimes, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fully tolerate your touch,” I confess in a broken whisper.
“Are you okay with that?” he counters. “Is that how you want to live your life? Fearing the touch of a man—of me.”
Do I? Part of me wants to retreat in on myself and not let another man lay his hands on me for the rest of my life. I don’t want to see the images flash through my mind every time I feel skin slide against mine.
But then there’s another part of me that rages and lashes against that notion. The same part that allowed me to use his hand and that knife handle as a release. I don’t want those men to take more from me than they already have.
Because if I do, they’ll never stop. I’ll continue to hand over every piece of myself until there’s nothing left but a chalk outline.
“I don’t know how to… be okay with it.”
“Not even with your own hand?” he rasps. He pulls away, gently setting me on the floor.
“You took back the power with that knife. Now you can take it back when it comes to physical touch. Let me show you.”
My brows furrow as I stare up at him through puffy eyes with confusion.
His glistening stare picks apart my face, and I don’t need a mirror to know that my skin is flushed red and dried tears mar my cheeks.
Reaching over me, he grabs a rose on the nightstand, twirling the stem in his fingers. The thorns slice through his skin and tiny pinpricks of blood sprout.
“You didn’t clip the thorns,” I whisper.
“I’ve been protecting you from getting hurt, but sometimes embracing the pain is the only way to overcome it. Take off your dress,” he orders quietly. I blink and open my mouth, but he cuts me off, “Just trust me, Adeline. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to.”
I only stare at him, my heart picking up speed as his spoken expectations linger between us.
Swallowing thickly, I reach behind me and blindly unzip my dress, letting the top half drop down my arms. Quickly, I shuffle the material down my body before I can think about what I’m doing. What he’s making me do.
“Good girl,” he breathes. “Your bra, too, Addie. Take it all off.”
I shake my head, the remnants of their voices starting to rise again.
“Don’t think right now. Just do as I say.”
Biting my lip, I snap my strapless bra off and throw that to the side.
“Good girl,” he praises. His eyes stay firmly locked on mine. I wait for them to drop, but they resist.
Such a pretty diamond, look at—
“Don’t think, Adeline.”
I pinch my eyes shut, shaking the thoughts from my head.
My chest is too tight, and panic is starting to set in again.
“Zade—”
“Shh,” he hushes. He sits on the ground, leaning against the bed frame and spreading his legs. My muscles tighten until I’m vibrating with the need to get away.
“Sit here,” he says firmly, patting the ground between his legs.
Hesitating, it takes a few seconds to gain the courage to listen and crawl toward him. I look anywhere but at his face. If I see him, I might back out.
“Turn away from me.”
There’s no stopping the look of relief before I twist around and settle between his thick thighs.
I’m still strung tight, but I can breathe a little easier this way.
“I’m going to lean you back into me,” he warns. Biting my lip, I nod my head, allowing his hand to come around my body and press on my chest, guiding me to lean back.
It feels like trying to bend a metal spoon. It takes effort, but eventually, I rest against his chest. His heat soaks into my skin, like the sun shining on your face on the first warm day of spring after a long, cold winter.
“That’s it, baby. Relax.”
It takes several swallows before the lump forming in my throat dissipates.
“Breathe,” he whispers.
I do. I try to, at least.
The oxygen stutters out of me like an old engine. With every intake, it feels like I’m breathing in chemicals. Everything burns. Everything is too tight.
“Take this,” he directs, holding the rose in his bandaged hand. Tiny trails of blood slide down his wrist, and something about that is calming, just like when he cut his hand open on the knife to bring me pleasure.