A tear rolls down my cheek and I look back down at his lips. When an anguished noise escapes him, I try to ignore the way it pulls on my heart.
Slade doesn’t feel. Slade in no way cares.
I watch his lips part even more as he brings them toward me. As soon as I feel his breath on my lips, I close my eyes. His kiss is soft. With each tug of my lips with his, he urges me to forgive him.
No.
His tongue slides into my mouth and I let him taste me. I won’t kiss him back though. A whimper builds in my throat when he kisses me deeper, begging me to reciprocate. And I gasp when his hands trail along the side of my body, leaving a singe of pleasure in its wake.
He eases me onto my back as he continues his attempt to kiss life back into me. But I’m not Snow White. I won’t suddenly wake up and sing happily now that Prince Charming has come to save me.
I can’t be saved.
“My God,” he breathes between kisses. “What have I done to you?”
His self-loathing tone wiggles its way right into my heart. I don’t want to feel sorry for him, but I do. With a stroke of my thumb, I rub along his jaw again as he kisses me. After a moment, he finally wrenches away from my lips and my touch as if it took every ounce of self-control to do so. Then his eyes search mine.
“Tell me.”
I smile at him, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “You took away the last piece of me.”
His eyes clench shut and an angry roar splits the silent room in two. “I’m so sorry, little kitten. Fuck. Please come back to me.”
Something about his pleas—his desire to fix me—seems so genuine and real. If he cares, why would he hurt me?
The way he stares at me now, angry yet needy, lights a match. I feel a slow burn begin to form in my core. My skin reacts—notices every part of him that touches me. This time, my whimper does escape.
“Holy shit, J. Let me make it all better,” he begs.
His eyes tell me that he wants to fix it without words. I can’t handle words right now, so I nod.
One of his trademark growls fills the room as he leans over me and fishes for something from the nightstand. With one-handed, perfected-over-the-years efficiency, he manages to slide a condom on his thick cock that has throbbed to life.
Do I want this?
Right now, it’s the only thing left. I need it to feel alive.
“Make love to me.” My words are but a whisper, yet he hears.
I expect him to laugh at me. Tell me that hardened assholes like him don’t make love—they fuck. But he doesn’t. He grants me my one last wish.
With now eager eyes, I watch the determined look on his face as he spreads my knees apart and settles his body over me. In this moment, we both know it isn’t about foreplay or getting off. We both know I need to feel connected to someone—anything—if I have any hope for surviving this life.
My core screams with resistance as he slowly enters me. I’m not wet. I’m not ready. And I don’t care. I need him now, just like this.
He stretches me more than I’ve ever been stretched before. With every push deeper and deeper inside me, he fills me. His eyes find mine a hair before his lips do, and his mouth worships mine as he takes me completely.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers against my lips. It’s become his mantra.
His hips begin a slow thrust that builds the internal fire he lit moments before. My own hips rock to meet his, and my heels find their way to his hard ass.
“Okay.” That’s all I give him on the subject, but it does something to him.
His endearing growl crawls down my throat as he consumes me. I tear my lips from his and stare out the window for a moment. I’ve never had so many emotions rolling around during sex before. With Slade, it’s anger, passion, want, hate, love, desire, need. All of it at once. It’s overwhelming.
“Look at me, Cupcake,” he groans.
Then my eyes snap back to his and something flares in my chest. The wicked grin on his face tells me that he got the reaction he wanted.
Slade doesn’t feel. Slade in no way cares.
I watch his lips part even more as he brings them toward me. As soon as I feel his breath on my lips, I close my eyes. His kiss is soft. With each tug of my lips with his, he urges me to forgive him.
No.
His tongue slides into my mouth and I let him taste me. I won’t kiss him back though. A whimper builds in my throat when he kisses me deeper, begging me to reciprocate. And I gasp when his hands trail along the side of my body, leaving a singe of pleasure in its wake.
He eases me onto my back as he continues his attempt to kiss life back into me. But I’m not Snow White. I won’t suddenly wake up and sing happily now that Prince Charming has come to save me.
I can’t be saved.
“My God,” he breathes between kisses. “What have I done to you?”
His self-loathing tone wiggles its way right into my heart. I don’t want to feel sorry for him, but I do. With a stroke of my thumb, I rub along his jaw again as he kisses me. After a moment, he finally wrenches away from my lips and my touch as if it took every ounce of self-control to do so. Then his eyes search mine.
“Tell me.”
I smile at him, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “You took away the last piece of me.”
His eyes clench shut and an angry roar splits the silent room in two. “I’m so sorry, little kitten. Fuck. Please come back to me.”
Something about his pleas—his desire to fix me—seems so genuine and real. If he cares, why would he hurt me?
The way he stares at me now, angry yet needy, lights a match. I feel a slow burn begin to form in my core. My skin reacts—notices every part of him that touches me. This time, my whimper does escape.
“Holy shit, J. Let me make it all better,” he begs.
His eyes tell me that he wants to fix it without words. I can’t handle words right now, so I nod.
One of his trademark growls fills the room as he leans over me and fishes for something from the nightstand. With one-handed, perfected-over-the-years efficiency, he manages to slide a condom on his thick cock that has throbbed to life.
Do I want this?
Right now, it’s the only thing left. I need it to feel alive.
“Make love to me.” My words are but a whisper, yet he hears.
I expect him to laugh at me. Tell me that hardened assholes like him don’t make love—they fuck. But he doesn’t. He grants me my one last wish.
With now eager eyes, I watch the determined look on his face as he spreads my knees apart and settles his body over me. In this moment, we both know it isn’t about foreplay or getting off. We both know I need to feel connected to someone—anything—if I have any hope for surviving this life.
My core screams with resistance as he slowly enters me. I’m not wet. I’m not ready. And I don’t care. I need him now, just like this.
He stretches me more than I’ve ever been stretched before. With every push deeper and deeper inside me, he fills me. His eyes find mine a hair before his lips do, and his mouth worships mine as he takes me completely.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers against my lips. It’s become his mantra.
His hips begin a slow thrust that builds the internal fire he lit moments before. My own hips rock to meet his, and my heels find their way to his hard ass.
“Okay.” That’s all I give him on the subject, but it does something to him.
His endearing growl crawls down my throat as he consumes me. I tear my lips from his and stare out the window for a moment. I’ve never had so many emotions rolling around during sex before. With Slade, it’s anger, passion, want, hate, love, desire, need. All of it at once. It’s overwhelming.
“Look at me, Cupcake,” he groans.
Then my eyes snap back to his and something flares in my chest. The wicked grin on his face tells me that he got the reaction he wanted.
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