“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.
Watching someone else bleed doesn’t make me feel quite so alone.
I take the rose, a thorn immediately pricking my skin, but I hardly feel it. Not with all of my attention on the heat of his body pressing into my back.
“Can I touch your thighs, baby?” he asks, his tone hushed and deep. Another nod of my head, and his large hands are slowly spreading my thighs. All of my focus zeroes in on the movement, and the terror is becoming too much. Tingles blossom in the tips of my fingers, and I know pretty soon, they’ll travel up my limbs until I can no longer feel them.
“Relax,” he soothes. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to think about it really hard, okay?”
Sucking in a deep breath, I hold it for a few seconds before releasing it. And then I nod, working to calm myself.
“What makes you feel powerful, Addie? Was it holding that gun in your hand? Holding it to my head and knowing that you could take my life?”
Tears rise, followed by a touch of guilt.
“I’m so-“
“I don’t want your apologies or guilt, Adeline. I want you to tell me the truth. What did holding a gun to my head make you feel?”
Tightening my lips, I quiet the shame and look past that. What did it make me feel?
It made me feel… in control. I was holding someone else’s life in my hands, and it was my decision and only mine if I pulled that trigger. I held something precious. Something irreversible. And it was all… mine.
“It made me feel powerful,” I admit.
“And what does power feel like?” he asks, his voice deepening as one of his hands trail up to my neck, avoiding my breasts. His touch is sensual but… safe.
“Let me feel you here.”
His hand slowly slides up the column of my throat, giving me time to reject him. When I say nothing, he clutches the underside of my jaw, forcing my chin up as he pulls my head back against his chest. My gaze locks on the white ceiling as anxiety crawls through my body.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.