I shut my eyes tight, trying to shield myself against the wicked.
On the back of my eyelids I see Shepherd still, see how he bruised those perfect lips with his passion, see that lust in those eyes — a lust that mimics my own, drives me mad with my own desire.
Every atom in my body screams to push him away. I try so hard to fight this toxic attraction, because if I sleep with Shepherd, again, I’m as good as dead. There’ll be no escape.
I’ll be trapped with the Devil, forever.
I’m breaking all my rules. Without rules, I lose control. When I lose control, cracks appear. And through them, the light goes out and darkness is my world. Then the monsters creep in.
I want to sob but I can’t, want to scream but my throat won’t open. Shepherd knows I want him, knows it, he said it, he bloody said it — Yeah, you were a little scared, but you wanted me to fuck you — and if Shepherd knows that then he knows how to hurt me. He knows just where my weakness lies. It’s right there in the centre of my heart, closed inside a little magic box. The little piece of him I keep.
I feel totally useless, totally worthless. A total failure.
I loathe who I am. I am ugly, I repeat to myself. Again and again, and again. Because I don’t deserve this little bit of emotion kindling in the middle of my heart. It patters wildly. Beats erratically. It kind of feels like hope and fear.
Hope, that Shepherd will numb the pain again.
And fear, because I don’t think I’m strong enough to do the right thing.
Say no to him.
12
ME
She doesn’t flinch when I rip her thin pale nightie. And she keeps her eyes on me as I run my rough hands in slow circles over her soft, peachy tits.
Her nipples rise, go hard. I catch them between my fingers, squeeze. I take one into my mouth, roll it under my tongue, then suck, like she’s all peaches and cream.
The sounds she makes, her whimpering in the back of her throat, her groans of ecstasy, has my cock pulsing and straining against the seam of my fly.
I indulge in her body, even as I consider her as a problem. Did I make a mistake in coming back?
Before this, before her, where I sat in my head it was like being on the bottom of a sunken pit. I couldn’t see anything else around me. Didn’t care to see what else was out there. Now I’ve gone over the horizon, I’m starting to see and feel all kinds of strange things.
I can’t fucking control myself when I’m close to her. When I smell her. When I touch her. Maybe I should do the decent thing and pack up while I’ve still got the chance. While I’m still in one piece.
But then it just takes one fucking glance. Hell, I hate seeing her pretty face look sad. It hurts to see her like that.
It always hurts to look at you.
The girl hates my goddamn DNA, but her face sparks up with a thousand fucking butterflies when I give her pleasure.
I know I’m useless but there’s this stupid part of me, so fucking stupid, which grips on to this hope that I can do something.
I did that to her. I broke her. I cut the first string when we were fourteen. Fuck if I’m not the one to fix the fault in her head. Fix what I broke.
I don’t know why it matters, but it does.
I should stay away, keep her safe from me. At this point, I’ve hurt her too much. Left her heart raw and aching. If only the rich smell of fear and halting arousal weren't so good. She’s getting turned on. Hungry for me. Wet for me. Of course, I never have to make any effort in that arena.
I shift on the bed, opening her legs, and lower myself to taste her pussy. It’s good, salty-sweet, with a tang of something mysterious that is all her. I love the way her thighs go tight as I lap my tongue over her. She doesn’t like it, doesn’t want to enjoy it, like she feels dirty shame, like she doesn’t believe she deserves happiness. But when I look up, her eyes look so big in her face, so mysterious and wide, flickering like a butterfly wing. Hazy. Pleasured.
She’s still looking at me. Into me.
When I slide my fingers into her, she winces and turns her head away in embarrassment. Ashamed of her own pleasure? No, she’s ashamed because she knows me. I’m not just some stranger doing this to her. She knows me.
Her monster in the dark.
The beast in me wants to fuck her, go fast and hard, to consume her. It always does, but something holds me in check, makes me go slowly, gently, to see how she reacts.
As I eat her out like it’s my last meal, and fuck her with my fingers, she gets wetter and restless. Her hands stop lying dead on the sheets beside her. One twists into the fabric and the other comes to rest on my shoulder. Did she mean to? She never touches me unless I make her.
Her breath shifts with mine, gets faster until she’s panting out of her mouth.
I don't know if I've ever made a girl come before. It never mattered. Not what I was there for. But when I get Amy to orgasm, the way her pussy clenches around my fingers, nearly makes me come in my pants like
