“I can only do it physically.”
“That doesn’t work for me, little deviant,” he says confident. “I want it all. Every dark part of you.” His hands release my face, and one moves to my neck, the other trails down and grips one of my breasts. Elian squeezes harshly, stealing my breath along with sending pleasure skittering through me. “Give me everything.” He practically growls the command, and I feel it. Something deep inside me breaks loose from the box I’d put it in, and tears spring to my eyes. “Did Daddy hurt you, sweetheart?” Elian coos. “Did he make you cry?” Another question as his one hand releases my breast and grips my hip, moving me over his hardening cock.
Tears trickle from my eyes when I think about the funeral. The words my mother muttered were nothing more than fabricated emotion. Just like the woman herself. She didn’t want me. She never loved Dad. All she wanted was the fame that came with being a politician’s wife.
“Tell me, deviant,” Elian says. “I want it all.”
“My father died. He was killed, and I never got to say goodbye,” I finally spit out as anger overtakes the pain, but Elian’s hands don’t relent. His grip on my neck is still harsh, along with the way his hand moves me over his crotch. “And I was taught not to feel.”
“Feel this,” he says, lifting his hips to press against my core. “That’s real. Not some fucking rule about not feeling emotion.”
“My mother didn’t like my tears. She never enjoyed seeing my pain or listening to my heartbreak.” I don’t know why, but the admission falls from my lips. His fingers grip my hips, his rough fingertips sending shivers through me as he holds me like I’m a fragile doll. His possessive hold cutting the safety net that I’d so perfectly laid my pain under.
“She’s a fucking liar,” Elian sneers as if he knows her personally. “Emotion is what makes us feel alive. The happiness and the sadness,” he continues as he taunts me with pleasure and steals my breath.
“How do you know?” I whisper, and we both still. Our gazes locked. My mouth still inches from his. “How can living with heartbreak make you feel alive? I just want to be numb. This here,” I say as I roll my hips, giving me the friction, I crave. “That’s the only thing that ever made sense to me. The night I was arrested, most people think it’s because I was partying it up ...”
“Close your eyes,” he orders, and I do. I obey him like I’ve done so many times before. “Tell me what happened that night.” He pulls me against him, my head resting on his shoulder, and I can smell the spicy scent of his cologne.
“I … I … I broke into his house.” The truth tumbles free from my lips.
“Whose house?”
Sighing, I realize I have to tell him. Tears fall from my lashes, wetting my face, but I don’t swipe them away. I’m once again obeying Elian and allowing the pain to take hold of me. “When I was sixteen, there was a boy I crushed on. He was the quarterback of our school team. Perfect in every way, but I learned that night, perfection didn’t exist.”
Elian goes rigid under me, and I picture his face painted with rage. I’m not sure why, but it pushes me to continue with my story. The same story I’d locked up tight along with my father’s death.
“We went back to his place after the game. I thought I’d be the special girl he took to prom. I wanted to be his high school sweetheart.” A humorless laugh tumbles from my lips. “But he was convinced with a couple of glasses of wine I’d be up for anything.”
“Arabella …”
“I wasn’t like that. Not then anyway. He broke me, tore me open, and I was never the same. I couldn’t tell anyone because my mother would’ve blamed me, and my dad, he would’ve killed the boy. I couldn’t have my dad going to jail. I loved him.”
“So, you stayed silent,” Elian whispers, and I nod against his shoulder. “And the bastard is the one you feel is now stalking you?” Another nod, and more tears fall. Elian’s arms wrap around me gently, pulling me closer as he stops all movement. He doesn’t say anything more. We sit in silence as the day turns to night, but his warmth calms me after a long while. I haven’t broken down like this before, but having him near me, holding me safely, I allow myself to break.
When he finally stands, lifting me along with him, he takes me to the kitchen where he sets me on a stool and heads to the fridge. Elian opens two beers, setting one down for me, and he swigs the other. Silently, we move through the kitchen making dinner. As we sit and eat, Elian seems distracted, angry. Just before eleven, he walks back into the living room from the bathroom dressed in a pair of sweatpants.
“Come here, sweetheart,” he says with his hand reached out to me. When I close the distance, he takes me, and we walk into the bedroom.
I’m nervous. I never once expected to admit the truth of that night to him, but here I am. Elian turns to me, a small, almost sad smile curves his lips.
“Take all your clothes off and lie back on the bed.”
I do as he says. When I’m comfortable, he takes me in like he did the first time we had sex. And then, he moves onto the mattress, kneeling at the foot end as he takes each of my legs, planting gentle kisses on my ankles, trickling them up to my inner thighs.
He mimics his actions on both sides before he
