Pain is beautiful.
If you allow it to be.
“I’m not dealing with you today,” I huff at last, my throat clogged with a myriad of emotions. So, so many emotions that it’s impossible for me to tell them apart. Pain bleeds into love, and that love transforms into blistering anger. They all churn in my stomach like a nest of live and angry snakes, hissing and slithering.
When I turn away from Tate, preparing to take off down the path once more, he grabs my arm and wrenches me to a stop.
“You don’t get to always walk away from me!” he bellows, and beneath his anger, I sense something else—fear. Fear and desperation, each one so potent that I choke on it.
“I never walk away from you.” I spin to face him, and he immediately releases my arm. “You’re always the one who shoves me away. As if you can’t stand to look at me. As if you can’t stand to be near me. As if you can’t stand me.” I’m panting, my chest heaving with each inhale and exhale. “Why do you keep pulling me back to you when we both know you’re only going to push me away again?”
The same panic I heard in his voice appears in his dark eyes. They flit across my face rapidly, almost as if he’s searching my expression for something. But what that something is, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.
“Just let me go, Tate,” I whisper, venturing a step closer. “Tell me you don’t love me anymore.”
“Fuck you,” he hisses, but the words lack his usual venom and bite. He desperately grabs at my shoulders, kneading the skin there before dropping his hands once more. Shakily, he scrubs at the dark hair grazing his forehead.
“Say it. Say you don’t love me. Tell me that this time, you’re going to let me go. For good.”
Something wicked flares to life in his eyes. It reminds me of a candle being lit. The flame starts off small, a mere flicker of light on the wick, before it blazes into a kaleidoscope of colors. But like with any flame, a mere breath of wind is capable of distinguishing it. You need to tread very carefully in order to preserve the light.
“Emily,” he growls.
“Let. Me. Go.”
And then he’s kissing me, his lips moving desperately and feverishly against my own. Unlike the others, he wastes no time in claiming what he wants. His tongue immediately enters my mouth, and I’m helpless to resist. His smoky scent surrounds me as I cling to his broad shoulders, cling to him. I’m afraid that if I let him go, I’ll lose him for good.
He bites down sharply on my bottom lip, and I moan at the sting of pain. Immediately, he begins to lick at the blood on my lip, savoring my flavor.
“I hate you so fucking much,” I breathe when he pulls away, his eyes half-mast with lust and need. And…love. So much love that I momentarily lose my capability of speech.
“I hate you too.”
We always fucking say those words, hurling them at one another like poisonous arrows. But somewhere along the way, the connotations behind those three words have changed. I wouldn’t be able to tell you when or why, only that I could never truly hate the broken man standing before me.
“You’re such a brat,” he continues, voice a low growl. “A stupid, idiotic, selfish, obtuse—”
“Don’t you mean acute,” I jest, and when his eyes narrow further, I grin. “I’ll just let myself out.”
“You make me so fucking angry.” He backs us up until my back is flush against the bark of the tree I was hiding behind only a few minutes earlier. His hand wraps around my throat and tightens, cutting off my air supply. Heat travels straight to my clit at the painful touch, and I know that my panties are already drenched through.
With one hand wrapped around my throat, he removes his cock with his other. Pulling it free of his basketball shorts, he gives it three quick tugs, his eyes never leaving my own. I’m sure my face is turning blue from my desperate need to take in oxygen, but it only amplifies my desire and lust. Yeah, I’m fucked up. I know it, and I never claimed not to be.
“Fuck you,” he hisses, leaning forward and licking up the side of my face. His bobbing cock brushes against my stomach.
Finally, he releases my throat, and I inhale greedily.
“Fuck you, Tate,” I pant as I grab his cock and yank on it sharply. He hisses through gritted teeth, eyes hooded as he watches me. “Why do you have to be such an asshole?”
At my rhetorical question, he smiles sharply, placing his hands beneath my shirt and sweatshirt to pinch my nipples through my bra.
“Because I’m your asshole,” he replies dangerously, and I think that, more than anything, sums up our entire fucked up relationship.
He releases my aching breasts and roughly pulls my leggings and panties down.
“Fucking hell, Tate.” I cast a glance in both directions, ensuring that the trail is still empty of any errant joggers or…hell…children playing. “We’re in a public park.”
“I don’t care,” he snaps as his fingers immediately enter my wet channel. He doesn’t ease me into it, not my Tate. Not my God of Deception. Instead, he plunges two fingers into my pussy, rubbing them back and forth across my slit. “Turn around, baby girl.”
Doing as he instructs, I spin to face the tree, bending over slightly so he can curl his hand around the curve of my ass.
“You have such a pretty ass,
