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“Bullshit,” he said. “You should’ve stopped me. You should’ve done something to let me know.” Each word was full of agony and revulsion.
“There was no reason,” I assured him. “There was nothing to stop. Is it so hard to believe that I liked what you were doing? What you did?” When he didn’t respond, when he just looked at me with that pained frustration, I wondered if it was.
And then it hit me.
And I felt like an idiot for never seeing it before . . . for missing it until now.
The way he always asked or confirmed things directly after. The way he’d just been surprised.
A sinking feeling filled my gut. “Do you . . . do you remember it?” I asked, my words strangled. “Do you remember anything from those times?”
He rubbed a hand over his face, his shoulders sagging as he did. And then his hands were on my arms again, making gentle passes over the marks he’d left before he continued unwrapping the chain.
“Yes, I remember it. I remember everything, I just don’t . . .” His piercing eyes traveled from the chain to me, pleading with me to understand what he was about to explain. “I know what’s happening when it happens. It feels like it’s someone else, but I know it’s me. It’s my thoughts and wants with a twisted, disgusting need layered over them. But it feels like I can’t stop whatever is happening. And when I come out of it, everything feels like a hazy dream I’m trying to remember until it slowly comes back one piece at a time.”
By the time he was finished explaining, the chain was lying in a heap on top of the knife and he was rubbing my wrists.
“You said you don’t remember sometimes.”
Kieran’s jaw clenched. “When it starts. If it takes over suddenly, and I’m not prepared.” He rubbed at his forehead then moved his hand to grip mine. “If I try to fight against it too hard, it takes over completely, and I don’t remember anything at all. Like the shower.”
I nodded slowly, understanding even if our darks were so opposite. “And what about the knife?” I asked softly. “You had it in your hand and were facing me, and you didn’t do a thing.”
“I know,” he said in a low tone.
No explanation.
No excuse.
“I told you I trusted you.”
“I still don’t,” he said gravely. “That could’ve ended . . .” He shook his head but didn’t continue.
“But it didn’t. Like I told you, I don’t think it will. You wouldn’t hurt me.”
A huff that sounded like a sneer burst from his chest as he crawled off me and the bed.
“Did you even enjoy it?”
He stopped, twisting his neck to spear me to the bed with his glare.
I wanted him to tell me it was incredible.
I wanted him to tell me he didn’t know it could be so good.
I wanted so much that I couldn’t have . . .
“If you didn’t, then fine. Tell me. I just wanted to show you that you wouldn’t hurt me. I wanted to show you that you didn’t need to be afraid of what’s in your mind. And I did.”
He knelt on the bed, gripping my chin in his fingers and slamming his mouth onto mine.
His mouth and his tongue were relentless.
And it made my exhausted body ache for him.
“If you think for a second that fucking you isn’t the best goddamn thing I’ve ever experienced, you really are insane.”
Oh, Kieran. Don’t you see that I am?
