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I shake my head frantically. “I didn’t trust them. I still don’t. They hated me and would’ve probably accused me of doing it to myself. I…that’s why I didn’t go to the hospital either, because they would’ve reported me. Besides, if the perpetrator was a victim’s family, I didn’t want to hurt them. They’d experienced enough pain for a lifetime.”
“There.” He drops my bandaged palms to my lap, and I soak in the comfortable feeling when the wounds stop pulsing. He then wipes what I’m sure is the mess on my face with a wet piece of cotton.
My brow furrows. “What?”
“There’s the reason why you’re not Maxim. He wouldn’t give a fuck if people suffered as long as he got his gratification. You got stabbed and remained quiet to protect others.”
“But I c-cut you.” The words burn in my throat.
“You were cornered, and I’m certain you won’t do it again.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I just am.”
My chin trembles. “I-I’m so sorry, Jonathan.”
“Stop apologising.”
“But —”
“If you don’t, I’m going to spank you.”
My insides liquefy at that promise. This feeling of utter surrender to the lust I have towards Jonathan is the reason I trashed everything. I tried to get anyone’s attention so they would open the door and I’d get to flee.
The fact that he could use my body against me scared me. It still does, but now, I feel like I’m suspended in an altered reality. Now, I don’t have the right to think about anything past the fact that I hurt him.
I could’ve killed him.
I could’ve lost him once and for all.
“Jonathan, I —”
“Shut up, Aurora.”
“But I —”
His hand wraps around my throat and his lips capture mine. My words and tears come to a halt and my thoughts scatter into thin air. Something tells me I shouldn’t do this, but that reason can be damned.
I moan into his mouth as he claims me whole. He tastes of cognac and coffee. I love this taste on him so much. The fact that it’s mixed with his woodsy, spicy scent feels as if I’m diving deep into him.
My tongue meets his, keeping up with his pace — or trying to, anyway. He’s too intense for me to maintain the same rhythm. Having his fingers around my neck adds to the lethal feel of his sheer presence surrounding me like a vice.
Still kissing me, he fli
ps me over so I’m lying on my back on the mattress in the midst of the chaos of thrown clothes, towels, and sheets.
His mouth leaves mine, and I breathe heavily, my lips are swollen and raw, but I want more. I need the confirmation that he forgives me, that he sees that I didn’t mean to hurt him.
Jonathan’s fingers tighten around my throat, and I clutch his hand, not to remove it, but to keep it as leverage. I need to hold on to something, and it’s strange that he’s the only thing I can turn to.
“Don’t cry again.” His voice is hard yet tender at the same time. “Those eyes aren’t made for tears.”
Before I can make complete sense of his words, he crawls down my body and flings the nightgown to my waist.
I didn’t bother with underwear after my morning bath, and I’m glad I didn’t.
An appreciative groan comes from Jonathan’s lips as he slides his fingers through my folds. I’ve forgotten what it felt like to be dead down there. Jonathan made me bury that part of me with every orgasm he’s wrenched out of me.
