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Another tear. And another. Not from any physical pain, because there’s only intense pleasure. It’s because you don’t have angry sex unless you’re angry, and Logan is furious.
And he’s using me.
One last time.
Punishing me.
Because he knows.
But he still doesn’t know the whole truth.
Tears slip free faster, and I take it. I wish it didn’t feel so incredible, but the flesh enjoys it even as the heart shatters beneath it.
I cry out, unable to help myself when an orgasm tears through me. Even as I cry from emotional anguish, the physical pleasure still forces my body to shudder with desire.
As he stills inside me, my heart pounds, shattering more and more with each passing beat. I knew it would hurt.
I knew it would devastate me.
I had no idea it would strangle me with a heavier hand with each passing second.
“You know,” I whisper softly, the broken sound of my voice nearly scratching my own ears.
He pulls off me as abruptly as this all began, and my hands are jerked above my head. I don’t even fight as I stare at him, watching him refuse to look at me as my hands get bound to the wrought iron headboard with his handcuffs.
My tears fall without mercy, embarrassing me, humiliating me, robbing me of any dignity I might find in this moment.
And he leaves me naked as he stands and pulls on his clothes, not saying a word until he’s fully dressed.
He still doesn’t look at me.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says bitterly. “Then again, I also should have known I was sleeping with a killer for the past several months.”
Finally, he levels me with cold blue eyes that lack a single ounce of warmth.
There’s pain, and then there’s agony.
It’s been a long time since I felt the agony I unleash on my victims.
But I feel it now.
It’s bone-deep, gut-wrenching, and powerful enough to pulverize you from the inside. Naked and cuffed to a bed as I cry the painfully hot tears, I try to ignore the agony that continues to rip through me with a relentless force.
But it’s useless.
I’m still too raw from the wounds I opened up last night.
I’m too in love to pretend I don’t care.
And the heartache is too real not to feel it through every cell of my very existence.
I no longer wish to be a romantic. Because it hurts too fucking much.
“Logan, I—”
“You’ll shut the hell up right now, Lana,” he snaps, his eyes glistening with his own unshed tears. “I loved you. I cared about you. And you? All you fucking did was lie! You used me!”
I start to speak again, but he grabs my mouth, painfully pushing it closed. The worst thing he could do is what he’s doing now.
