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"Just say it."
"I don't know..." My determined glare makes her sigh before finally answering in a low whisper. "I don't know. Three or four, when it started."
"Are you fucking kidding me, Monroe?" I'm so pissed off I want to fucking kill someone right now. But since her stepfather isn't nearby, I settle for getting up and pacing the room, fighting the urge to smack my fist against the wall.
"Don't be upset," she mutters. "This is why I didn't want to tell you. Please. Don't be mad at me."
"I'm not fucking mad at you, Monroe." I run my hands through my hair, fighting my instincts to hunt down the bastard and kill him right the fuck now. "I'm mad at the prick who did this to you, and I’m mad I didn't find out sooner."
"There's nothing to be done now," she mutters. "It doesn't matter. And I'm over it."
I struggle with my reply, struggle showing her how I really feel. On the one hand, I know full well showing her my emotions will make me seem vulnerable and fucking weak, which I despise. But the urge to kill, to hurt, to maim, is making me fucking wild, and I don't know how to hold back for much longer.
"You shouldn’t be over it," I balk at Monroe. "You should be seeking revenge for what the prick did to you. He should be in prison.”
She shrugs. "It's better to let go than to dwell on the bad things others did to you."
I don't agree at all, but I can tell she still feels vulnerable and shaky, and my reaction to her confession is only making her close up more. So I rethink my anger, and get back in the bed beside her, once again pulling her against me and kissing the top of her head. "Go to sleep."
"What, with you here?" She narrows her eyes at me uncertainly. "Are you going to stay here?"
"Yes."
"But you... we... we don't do this."
"Tonight, we do." There's a determination in my voice that leaves no room for questions. The small smile playing on Monroe's face doesn't escape me as I pull her to me, and her body nestles into mine. She likes this. She feels safe.
"Thank you."
She says the words so softly I nearly miss them, but they register a second later. "What for?"
"For taking care of me," she mutters. "For giving me a job, taking care of me... It means a lot. I didn't know how messed up my life was, or maybe I was just living in denial. But this world you’ve introduced me to... It's so different. So new. I won't want to leave."
I'm tempted to tell her she shouldn't because I'm already getting attached and can't bear the thought of being without her. But instead, I say, "Good. Because you're not fucking allowed. You're a liability now, Monroe. I'm forced to keep you."
She turns around in my arms, obviously hurt by my words. I curse inwardly, hating myself for being such a prick. But it's how I'm wired, and it'll take longer than a few days to make me into something else. Already though, she's changing me into someone with fucking feelings, and I don't know if I like it. Feelings make you weak. And I don't do weak.
"Who's mad at whom now?" I mutter against her hair. "Come on, sugar. Look at me."
She shakes her head, but I've had enough. I put her on her back, climbing on top of her and holding her arms above her head. Her eyes glitter with the pain of my words as they meet mine, and I feel something I don't recognize tugging at my heart. Fuck. This girl will be the death of me.
"You don't have to act like keeping me is such a pain in the ass," she mutters, making me laugh out loud. She gives me an incredulous look. "What? You're acting like I'm a problem. Something you could be without."
I don't want to tell her the truth—that I want her by my side. That weakness I'm so afraid of is rearing its ugly head yet again, but I'm not going to let it win this time. "Stop sulking."
"I'm not sulking," she protests. "I’m just—"
But she doesn't get to finish her sentence. My lips cover hers, and I kiss her like I fucking own her, which I do. Our bodies mold together, crashing like waves and I claim her with every lick, every nip, every second our lips stay pressed together. I can tell Monroe wants to resist, but her body won't let her. She wants this, craves it. And I'm not going to stop. No matter how much she denies wanting me, the truth is written all over her pretty little face.
"You're telling me you don't want me sleeping next to you?" I ask her, trailing my tongue between her exposed tits. "You don't want my lips, my tongue, my fingers on you?"
