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Chapter 5
HIM
I step out of the shower and wipe myself with a bath towel, before wrapping it around my hips. I grab another towel and for a moment, I just stop to look at her.
She’s there, on her knees, hands wrapped around her body, closed within herself. It’s like her soul has left her body, shattered into hundreds of pieces, floating somewhere around this mountain, trying to stick itself back together without any sort of glue. She’s broken, I can see it in her eyes, in her body language, in her rare and sudden sparks. Pieces of her soul are slowly finding their way back, but it’s not enough and she’s still missing the glue.
I lay the large bath towel over her shoulders and lift her from her underarms. This time around she doesn’t flinch and it bothers me. I sit her on the countertop next to the sink, towel laying loosely over her shoulders. Putting my hand on her throat, I lift her chin, forcing her to look at me and my whole-body shudders when I look into her eyes. They’re cold, so fucking cold, it’s a disturbing, unfamiliar feeling. I can see her demons lurking in the shadows and I know, I don’t know how, but I do, that if she was whole, this woman would be capable of great things.
Dark things.
Terrible things.
But definitely great.
“I need to look at the bleeding.” Her eyes soften, like she suddenly remembered that she was hurt.
Letting go of her throat, I open the cabinet under the sink, looking around for the first aid kit I forgot somewhere in here. I can feel her gaze following my every move. I must be confusing the shit out of her.
Good.
It means that she’ll never know what fucking hits her, never anticipate my next move. I want to play with her, taunt and tease her. I want to haunt her soul, then help put it back together only so I can break her apart again, time and time again, until she knows that I’m the only one capable of doing that.
Until she knows that there’s no one else but me.
I rub my eyes and eyebrows, yet it doesn’t help me figure out why exactly I want all those things. I never did before.
Why her?
HER
This is when I see him properly, and I try not to get distracted by his strong, naked body covered only by a towel wrapped low on his hips, or by the obvious hard-on.
Full black and gray sleeve tattoos are wrapped around his arms with so many different swirls and patterns that look almost tribal, old symbols reminding me of Norse art from my old art books from University. There is something on his back as well… a woman, maybe an old girlfriend; she looks wild, savage, ruthless, her hair flowing in every direction, wrapping slightly over his shoulders. I cannot see her features from this angle though, I can’t understand her purpose.
I also don’t understand mine…
I feel abandoned. Still reeling in from the fight happening within myself. My demons are dancing on heathen songs composed by the sheer arousal this man ripped out of me. But my mind is fighting with every breath I take, throwing warning signs at me in wave after wave, getting me to see how much danger I’m in.
I have not asked for it, I have not implied I wanted it, and somehow, I still feel like a whore for receiving it. I have been used so much in the last few months, in so many different ways, that I do not truly believe my body is mine anymore.
I do not want to like it, to feel it like I do. I do not want to feel the wetness dripping down my inner thighs. How can I control myself when this man uses me like a damn doll and my flesh betrays me?!
My throat still hurts; I can still feel his fingers around it. I can feel how my pussy clenched when he squeezed, I can feel the fire burning so deep in my core, seeping through my pussy every time his grip tightened. I can still feel the pressure in my head getting stronger, my gaze hazy. I can still hear the demons singing, and I’m not sure if they were mine or his. I could barely take a breath… and I smile. I fucking smile.
When he stole the nearing orgasm from me, I fell on the floor, mourning the loss of everything he gave me and everything he took away. I wanted his hand around my throat and his fingers in my pussy. I wanted him to carry on, I wanted my life to end in that fucked up beautiful moment, because it was perfect. A moment I chased for far too long.
I know he plans on patching me up, but why? We both know he is not keeping me. Is it just so I am more able, stronger, harder to catch when he will eventually give me that false sense of freedom and I will run?
He is playing with me. He’s building a complex, an intriguing and utterly filthy trap and if I am not careful, I will fall right into it, even if I am fully aware of its existence.
It’s like a twisted, fucked up game of survival. One that I am struggling not to play.
I clutch the ends of the towel with both hands and wrap it around myself. Hot steam clouds the bathroom yet I am getting chills.
“No. Open it up.” His voice is stern.
I look up at him, then down and to the side and let go of the towel. I got used to my nakedness in the last few months, but around him it’s starting to feel different.
