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All.
At.
Once.
I’ve barely wrapped my mind around it all when I feel his hands slide down to my shoulders. Then lower. One brush of my breast makes my nipple react, and the resulting sensations twist my stomach into knots.
Too much.
Too fast.
He’s soft when he wants to be. Harsh when he doesn’t. Raking nails draw a gasp that he swallows whole. Then that searching hand lowers while more fingers sink into my hair, locking my head in place.
“Trust me,” he murmurs. Or more like nibbles against my tongue in a series of sharp little bites.
“Let’s just do this,” I stammer, pulling back. “I don’t want romance. I just want…” Aimlessly, I head for a nearby corner containing a table stacked with random equipment. The distance from him doesn’t help clear my mind any.
It only reinforces why I’m here. Not for comfort. Just…pain. My heart hammers, my throat dry. I’m more desperate for a distraction than ever. In a sick way, I’ve gotten my wish—being alone with him is more disconcerting than standing on the edge of a bridge.
“If you want to leave,” Daze starts.
I shake my head. Unlike before, I’m ready to jump. “Where are your condoms?” I ask in a trembling voice.
“I have one,” he says. From where? I didn’t hear him leave the room, but I’m too chicken to ask.
My brain is too busy spouting its own questions, but they’re directed at me.What are you doing, Frey?
I’m not ready when his thumb captures my chin, tilting it as if to second that question. He doesn’t make me look at him, but I sense it’s deliberate—his way of giving me an out. He’s softer than he should be, manipulating flesh and bone without seeming to try. Those bruised, battered fingers promise damage that his touch alone seems incapable of delivering, and I shudder, releasing a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.
Another brush of his thumb demands I move closer. Close enough for my bare back to graze his chest, sending a jolt of alarm through my belly. Raw skin. Body heat. I’m feeling every sensation more than I have in weeks. Months. Even his scent sinks too deep, imprinting his presence inside my skull.
But something warns me I’ll remember this one—my first descent to rock bottom.
I can feel every crushing ounce of the fall for once. His fingers mainly, sliding against my inner thigh, slow and hesitant. But bold too. Sure. I know this kind of touch. To him, I’m not a person in this moment. Just a cigarette he’s dragging on, too desperate for a hit to care about the long-term consequences. Fuck lung cancer. Or logic. Or common sense that warns of all the risks that come from sleeping with a stranger…
I cringe from the reality, too, squeezing my eyes shut as my hands find the nearest stable surface. A table? It creaks as I brace myself against it, leaning away from him.
In return, he follows me, dominating me from behind. Hellfire heat returns. Thick, immoveable muscle everywhere. A hitch catches in my throat, and a noise bubbles from it. Hesitation?
He doesn’t give me the benefit of the doubt. Voice rasping, he warns, “You want me to stop—you tell me to stop.” At the same time, his hand curves so that he has my entire thigh in his grasp. He lifts it easily, spreading my legs apart, opening me up to him. Gingerly, he hooks a thumb beneath the waistband of my panties and tugs them down.
My heart hammers against my ribcage, and I can’t help but compare him to Colton. Beautiful, brown-eyed Colton with the rich, donating father who supports Father in money and a presence at the church.
The boy I’m expected to one day marry.
You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, Frey, he told me.
Daze inhales when he sees me, or so I presume, but it’s a frantic sound. Impatient and hollow. I’m ruining his high with silence again. “Do you want me to stop, or—”
“No.” I shake my head, resisting the fear. The memories. Everything. I’m cold, empty Frey again. Gritting my teeth, I wiggle my hips, seeking him out. “Just do it.”
But he evades me.
“You’re not even wet.” Something he knows firsthand as what feels like his thumb slips between my legs. I jolt forward, electrified, and scrape my nails against the surface beneath them. I want to be carefree, stupid, and reckless, but panic floods my chest, and I’m suffocating again.
Focus, Frey. Focus, focus, focus. It’s either this or Hale. Hale, Hale, Hale. You failed him—
“Why does that matter?” I choke out, trying to bat his hand away.
