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I enter the room, but she gives no hint that she notices or even cares. Have I finally broken her down? Has some of the fire finally fizzled out? Is she just as much a pawn in all of this as I now am? I wish I could ask her, but I don’t know the words to use. I don’t know how to express myself in any genuine, meaningful way.
Especially not when all I want to do is continue what I started before. Just the thought of it makes my pulse quicken. It’s so easy to arouse a virgin. To make them moan and beg, to make them lose their breath and their sense of time and place in favor of sensations they’ve never indulged in before. It’s one thing to touch yourself, but to be touched by someone else? Someone who knows their way around a woman’s body?
The way I know how to touch hers. And I want to give her more that’s the worst part. I want her to feel these things with me, only with me. I want her to look at me in wide-eyed wonder, breathless and hazy and unable to wrap her mind around what her body just went through.
The sudden brush of fingers against the back of my hand makes me jump, startled back into the present moment. I didn’t know I drifted off as I stood beside the bed. I also didn’t know I dug the nails of my left hand so deep into my palm that I broke the skin and am now bleeding.
But she noticed, and she touched my hand. And now she’s looking up at me, concerned, brows drawn together, her mouth pulling downward at the corners. “You hurt yourself.”
“It’s not the first time.” Why did I say that? And why don’t I pull my hand away before she can slowly loosen my fingers one at a time, her touch gentle and careful but determined.
“You’ll have to wash this.” She looks up at me. “Didn’t you feel it?”
“No,” I reply when I should say I was too busy imagining everything I wanted to do to you, but I keep that to myself as she finishes unclenching my fist and examines my palm.
“Why do you care?” I blurt out. “What’s this about?”
“Why does it have to be about anything?” She looks genuinely confused, and that confusion rings out in her voice, as well.
“I’ve been nothing but an asshole to you from the beginning.”
“And how far would I get by being an asshole right back to you?”
“You would have every right.”
“I tried that, didn’t I? I fought and cursed you, and look where it got me. Nowhere. And now, we’re supposedly going to get married.” When I scoff, she nods slowly. “I know. And I’m thinking to myself, what if there’s a way we can get out of it? I’m sure you don’t want to be married to me any more than I want to be married to you. No offense or anything, but I always thought I would have at least a small say in my future husband.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her she’s been fooling herself all along. I have no doubt her father would have chosen her husband no matter what, but I’m willing to play along to hear the rest of what she has to say. For some reason, the sound of her voice soothes me.
“Maybe if we work together instead of me fighting against you, it will get me home sooner.” She gets up on her knees and begins to strain upward toward me, and I realize with no small amount of surprise that she intends to kiss me.
And it feels right. So right that I take her face in my hands and pull her in to kiss her as hard as I can, smearing my blood on her cheek and not giving a damn. Not when her lips are as sweet as honey and as addictive as anything I’ve ever tasted.
Though even the sweetest lips wouldn’t mean a thing if the woman they belonged to didn’t kiss me back. That’s not a problem with her—no, she grabs my shoulders and hangs on tight, matching every thrust of my tongue with a thrust of her own. I don’t know if we’re kissing or battling for dominance as we bruise each other’s lips, as our teeth clash in our frantic, almost brutal fight to claim each other.
I have to touch her. I need to. I’ve run my hand down her cheek, noting the slickness under my palm, knowing I’m leaving a trail of blood behind. She must feel it, but she doesn’t react, only pulling me down on top of her as she falls onto her back. I gladly follow, my hand now running over her throat and down to her chest. She moans into my mouth, arching her back, giving herself to me. Silently begging for more. I knew she would be like this. It’s why I should have stayed away, why I couldn’t possibly stay away. She makes me forget everything I thought I knew. Makes me question everything about myself. And I hate her for it almost as much as I want her.
I roll my hips and press my aching cock against her, and she clings to me tighter, digging her nails into my shoulders, lifting her hips to meet my pressure with her own. It’s enough to make me want to forget everything, lose myself in her, and never come back.
And I would, too. I would give up the fight and give in to the inevitable.
If it wasn’t for the ringing of my phone. Yet again, I find myself caught between what I want and what I know is the right decision. It’s not like the man will let me get away with ignoring his call.
I pull back with a sinking heart and finally take in the sight of her covered in my blood, smeared from her cheek down to her tits.
I wish the sight didn’t thrill me so much.
17
ALICIA
Iguess it’s a good thing we were interrupted, even if, once again, my body feels like it’s dangling at the edge of a cliff. Am I ever going to get the relief I’m craving?
I absolutely should not want that relief from him, so why do I? I never thought of myself as being desperate before. If I was desperate, I wouldn’t still be a virgin. It never seemed worth it to me, especially since I had never met a man who interested me for very long. It was almost enough to make me wonder what was so different about me when other girls my age got laid all the time. I wondered if I was too picky or just afraid to go all the way.
Now, when I should be afraid more than anything else, all I want is for him to have his way with me. It’s sick.
And when I look down at myself, at the blood he smeared on me, that feeling only intensifies. There’s got to be something wrong with me for liking this. If for nothing else, I hate that he’s brought out this side of me. I resent him for it.
