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I couldn't seem to shake the cold off.
It was in my heart and tainting the rest of me.
"Aplastaré tu coño, corderito."
"Puta traidora."
"Puta reina."
Heaving, I lunged for the toilet bowl, barely making it in time as my body rejected both my thoughts and the contents of my stomach.
His words.
How he made me feel.
His hatred.
How he took me in front of those men.
I couldn’t get it out of my head.
Gasping for air, I wiped the back of my mouth and climbed unsteadily to my feet. Breathing hard, I leaned against the sink and forced myself to look in the mirror, hardly recognizing myself when I plucked up the courage.
My gray eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them puffy and red. My full lips were cracked and also swollen.
Purple bite marks littered my neck, chest, and arms, and I knew if I removed the towel, I would find plenty more.
Arousal smacked me straight in the face and my pussy clenched.
"Stop it," I hissed, furious with myself for pulsing. "This is not good."
Clit throbbing, I clenched my thighs together and forced my mind to block out the feel ofhimas I reached for his toothbrush and cleaned my teeth.
Finishing washing up, I made my way back to the bedroom, ready to tell Patrice and any of his cronies lurking nearby to fuck off, only to find Trig sitting on the edge of the bed.
Stunned at the sight of him, I felt my feet falter in the doorway of the bathroom. The bed had been stripped, replaced with fresh sheets, while the old ones lay in a pile at his feet.
My heart raced violently in my chest as I reluctantly soaked him in. He was shirtless, with a white bandage strapped to his shoulder and his head bent as he concentrated on rolling a joint.
"Corderito," he acknowledged gruffly, not looking up from his task in hand.
"Where were you?" I asked, voice breathy and weak, forcing my legs to move me forward.
"Working," Trig replied, setting the weed tin on his nightstand and reaching for an ashtray and matches.
Sparking up, he shook out the match, tossed it into the ashtray, took a deep hit, held his breath for several beats, before finally exhaling a cloud of smoke.
Stepping around him, I moved for my side of the bed and then mentally checked myself for referring to it asmy side. "Where's Patrice?"
"Around," he replied, rolling the joint between his fingers absentmindedly.
"I don’t have any clothes here," I told him, watching him warily. "Everything I own is back in my room." Shrugging, I added, "I don't have any clothes to change into."
"I will have your stuff brought up here," he replied flatly before taking another deep drag, keeping his back to me. "Until then, you can have–" Exhaling slowly, he rasped, "whatever you like of mine to wear."
"Okay." I swallowed deeply, pulse fluttering. "Thank you."
He nodded once in response.
