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He licked the trail of tears falling down my face and I shivered, and, for some reason, just let him do it.
"Maybe I am a monster, dream girl. But I'm your monster. And that's all that matters."
He stared at me for a long time, and the desperate lonely girl inside me wanted to fall into his arms, to give him what he wanted.
I was pathetic.
Finally, he shook his head. “I’m prepared to wait as long as it takes,” he finally murmured, stroking my face. He leaned close. “Just don’t fucking hurt yourself anymore. I don’t want to have to sedate you again.”
A sob slipped out. “How can you just say that to me? What is wrong with you?”
He shrugged and kissed my lips softly. “I’ve stopped asking myself that, baby.”
Then he left the room.
* * *
An hour later, he brought in a tray of food. It smelled amazing, Mrs. Bentley’s chicken parmesan, my favorite. My stomach growled, settled finally after the sedative, but I turned my face away, refusing to eat when he set the tray down.
Lincoln sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on me.
"I know you hate me right now," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But I promise you, Monroe. I will make this right. I will do anything to make you happy."
“You’ve broken us,” I whispered, another stupid tear sliding down my face.
“No, I haven’t,” he growled, but a few minutes later, he again left the room.
He didn’t return until night had fallen, walking into the bathroom and going about his routine like it was just another normal night.
A few minutes later, he appeared in the doorway and leaned against the door frame, wearing nothing but a pair of tight gray briefs. My eyes danced over his taut, golden skin stretched over perfectly defined muscle.
I watched as he grew hard under my gaze.
Ugh, the bastard had broken me. Because I was sitting here, chained to a bed…and I was wanting him with every fiber of my being.
“Want to get ready for bed?” he asked innocently. As if the crown of his cock wasn’t peeking over the waistband of his pants. As if he didn’t know he was torturing me.
“Oh, is that allowed?”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “I have cameras in here. I know you’ve already gone into the bathroom a couple of times. Everything’s allowed. You just can’t leave our house—”
“Your house,” I corrected him stiffly, wanting to make that important distinction for some reason.
“Monroe. Your name is on the title.”
“What?” I stared at him, horrified. “I guess I won’t ask if you’re out of your mind, because you clearly are,” I screeched, lifting my leg up and shaking it so the chain rattled.
He shrugged. “It is what it is. I told you that you were my everything, Monroe. My dream. That involves giving you everything as well.”
“Except for my freedom,” I whispered.
“You don’t actually want that,” he insisted, taking slow steps towards me like he was a panther and I was his prey. “Or at least you don’t wantthatkind of freedom.”
I glared at him and the asshole smirked. “You were miserable in your old life. You were trapped. And you were refusing to let me help you. You were scared. All I wanted to do was make you happy. To give you everything—”
“Don’t say that word,” I whispered.
He sighed again, biting down on his bottom lip, his eyes two pools of frustration.
