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Now that it’s tangible, I’m having a hard time breathing. I’m hiding in the huge walk-in closet opposite his that he gave me, pretending to unpack my clothes and hang them up, but really I’m freaking out. I dig my newly manicured nails into my palms, and sigh as my blood wells up, bright red. I see nothing but black dots as I welcome the familiar, comforting pain. I usually don’t need to do this, but I need it now. All through middle and high school, I made myself bleed to feel normal. Sometimes I’d cut myself, sometimes I’d brush or floss too hard. The visual flow of blood and the ache that accompanied it, centered me. I know it’s bad, but pain can help me focus and breathe. I should have known that Bolton would know what I was up to because he almost rips the closet door off of the hinges to get to me.
“What the hell are you doing, Sassy?” Bolton demands his bare chest, with my name on it heaves. He’s just wearing a pair of cotton pajama pants. He has no freaking right to be so hot. None at all.
“Nothing,” I lie. I haven’t done this since high school, but lying to my parents was the right thing to do. They already thought I was insane. I preferred for them to think I was a clutz than what I really was.
“Don’t lie to me, Sassy,” he growls, his eyes wide as he snatches my wrists in his hands and turns them palms up so that he can look at them.
“How did you know?” I whisper as the shame washes over me.
“You fucking screamed, Sassy. I couldn’t find you, and then you did it again. When I finally got the door opened, you didn’t even hear me calling for you. What do you need from me, Sassy? Tell me right the fuck now.” I didn’t even know I screamed. Did I black out? Jesus, I’ve got to get my head on straight.
“Help me,” I say, feeling every bit the weakling I am. “Hurt me.” My whispered voice doesn’t even sound like me.
Bolton’s eyes widen, and he gives me an almost imperceptible nod. He roughly jerks me toward him and rips the t-shirt I have on over my head, baring me to him. He pulls me toward our bed by my nipples. Fuck. That burns so good. When he tosses me on the bed, I moan. He drags his pants down until his cock thuds against his abs.
“This is what you want? What you need?” he asks again as he wrenches my legs apart.
“Yes. Hurt me,” I say, and then he does. He slams his cock into me without checking to make sure I’m ready like he usually does. I was, but still, it was a shock. He leans down and takes my nipple into his mouth, alternating biting and sucking them hard. I mewl like a fucking cat in heat. I am unprepared for the onslaught of emotions as he bites and sucks my neck, chest, and belly. He’s marking me as he fucks me like he’s possessed by a demon. When he slaps my nipple, I scream. Looking down, I see the red welt already rising on my pale skin.
Oh God, he gets me. He alternates slaps on my nipples until blood blisters up under my skin. The bruises that will come from this will be epic, but I don’t care.
All I can care about is this.
Us.
Here.
Now.
The pain between my thighs and the determined stare he’s giving me as he drives into me over and over, never relenting. Nothing else matters.
He places one of his hands around my throat, squeezing just enough to hurt me but not enough to make me pass out. I love it so much. I love him so much. I am so close to blurting that out when he lifts my leg onto his shoulder and grinds into me harder and harder until my screams of delight are all I can hear. I come harder than I ever have as he squeezes me. I feel him come inside of me, and when my vision finally clears, I look up at him, looking down at me. My bloody palm prints are on his pecs; there’s even some blood on his biceps and face. I don’t even remember touching him, but I must have.
“Better?” he asks, and I nod. “When you need me like that again, just tell me. Don’t do this to yourself,” he says, grabbing my hands and kissing my injured palms. I can only nod as he leans down and kisses me, biting my bottom lip. “Good girl.” I’m pretty sure his praise is all I need.
For a week, Bolton has ignored his mother, and I hate that I’ve come between them, but he’s kept me so full of his cock, that I forget about all that because it’s my twenty-third birthday, and Bolton has arranged a dinner party at Lemonade, my favorite restaurant. He ordered my food and wine; I love not making decisions. He is spoiling me for any other man, but I'm glad. There are no other men to me. He called all my girls, my super squad, and flew everyone to Philly. I’ve been chatting with Hope and her man Ayerton, Jinny and her man Noah, Scarlet and her man Samuel, Cheryl and her man Nolan, Rose and Nick, and our lone single friend, Summer. I know that I am so blessed to have these women as my friends, but I am feeling out of sorts right now. I excuse myself to the restroom, which is luckily just a single, and stare at myself in the mirror. I am on the verge of tears when Bolton comes in. Did I not lock the door?
