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I licked her through every wave, coaxing her orgasm with flicks of my tongue as she rode my face.
“Oh fuck,” I said before pulling back to look at my handiwork. Her cunt was glistening and begging to be touched again. I wanted to do that until she couldn’t stand.
That was everything I needed and more. I had every intention of spending a lifetime between her creamy thighs.
I’d expected to see a blissed-out expression on her angelic face. I was feeling pretty proud of myself, already preparing to strip her bare and thrust my cock into her. But when I looked up at her, there were tears sliding down her cheeks. She looked haunted. Broken. My heart shattered at the sight. This was the best moment of my fucking life. So why was she crying?
I wiped my mouth on the edge of her dress before standing up, feeling unsure and worried about what she would say. Was this about why she left? I cleared my throat. “What’s wrong, love? Did I hurt you?”
She violently shook her head as tremors overcame her. I took a step back, not sure what I did wrong or why she was reacting this way, but wanting desperately to do whatever necessary to make it stop. Seeing Christine hurt did something tragic to me. It tore me up from the inside out. It made me rage. It made me want to fix it.
But something haunting in her expression made me think this was something I couldn’t fix.
Hyperventilating, she grasped her chest. Her eyes were unfocused and heavy, frantically scanning the room while avoiding looking at me.
“Christine…”
“I’m sorry. I’m not normally…”
She quickly fixed her dress and slid against the wall, moving away from the window while keeping distance between us. I moved to approach her, and she clenched her fist at her side. “Don’t come any closer.”
She looked…terrified. I could see the white in her eyes, the way her lip trembled. She was breathing so fast that it physically pained me to look at her. I felt a sickening sense of horror. This wasn’t a woman freaking out because her childhood friend had eaten her out. This was a woman stricken with trauma. It was evident in the way her eyes had glazed over in fear. She was breathing hard, like she was on the verge of a panic attack.
Something triggered this.
Was it me?
Was it this castle?
Was it…
Realization dawned on me at that moment. I took a step closer to her. “Who hurt you?”
She snapped her icy eyes to me. “What?”
I wasn’t going to let her hide this from me anymore. “Who the fuck hurt you, Christine?”
She fiddled with the ring on her hand while eyeing the door. I saw the urge to run in her before she even took a step. “August. I can’t…”
I knew it was an asshole thing to do, but I rushed her, pinning her body against the wall while I examined every single nuance of her expression. There was terror in her eyes. “Love…” I croaked. “Who hurt you?”
She sucked in a deep breath as I held her hips in my hands, refusing to let her go. Her face twisted up in pain as more tears raced down her cheeks. She pondered for a moment, and I waited with bated breath, watching her come to terms with whatever truth she needed to spill before me.
She slowed her breathing.
She blinked a few times, as if willing the fear away.
A strange calm washed over her, and a vacancy crossed her gaze. She tipped her head up, rolled her shoulders back, and exuded an icy persona, as if she’d gone numb right before my eyes.
Her monotone voice shocked me. “The night I left, your father tried marrying me to Lord Geralt. He wanted to…try me. Lord Geralt raped me, August.”
My breath stalled; it was like getting hit by a speeding train. The pain was instant, knocking shame into every cell of my body. I had to repeat her words in my mind over and over again for them to make sense.
Lord Geralt raped me, August.
Lord Geralt raped me, August.
Lord Geralt raped me, August.
