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ChapterNineteen
THE FINAL DAY
He’d kept his distance, made me feel isolated. I was starting to feel, to think, this had more to do with his emotions than the fact that he didn’t want me.
I found myself moving through the house, running my fingers along the smooth wood, taking in the desolate, dark pictures. The man I cared about, had fallen for during my short time here, was more of an enigma than anything else.
He’d been beaten as a child, given away as if he were nothing. He’d fought to survive…literally, and here he was now, standing tall, above everyone else. Although my life, childhood, hadn’t been this bottomless pit like he’d experienced, I did know the darkness he felt, even if it wasn’t nearly to the extent he did.
I found myself in front of the bird painting, staring at the mouth, the bleak eyes. I felt for Cameron, wanted to be the one who comforted him, shared in his pain. But a man like him, one who had been through so much, hid what he needed. He wasn’t normal in the sense that he needed, or wanted, comfort.
The way he got rid of that darkness, that hardness and hatred, was through rough contact and violence. He’d always be like that, and I accepted it. I accepted him.
I found myself moving away from the picture and back to the room. I’d be leaving tomorrow, saying good-bye to all of this, to Cameron. God, that hurt, made my chest ache. I rubbed it, right over my heart.
When I pushed the bedroom door open, I froze, seeing Cameron over by the window. His big body kept the curtain to the side as he stared out. There was a glass in his hand, presumably alcohol in it.
“Come in and shut the door,” he said, his voice soft, low.
I did as he said, but as soon as the door was shut, I felt like I was trapped, no way to escape, no real reason I would want to.
“Come here.”
I moved closer, feeling the air getting sucked out of my lungs, feeling the room grow hotter, everything becoming tighter. He stayed by the window, his focus on whatever was outside. It was dark, but there were lights on, golden illumination covering the manicured ground.
“I told you about my life.” He turned. “In a way, I suppose.” He took a small drink from his glass. “Beaten as a child, sold off to earn money for people who thought of us as nothing more than a commodity, a paycheck.” He finished off the drink and set the now empty glass on the windowsill. “And no amount of tattoos can cover up the lasting impression they had on me, or what I went through.”
He advanced, one step, making me feel smaller, weaker.
“And after a while I thrived on the pain, on getting it and hitting back.” He grinned, and it was fucking frightening. “That’s the type of man you allow in your bed, between your thighs.” He was an inch from me now, the scent of alcohol making me drunk. “That’s the man that you’ve grown to care about.” He said that last part so low, so deep, I felt it to my marrow. “And you do care for me,” he said as if he knew that with certainty.
“The man I’ve grown to care about…” I was saying it more to myself than asking it as a question, but the truth was between us. He knew it. I knew it. And there was no point in lying.
“Have you not grown to care for me?” He reached out, grabbed a lock of my hair, and rubbed it between his fingers.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t right now anyway.
He kept rubbing my hair. “Like a distant memory,” he whispered, almost to himself. But as soon as he let that piece of hair go, this hard mask covered his face. “I’ve come to realize the weakness you are to me is far too dangerous.” He looked into my eyes, this piercing, soul-catching expression. “It’s not what I want or need.”
He turned, but I grabbed his hand, a bold gesture. He looked over his shoulder, down at my hand, his focus severe. “Don’t you fucking see?” he said, his voice low, dangerous…deadly. “You are here for my pleasure, nothing more.” He gave this humorous, scary laugh. “What did you think would happen, little girl?”
I didn’t speak, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know what to say, how to respond. I didn’t know how to be honest with him. I wasn’t going to let his words affect me, wasn’t going to let him try and push me away. At least not before I told him I cared for him, wanted him.
“I do care about you.” And then, right in front of me, I saw that wall shifting, breaking down, being exposed to me.
He turned fully around to face me, that wall still breaking down. And then, before I knew what was going on, he pulled me in close. His anger was right there at the surface, and the internal war he fought was clear. He held my body to his, the stiffness of his erection pressing into my belly.
Would tonight be rough? Would he take me for the last time in the totally demented way he’d always told me about, threatened he could do to me? Sure, he’d been on the rougher side when he’d taken me, but he’d held me afterward and stroked my skin when he thought I was sleeping.
The feeling of his hand on my head, stroking my hair, gentle, caressing sweeps down the length, had me wishing for more time. I wished things could be different. I wished this could be permanent.
He took me to bed then, laying me down softly, being so gentle it almost brought tears to my eyes. This was not a side I’d ever seen in Cameron before.
He took my clothes off, his hands soft, sweet even. The kisses, licks, and nibbles made me think of this as a good-bye, that one moment where he was mine and I was his. Once we were naked, his body on top of mine, his hard cock nestled right between my thighs, I was the one who reached down. I was the one who grabbed his dick, placed the tip at my entrance, and urged him to penetrate me.
I wanted to feel him deep in my body, stretching me in the way he always did. This was our last time, and although I hated it, wanted to demand he accept what was going on, admit he had feelings for me, I kept my mouth shut.
And then he did push into me, rocked back and forth, kept his hand on my throat, and took control. He was gentle, not rushing it, and a part of me knew he wanted it to last. A part of me knew he wanted me to stay, even if he didn’t say the words, even if he wouldn’t.
