Page 34 of Mercy in Betrayal

For a moment, I’m just…me. A girl, aching sweetly in private spots that make me want to squirm with remembrance.

I lost my virginity yesterday.

The memory makes me smile and immediately lift a hand to my mouth. It’s raw from his kisses.

Is that the only tangible evidence?

I lower my hand to lift the blanket and peer beneath, searching for fingerprint bruises on my breasts. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed when I see none.

My inner thighs and hips are sore, though, proof that it wasn’t just a dream. I want to do it again.

I stretch, touching the headboard with my fingertips.

And again.

And again.

Down the hall, Evie hollers something in the kitchen and the spell breaks.

I can’t lie here and be some anonymous girl reveling in the fact that a beautiful, mysterious man took her maidenhood—do people even use that word anymore?—yesterday.

As much as I’d prefer to ignore this inconvenient truth, I’m an O’Rourke. Cassidy’s sister.

And holy mother Mary, would he be furious if he knew what I had done yesterday.

Climbing from the bed, I push my hair out of my face and shuffle into the bathroom for a shower. It’s the weekend, so I don’t have to rush today, but a vague sense of loss assails me at the idea that I won’t see Enzo, as I won’t be on campus.

Maybe I could invite him over to meet my family?

As quickly as the thought comes, I dismiss it.

No. As much as Cassidy tries to keep me separate from his world, I’m a part of it, and it complicates things. I’ll never have the freedom to pick and choose who I give myself to. Cassidy no doubt has someone chosen for me already, someone he’ll put in my path at an opportune time.

We’ll all pretend like it’s fate instead of anything carefully orchestrated, and I’ll instruct my heart to forget its feelings for anyone else.

Kind of like Tristan and Isolde when I think about it.

Ugh.

Enzo would never be suitable as far as Cassidy is concerned. He’s just a regular guy, even if he does appear to be a wealthy one.

I run the soapy sponge over my body, pausing when I reach a set of faint marks around my hips. I guess he did leave bruises. Dropping the sponge, I trace each one with my fingertips, pressing on them lightly.

I read somewhere once that if you can’t remember where you got a bruise, push on it. Most of the time, your brain will supply the memory when triggered by the pain.

I want to remember every minute of yesterday. I never want to forget a single detail—not the flex of his fingers around my hips, or the way he drove me to bite him, or the thrill of the cold night air against my bare skin when he lifted my dress. I want to remember that shock of pleasure as his tongue speared against me and the thickness of his fingers as they filled me before he replaced them with his cock…that pinch of pain that subsided into the most delicious fullness and then the most incredible yesyesyes kind of pleasure.

What would Enzo think of me if he knew who I was? Who my family was? Would he be disgusted by all the terrible things they’ve done to protect one another? To protect me?

A feeling of hollowness sits like a stone in my belly, and I rest my forehead against the cold tile of the shower wall. He would probably never want to see me again.

The hot water beats a rhythm on my back, and I close my eyes against that inevitability.

He can never know.

Cassidy and Evie can never know about Enzo, and Enzo can never know about them. It’s as simple as that.

Clear-headed, I turn off the water and step out to face the day.

---