Page 44 of Sink With Me

“Shut up.” I snap back with my hands pressing against his chest, not because I want him to move but because I want to at least feel like I’m trying to get him away. My heart hammers so hard in my ears that my head throbs with it. It’s just another trick.

“All their pent-up frustration from their abuser went out on innocent lives. They were rewarded when they succeeded and beaten when they failed. I never claimed my father was a good man, but I think there's someone in your life that's just the same.”

“I swear I’ll fucking kill you.”

“You're triggered right now. You're safe Cordelia, just trust me. I need you to breathe.” he whispers, ignoring my threat. I want to cry, scream, and fight all at once, but I can’t move.

I don’t need someone to protect me. I’m not some damsel even if I’m a little in distress. Every word he says is false. If it was true, then that would mean everything was for nothing.

Date: 5-14-2024

Time: 1730

“You know, I hate the color red?”

He changes the subject like I wasn’t just on the verge of a panic attack but then again, I can feel my breathing slow. This dumb ass knows sorcery or something because each run of his hand through my hair nearly has me melting in his arms. I should pull away, suffocate him with a pillow–anything–but I can’t when all my thoughts are muddled with how everything feels wrong.

I am right. Right? His father raged against war once. It makes sense for him to follow his steps and do it again. I don’t care what false information they were talking about. They’re manipulative and well knowledgeable. Dutton wouldn’t put me through my training just so I could do what he wanted. He did it so I was prepared to avenge my parents. I was conditioned to keep fighting because this is a war and each side will do whatever it takes to get the upper hand on the other.

No matter how hard I try to convince myself we’re in the right, something nags at the back of my head but I can’t pinpoint it. I can’t trust anyone anymore. I can’t even trust myself.

“I used to love it, but when my father was in my arms and all I could see was that damn color I held a grudge.” he lets out a heavy sigh, taking my opportunity I look up at him finding him already staring back down. My breathing shallows.

Does he know?

“Stupid right? To be upset with something so mundane that had no choice in what body it painted. I’ve never really told anyone my reason behind it. Everyone just knows to keep it away.”

The soft glow from the TV highlights his sharp jawline giving him a stern expression, but the deep green depths I’ve come to know are a shade lighter. I hope one of those gruesome scenes from the show doesn’t happen because, despite everything, I just want to stay in this moment where my mind isn’t constantly spinning. It slows when he speaks. I hate everything he stands for, but I can’t imagine him seeing me the same way.

Not yet.

I trail my hand up his bare chest until the pads of my fingers are brushing against the scar on his neck. My scar. My brows pull together. There’s nothing I can say. It’s my fault.

I’m still royally pissed at how idiotic he is and very confused about everything that has happened over the years, but I can’t help but at least try to understand his side. What if he’s right? His hands cup my cheeks, rubbing his thumbs against the wet streaks I didn’t realize trailed down.

“You understand, though, don’t you? I’m your monster, the villain in your story. So you know how it feels.” Leaning in, he tilts my head back to brush his mouth against the hollow of my throat, making me gasp from the sensation. Is he my monster? Or has there been one hiding under my bed this whole time?

“Only me.” He doesn’t give me time to make a witty remark, silencing me with his mouth. Firm and dominating, forcing my lips to submit. His hands glide under the hem of my oversized shirt, making me hyper-aware of the very few layers between us. Each calloused digit drags against my waist, pushing the fabric up with it until he tosses it to the floor. I wrap my arms around my waist. I don't like the visual reminders of the machine I have been made into.

He moves in again, gripping at my wrists, pulling them from my body, and pushing my hands to his chest. I tilt my head away relishing in the stern, confused look that flashed over his features.

“You’re sick.” I purr. I can’t help myself. He brings out a side that I never even knew I had. It’s like I want to take away the hurt I’ve caused, just as he does for me. I don’t know if I can trust him, but that doesn’t mean I want to see the pain I caused anymore. I really fucking hate feelings.

A low growl vibrates his chest sending tingles through my palms. I swear I’ve never pegged myself as a ‘growling is sexy’ type of girl but there is something so primal and raw about it that has my heart beating hard enough I can hear it in my ears. With a giddy yelp, my back collides with the bed, caging me in between his body and the silk sheets, his hands wrapped around my thighs, spreading my legs to give him enough room to fit between.

“Wait, my snacks!” I yelp, feeling the crinkling under my back. He lifts me by the back of my neck just enough to swipe his arm under my body and throws every bag and wrapper to the floor.

“You're insufferable.” He chuckles into my skin, trailing a line of fervent kisses down my neck and chest until he is at the top of my breast. His lips hover over my heart, his eyes locked on mine with bated breath. I want to speak and process what the small voice in my head is screaming but I don’t want it to scare me out of this moment. When I stay silent, a wicked grin pulls at his lips. He yanks my bra hard enough the clasps snap apart, making my breast spill from the long-lost containment.

“Tide.” I whimper, curling my hands into his hair as he takes my nipple into his mouth, making my back arch off the bed. Karma was right. I needed to get laid. Another one of those concerningly sexy growls vibrates from his mouth through my nipple straight to my core, making my thighs clench around him.

“None of that bullshit love. If I’m gonna have you soaking my sheets, then you’re going to be moaning my name.” Each word he grinds out etches into my skin following his lips. I’ve accepted the fact he’s sick. I can only hope he can accept that I’m twisted and I don’t know if anything can change that. His fingers hook into my underwear, pulling them down as he shifts lower on the bed. My hands drop to the soft sheets.

If I could make a remark I would, but he has full control. I know that as much as him and I’m not fighting the fact. It's a heady sensation letting your mind go blank and allowing someone to do all the thinking. I can feel every feather-light touch of his mouth against my sternum. It's enough to feel something but not enough at the same time.

“When you see your scars… I want you to think of me, not of what caused them.”

He’s teasing me, taunting me with a promise of more while holding me at the edge.

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