Page 22 of Rejected Plus-Size Mate

Even as I try to comfort myself with that thought, the ache in my chest twists sharply, as if my heart could break even when it’s already in shattered pieces.

I can’t live without love. I know that now. I was dying every day without him. I would have ended up cold and numb inside, with no capacity for joy left in me.

My mind slips back to Kyle, and I fall into the memory of his hands on me, his mouth on mine. I close my eyes and writhe against the pillows, immersing myself in the sensations. I knew that I’d missed him over the last year, but I never realized how much. Despite all the agony I’d suffered, I was protecting myself, holding myself back from remembering the true passion we shared.

I roll over onto my back, moaning softly. The way he gripped my ass and squeezed my hips, the moans of pleasure that slipped from his lips, the eager movements of his tongue…

He wants me. He must. No one could fake that.

So why? Why reject me again?

My lip trembles, and the sobs build in my chest again. I turn my face to the pillow, trying not to listen to my own sounds. The pain in my chest just keeps increasing, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to let it out.

He doesn’t want me. It’s his duty to be with me, and he’s just horny. It has nothing to do with me.

I shake my head against the pillow and run my hands over my soft body. It feels nice. Snuggly. Comforting. Most of the time, I like my body.

I just don’t like how it looks.

And I can’t take being rejected for being the fat girl!

I roll back over to the pillow and cry again, trying to let it all out. Even after the tears settle down, my chest still hurts. There is too much pain in me to be able to get it all out, even if my entire body is now exhausted from crying.

I can’t believe I gave myself to him again, just so he could reject me—again. I’m so fucking stupid!

The moments when he seemed to really enjoy torturing me. In those few minutes, I really felt desirable, needed, wanted.

But he didn’t want me.

Even the incident at the bar haunts me. Kyle didn’t give a fuck about me—he was just protecting his property. The guy flirting with me probably didn’t even like me, either. He just wanted an easy lay and thought I was a good mark.

Stretching out under the blankets, I try to relax so I can fall asleep. I know I don’t have much chance of that, but I should try. The memories won’t settle, so I focus on my breathing and think of better things.

I’m beginning to drift off, caught up in thoughts of a spring garden I’d like to plant and fabric I’d like to buy for clothes to make, when I hear a muffled sound. My mind and body are exhausted and try to pull me back down, but part of me tugs against the lull of sleep to drag me back to wakefulness.

For a second, the house is quiet, and I think I imagined the noise. I start drifting off again, trying to focus on sweet dreams and steer clear of the bad memories.

Then, the stillness of the house is shattered by a bloodcurdling scream.

I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart hammering like a terrified rabbit’s. I can’t breathe, and I see white spots dancing in front of my eyes.

Was that Kyle?

From the living room, I hear a low cry that is definitely from Kyle. I leap out of bed, wrapping a blanket around myself and hurrying down the hall.

Fearing the worst, I’m surprised to see him lying on the couch. After the sounds I heard, I was expecting to see him wrestling with bears or crocodiles.

I approach the lounge and take a closer look.

He’s definitely wrestling with something.

Kyle is lying on his back with the blanket wrapped tightly around him, leaving his top half bare. I can see his muscles straining as he tosses back and forth, fighting against the sheet. His eyes are screwed shut, and his mouth works as soft whispers explode from his throat.

“No,” he moans. “No!”

The sound of that cry is so mournful, it tears my heart. I have to comfort him. I can’t stand to see him in pain like this.

I creep over to the lounge and touch him on the shoulder. He doesn’t even flinch.

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