Page 51 of Burn for Me

I wanted him to tie me back down and use me until we were both exhausted.

I craved his fingers and his dick, and I wanted to tell him I’d drink nothing but those god-awful shakes for the next year if he’d just make me come.

With a shaky breath, I pressed my fingers between my legs, gathering his slickness over them. Holding them up to the light above the mirror, they glistened with his pleasure.

Closing my eyes, I pressed them against my lips, my tongue darting out to taste him.

A sob broke free when I opened my eyes and saw myself acting in such a disgusting way.

This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

I was supposed to have passionate, sweet sex with a man who came from the same world I did. Not be made to beg a man who stole me for dirty, despicable things.

I climbed into the shower, grabbing a sponge and scrubbed at the pen marking my skin. His words etched into me. I hated them too. Him writing on me had been degrading, yet, had made me hotter than anything any of my college boyfriends had ever done.

Flashes of him above me, his masked face and dark eyes devouring my every noise, the way his thick cock had felt against me, flashed into my mind. With another sob I pushed my fingers against my clit, determined to give myself what he denied.

I couldn’t.

It’s like he’d disabled something in me, programmed me to his touch. My fingers moved, but the coils of pleasure remained out of reach.

Anger, white and hot flooded me. I picked up the razor from the edge of the bathtub and smashed it into the wall, the metal blade falling free into the soapy water around my feet.

My fingers trembled as I picked it up, holding it next to my wrist. I didn’t want to die. But I couldn’t deal withPhoenix driving me to the edge again and again. I felt like I was losing my goddamn mind.

The metal glinted against my skin and temptation clawed at me.

I’d be out.

Free.

And what was there to go back to anyway? Some distant relations who hated my family anyway? Friends who’d console me to my face and gossip about me behind my back? What was the point? Snot leaked from my nose as my tears rivalled the shower for water pressure.

Would Phoenix even care if I did it? Would he send my body home? Would he throw me in the sea like a used piece of rubbish?

I pictured drawing the razor down my arm. Imagined the blood flowing out and filling the tub beneath me.

With a grunt I tossed the blade across the room and sunk down into the tub, water cascading over my head.

I didn’t deserve to die.

He did.

Phoenix’s chest rose rhythmically on the bed, the visible swath of his face utterly relaxed.

I stood at the doorway, seething in my towel. How dare he just sleep when he’s filled me with so much emotion. I’d been in the bathroom trying to decide whetherI should end my life, while he had his orgasm and crashed out. Just another fucking pig.

Heat flushed my cheeks the longer I stood staring at him.

Ditching the towel, I pulled on some pyjama shorts and a vest top, half expecting him to wake as I rummaged around the room.

I should just straddle him, take what he’s denying me. Who made him the boss?

No. I couldn’t. Despite my anger, I wanted to be wanted. For a man to be unable to resist. What kind of fucker can thrust against a woman’s pussy but without just shagging her. It was a fucking insult.

My brush sat atop the dresser on Phoenix’s side of the bed and I scowled at him as I passed him by. To add insult to injury, my foot tangled in his rucksack, tripping me up. I snagged my knee against the bed and bit down a cry as the sharp pain rang through my limb.

Squeezing my eyes together, I fought the wave of rage that had me wanting to throw the fucking brush through the window.

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