Page 13 of The Devil's Secret

I grab the back of her neck, yanking her away, gritting my teeth as her gaze seeps into mine, her brows pinched tightly.

“You want that too, don’t you, baby? Wanna feel me inside you?”

“Ye-yes.” The words fall with a shudder, her hips gliding faster.

“That’s it,” I urge. “Give it to me. Let me hear you come.”

“Oh God, Pat—”

“Enzo,” I correct. “Call me Enzo. That name is my real one, and it’s only for you.”

There’s confusion and lust riddled on her face, but all I know is I don’t want someone else’s name on her lips. The only one that belongs there is mine.

“Enzo...” She hums my name like a song, her mouth slipping closer, her lips fluttering over my own. “I’m, I’m—”

Her words die out as I take over, my palm still around the back of her neck, my eyes on her as I shift, pounding harder, deeper, not giving her an inch to move out of my grasp. She screams my name, the music too loud for anyone to hear her.

Her body spasms, again and again, and once she’s gone still, I round both arms around the small of her back and hold her. I just hold her close, our hearts beating against one another.

Right now, within these bare walls, we’re just two people held together by time and space. Unbreakable. Yet utterly alone.

* * *

JOELLE

He left over an hour ago, the man with two names, a mystery like the rest of him seems to be. I still can’t forget the moment we shared.

I don’t think he realizes the magnitude of it. Why would he? I’m sure he’s made plenty of women come, their bodies willing, wanting. But not me. I’ve not wanted anyone since I was taken when I was nineteen.

The men who touch me, they don’t do it for my pleasure. They’re nothing but a job I’m forced into. The first few times, I cried during and after. I cried so long, they beat me for it. But soon, my mind and body became numb. It was my only way of escaping the misery, the intrusion into my body and my heart.

I don’t even touch myself, not since it all began. Whenever I’ve tried, my hands would tremble, my body growing ice cold, freezing my desire until the idea became detestable, reminding me of the shame and disgust pervading my body. But with Enzo, I wasn’t thinking. For once—I felt.

Him.

Myself.

My body.

I felt it all.

I forgot who I was. Who I was made into.

I wasn’t a whore. A slut.

With him, I was just a woman crushing on a man whose eyes looked at me like they saw me—the girl I used to be, instead of the woman I am now.

There wasn’t simply a craving behind his gaze. I recognize that look easily. No, Enzo looked at me like a sculptor looks at his creation, like a painter looks at his model. Whoever he is, Enzo, Patrick, someone in between, it doesn’t matter. He’s not like them. He can’t be.

I don’t know why he likes me, but he does. And after the way he made me feel today, I want more of that. I want him to look at me that way again, just once more if that’s all I can have.

I want him to help me forget where I am and what I do. I want him to help me remember who I was. And maybe I could remember her. Be her again. Maybe he can pull her out. Maybe he can save her.

If only.

CHAPTERFOUR

JOELLE

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