Page 22 of Still Beating

God. The tears fall faster. My lips part, and he glances down at my mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Then he leans in.

Oh, no.No, no, no.

He’s going to kiss me.

I turn my head to the side again, dodging his kiss. “No,” I whisper in a cracked voice, my hair sticking to the tearstains. “Don’t make this something it’s not.”

Dean sucks in a jagged breath, halting his forward movement. There is a slight nod of his head, telling me he understands, and then he reaches for one of my chained wrists. A frown settles between my eyes as confusion sets in. He massages his thumb along my pulse point, his gaze still pinned on me.

“Do you feel that?”

I swallow. The lump in my throat is dry and brittle, and it hurts on the way down. “Yes,” I squeak out. The gesture is somewhat soothing, despite the circumstances.

Dean continues the circular motion, his calloused thumb grazing my wrist, almost lovingly. “Focus on that. Close your eyes and zone out. The only thing I want you to feel is my thumb massaging your wrist.”

I want to cry harder. I want to cry because I’m scared and exhausted and sore anddone. I want to cry because I can’t believe this is happening. I want to cry because my sister’s fiancé, a man I loathed one week ago, is about to fuck me while a freakshow jerks off from a few feet away.

I want to cry because it’s awful,so awful, but Dean is still trying to make this better for me.

I dip my chin and squeeze my eyes shut, nodding my consent. I hear Dean’s sigh, and it rumbles through me like a white wave. It’s followed by the sound of his belt buckle unlatching and his pants dropping to the cold cement.

A familiar, snarling voice penetrates the moment. “Yeah, that’s it. Get it nice and hard for her.”

My eyelids squeeze tighter as I try to filter out everything but the feel of Dean’s thumb against the sensitive underside of my wrist. His motions are soft and fluid. Constant. Whatever he is doing with his other hand—andGod, I don’t want to know—is not affecting his attention to my wrist. I inhale a rickety breath, long and slow.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Earl barks from across the basement. “She’s a hot piece of ass. Fuck her, already.”

I jolt at the shrill sound of his voice, and my eyes flutter open. I lift them to Dean’s face. He’s staring at me with a hollow expression. “It’s okay. Just do it,” I urge him, wanting to get this over with. Wanting to curl up into a ball of shame and cry myself to sleep.

Forever.

Dean’s jaw ticks and his nostrils flare. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Earl interrupts us again. “What’s the damn matter with you? You play for the other team?”

Dean whips his head to the right and shoots back, “I’m not a disgusting psychopath who gets off on raping women. It just doesn’t do it for me.”

And then there’s a barrel of a gun jabbing Dean’s temple, and I let out a scream.

“That’s not going to help,” Dean seethes, sweat pooling along his dark hairline. He’s trying to play it cool, but I can see the fear in his eyes. I can smell it on his skin.

“You have three seconds to figure out what’s going to help, or this bitch is gonna be wearing your brains until I get bored with her and put her bony ass in the ground.”

A strangled sob escapes me and I rattle my chains, noting that Dean still has not let go of my wrist. I’m not sure what else to say, so I blurt, “Kiss me.”

He glances at me with his ice blue eyes, troubled and bloodshot.

“Kiss me, Dean,” I repeat. “Please.”

It’s evident our situation is not getting him “in the mood” quick enough for Earl, so maybe some forced intimacy will help. I shift my gaze to the pistol as it slowly retreats from Dean’s head. I can’t help the tiny sigh of relief that escapes me.

Dean’s mouth parts ever so slightly, his eyes drifting to my bruised lips. He looks back up to me, as if to confirm:Are you sure?

I nod quickly, gulping down a fear that tastes tangible. “I want you to.”

When he leans in, I inhale sharply, my eyes closing in anticipation. I release a modest gasp when our lips make contact and Dean does the same. I told him not to pretend this is something it’s not, but maybe wehaveto pretend. Maybe it’s the only way to get through his. I feel his tongue poke through, seeking entry, and I oblige. My body bows forward to meet him further, and I open my mouth wider, encouraging him. “Close your eyes and zone out,” I breathe against his warmth, repeating his own request to me. “Focus on kissing me.”

My words seem to stimulate him in some way, and Dean raises his right hand to cup my face as the other continues its lazy designs against my wrist. We each have a crux. A survival tactic. His touch, my kiss. A kiss that deepens and deepens, taking us over, disguising this moment for what it really is. My tongue is his veil—his black cloak.

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