Page 17 of Beautiful Agony

I want to feel the familiar comfort of her touch.

I want to know that whatever we had is still there.

That I haven't lost it forever.

I step into her space, unable to resist any longer. Her lips part beneath mine, soft and yielding. My hands slide down to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens.

She makes a small sound in the back of her throat—half moan, half whimper —and it sends my pulse racing through my veins. Her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp.

The silk of her robe is smooth under my palms as I pull her flush against me. Her body molds to mine perfectly, like she was made to fit there. When her tongue touches mine, I growl low in my throat.

But something feelswrongabout this.

Somethingdarkis looming in the background. Something that should stay dead is slowly coming to life.

The kiss grows hungrier, more desperate. Like we're both trying to prove to ourselves that there's still something salvageable between us after everything that's happened.

Her hand slides down my chest, past the top of my pants until those delicate fingers are brushing against my cock through my slacks.

But at the touch, the darkness in me uncoils and surfaces like a shark in a freezing sea. My mind flashes with images of my hands pinning Lacey beneath me on the stairs until there's no escape. Her wet dress hiked up around her waist while I fuck her mercilessly. Her screaming that she hates me with every thrust as she shattered around my cock.

I jerk away from her as if burned. My heart pounds against my ribs, guilt churning in my stomach. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, lips parted and swollen from our kiss.

Her amber flecked eyes are staring at me, but all I see is the ring of bruises around her throat.

The darkness that uncoiled is clawing at my chest, urging me to step forward and take what rightfully belongs to me.

With every second, that darkness strengthens, until I force myself to take a step back.

And in that moment, one thing becomes crystal clear.

Something has changed between us. If I let anything escalate, then I risk losing control again.

And this time, itwillbe my fault.

Wordlessly, I keep stepping back from her. She doesn't try to stop me. Doesn't call my name. The silence stretches between us like a physical thing, heavy with unspoken words. There's understanding in her eyes, maybe even relief.

The truth hits me like a punch to the gut: she's afraid of me.

Of course she is. How can she not be? She saw the monster lurking beneath my carefully constructed façade.

She'll never admit it, of course. She'll keep insisting thatshepushedmeto it, and that she wanted it.

But I see the truth from the way her fingers tighten around the brush handle as if it's a knife to keep her safe from me. From the slight tremor in her hands as she looks at me.

And from the relief in her eyes after I pulled away.

Once I'm in the hallway, I lean against the wall and close my eyes.

The distance between us now feels vast—an unbridgeable chasm created by violence and pain. And I know the awful truth.

She may be back here physically.

But I've lost something far more precious.

I've lost her love, and I don't know how I can ever get it back.

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