Page 72 of Sorrow

“Come inside me or I’ll kill you,” she rushes out. “I earned it.”

“You did, beautiful girl. You earned every drop.”

I come so hard my vision blurs, our bodies pinned together like it’s exactly where we belong, and for every throb my cock gives her, she clamps down on me for more.

Greedy girl. Perfect girl.

My future wife.

30

As much as I hate to admit it, that took a lot out of me. The shallow cuts he left on my chest stung, but they didn’thurt.Not like this. By the time Hayes reached the first R, I thought I was going to pass out, and by the O? I’m surprised I was still alive at all.

Someday, I’ll look back on this and kick the hell out of myself. I might as well have gotten his name tattooed across my shoulders for as permanent as it’ll be, and for what? To remind myself of the most complicated time of my life?

Or the man who made and broke me?

It’s clear my silence bothers him as he cleans me up and bandages my back. He keeps asking questions, making small talk. Staring down at me with pinched brows. Pulling me closer like a little more physical contact will do the trick.

I’m okay, it’s just... I’m not okay.

“Samara,” he whispers once we’re in bed. He’s pulled me between his legs so he can hold me from behind and kiss my wound whenever he pleases. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t feel good. Maybe because he can’t fully see my face. “How are you feeling?”

“Like some psycho just carved his name into my back,” I laugh quietly. “What are we doing here, Hayes?”

“Psycho, huh?” I can hear the smile in his voice. One thing I’ll say about knife play is it puts Hayes in this state of calm I’ve never seen him in before. I wasn’t sure if the first time was a fluke, but now that I feel his steady heartbeat against my back and the deep breaths he takes as he ghosts his fingers along my skin, I know there is no going back for him. Blood is his vice. “I don’t know how to answer that,” he admits. “All I do know is I’ve never felt closer to a person in my life.”

Yeah, I’m sure. He’s already admitted he’s never done this with anyone else.

Maybe I should just quit asking.

“I get that,” I say softly. “Just forget it, I’m too tired to talk about it anyway.”

His next question is mumbled, like he’s just as exhausted as I am. “What do you want to be doing here, Hurricane?”

That’s more complicated than I’d like to admit. What I wanted before and what I want now don’t feel like the same things anymore. I still want to get out, sure — but I’m no longer content with my original plan. All those walls I built up, the facade I created, the lies I told so many times I actually started to believe them... they’re disappearing with every gentle stroke of his fingers and cut of his blade.

I don’t want to be alone.

I don’t want to be in some loveless, lustless relationship just to get by.

I want passion. I want fury. I want love.

And I think... I think I want it with him.

It feels ridiculous to think I’d want Hayes of all people, and yet, every interaction we have seems to break me down a little further. He’s the one I curl up next to when I’m sleepy, who I run to when I’m scared. He makes me feel things after years of being a frozen, cursed girl in a frozen, cursed town. The butterflies, the fear, the adrenaline, the arousal. It’s him. Maybe it’s always been him.

But though there have been signs that he wants more with me, I can’t forget the past completely. It would be just like the Hayes I thought I knew to lure me in, use me, andbreak my heart just to say he could. So until he says the words... I’ll keep mine to myself.

Thankfully, the giant is snoring quietly behind me already. I’m too offended by the realization that I’m falling for him to actually go to sleep, and now my mind is focusing on other things — the sting in my shoulder, the bruises he left on my hips, how dry my lips are. I can’t do anything about the first two, but he has to have chapstick around here somewhere. No way his lips are as smooth as they are without it.

Uncurling myself from his grasp, I sneak out of bed and rifle through his bathroom. I find just about everythingbutchapstick in there, which amuses me as much as it pisses me off. If I ever need calamine lotion, foot powder, an industrial size box of Band-Aids I’ve never seen him use, or exfoliating scrub, I know where to go. But if he’s got chapstick at all, it’s hidden somewhere else.

Curiosity gets the better of me. Sneaking over to his side of the bed, I switch my phone’s flashlight on and slowly open the drawer to his nightstand. I find the bottle of lube he uses when he fucks me in the ass, some spare bullets for his gun, a stack of cash I’m sure I’m not supposed to belooking at... and something so familiar it makes my chest ache.

Rocky.

He’s still covered in soot from the fire, but I’d recognize his not-quite circular shape and speckled colors anywhere.

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