Page 69 of Oblivion

I knew that guy was circling me last night. I knew he planned to get into my space and dance with me. I knew I was taunting Evan, but I did it anyway. I could have walked away. I could have told that guy no. I could have gone to Evan and asked him to press his hard cock into my butt and dance with me the way he’d done before he’d left to get drinks. But instead, I’d pushed Evan to see how he’d react.

I’ve seen Sebastian and Clay lose their shit when other guys have tried to flirt with Starling and January. Last night, I watched Hunter literally pick Bunny up and storm into the woods with her, and if I’m honest, I wanted to see how far I could push Evan before he broke and behaved like the alphahole he really is. Only he didn’t break. He didn’t move. He didn’t steal me away or demand my obedience. He gave me a choice, and I chose wrong.

Suddenly, the high of the orgasm evaporates, leaving a sinking feeling of despair in its place. I can’t allow him to destroy that guy’s life for my mistake. There has to be a way to make him stop.

Last night, in my desperation, I’d told him I’d marry him, that he should punish me and not some stranger. I thought he’d accept, that he’d jump at the chance to own me the way he keeps talking about. But he’d said no. He’d told me he’d happily marry me, but that offering myself like that wouldn’t change the guy’s circumstances. But I don’t know what else I can offer him because I don’t have anything else to bargain with.

“Sammy?” he questions, nuzzling into my neck, his dick still inside of me.

“Yeah.”

“What’s the matter?” he asks, like it isn’t obvious, like last night didn’t happen.

“Did you carry me to bed?” I ask, not really caring but needing to say something.

“Yes. I like sleeping with you, especially naked.” His tone is so warm, so sweet and nice, and nothing like the robotically calm way he told me all the ways he’s going to annihilate a stranger’s life.

“We should get up. I have class this morning.”

“Why do you sound like that?” he asks.

I don’t know how I sound, but I know that the weight of the guilt I feel is pressing on my chest to the point that I don’t know what to do. Tears fill my eyes, and before I realize what’s happening, I’m crying choking, shaking sobs that have me pushing away his hands.

“What the fuck?” he questions when I squirm away from him, ignoring the twinge of pain when I yank myself off his cock and scramble to the edge of the bed.

He reaches for me again, but I bat his hand away, refusing to allow him to comfort me because I don’t deserve it.

“Sammy, come here. Stop this,” he coos, trying to calm me down.

“Are you really going to do it?”

“What?”

“Are you going to destroy that guy?”

His expression hardens. “Yes.”

Pulling my knees to my chest, I bury my face in them, hiding from the shame and guilt.

When his hands slip beneath my ass, I scream, slapping and clawing at his hold on me, fighting to get free. Ignoring my feral attack, he pulls me onto his lap, pinning my arms to my sides as he shushes me. “It’s okay, baby. It’ll all be okay.”

“I’ll never forgive you if you go through with it. I swear, Evan. That’ll be it for us. I’ll never get past it.”

Not replying, he holds me to him, pressing soft kisses to my forehead and hair. “I have to. You need to understand. You’re mine.”

“I’ll be yours, all in, no holding back, no fighting. I’ll marry you, I’ll sign a prenup like Bunny did so I can never divorce you, so I’ll never be free. I’ll do anything. Just don’t make me live with the guilt. I’ll never get past it. I’ll hate myself. Please, Evan. Please.”

I feel the rise and fall of his chest, but he doesn’t speak, and I hold my breath, wishing and hoping that he’ll reconsider.

After what feels like a lifetime but is probably less than a minute, he speaks. “Let’s take a shower.”

Hope blooms to life in my chest. He hasn’t said he’ll change his mind, he hasn’t even hinted at it, but if he was refusing, he’d have told me.

Instead of letting me go so I can get to my feet, he lifts me, standing with me in his arms. Carrying me into the bathroom, he sits me down on the counter before turning and reaching into the shower to turn on the water.

While the room slowly fills with steam, he comes back to me, pushing between my legs and staring down at me with intense, stern eyes.

“Please,” I beg again, willing to say it as many times as he needs. “I’m sorry.”

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