Page 143 of Never Fall for an Angel

“I live and breathe for you, Mila,” he rasps, his gaze boring into mine. “I’ll fucking die for you . . . but if you ever point my fucking gun at your head again, I’ll tie you to the bed and spank your ass until it’s black and blue. Understood?”

My breath catches in my throat, and my heart beats wildly. My tongue darts out to lick my lips, my mouth dry like he’d sucked all the moisture out of the air with that single statement.

The worst part is I know, without a doubt, he would.

“Understood?” He tightens his grip on my head, and I give a soft nod.

I let you go once, little devil. I won’t make the same mistake twice.

“I understand . . .” I suck in a deep breath, my gaze locked with his.

Part of me is satisfied and exhausted. The other part of me—the part that won’t shut the hell up—screams at me that I just became exactly what the scars on my stomach say I am.

A whore.

He deposits me on the couch and stands, disappearing into the bathroom. Tears build in my eyes as the humiliation sets in, and I angrily brush them away.

This is what I wanted. What I asked for. At any time during that, I could have said the safeword, and I know without a doubt he would have released me.

So why do I feel so . . . dirty? Is it because I enjoyed it?

He was right. I wasn’t ready. Part of me wonders if I’ll ever be ready.

He comes back to the living room, and I close my eyes, trying to shut the tears off, but, of course, it doesn’t work. One slips down my cheek, and I hate myself for it.

Great, here it comes. The whole I told you so speech.

I look away, slowly rising from the couch on shaky legs and hoping I don’t look as stupid as I feel.

I go to step past him when he pauses, reaching out and grabbing me around the waist. He’s not rough. Just firm, holding me in place when all I really want to do is run to the bathroom and barricade myself behind the door.

I don’t want to look at him right now.

Not after he just ripped what was left of my soul to shreds and put it back together again with his touch.

“Mila.”

I force myself to meet his gaze, hating the single traitorous tear that slips down my cheek.

I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off, pushing me back down to the couch and pressing my legs apart. I’m surprised by the gentleness of his hands when he cleans me. The warm rag burns against my clit, a reminder that he was there and he had me coming on command like a dog in heat.

God, I was so stupid to think this could work.

“Come here,” he instructs, tossing the rag in a hamper in the corner.

“I’m fine,” I argue, but he fixes me with a stern gaze.

He doesn’t say anything, but it’s what he does that brings fresh tears to the surface.

Sliding his arms underneath me, he lifts me into his arms, carrying me towards the stairs. When we reach the bedroom, he slips my dress over my head and removes my wet bra. Stooping down, he helps me slide my sneakers off before he tugs me toward the bed.

I expect him to leave, but when I climb under the covers, he slides in behind me. His arm wraps over my side, tugging me back into his chest, his body warm despite the cold that radiates through me. I shiver, and when a silent sob slips through me, my shoulders trembling, he pulls back.

“Come here,” he orders softly, pulling me around towards his chest and tucking me into his arms. He presses his lips to the top of my head, stroking my hair, while I bury my face in his chest, the tears refusing to subside.

“Shh . . .” he soothes, his lips at my forehead. “I’m here.”

CHRISTIAN

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