Page 46 of Filthy Elites

She opens her eyes. “You would love that, wouldn’t you?”

My smile broadens. “It does have its appeal.”

“Guys are stupid.” She begins to shut her eyes again.

“Yes.”

I’m still smiling like a goof, and I don’t know why. What the hell is happening here? I fucked this girl twice, and now I’m enjoying being nice to her? Maybe I’m too sick to think of something hateful to say or do. That must be it. I haven’t forgotten all the years of humiliation and psychological abuse I went through because of her.

If only she’d been nice to me so many years ago, maybe I wouldn’t have channeled all my energy into hating her.

I touch her forehead. “I think your fever is gone. You can go back to your room now.”

“Are you kicking me out?”

I want to sayNo, I want you to stay, but I can’t trust myself in this weakened state. I’ve already been too soft around her.

“Yes. You’ve served your purpose.”

“You’ll have to physically drag me out of here, then. I’m not moving on my own.”

“Are you daring me, Isabelle?”

She watches me through slitted eyes. “I know you don’t have any reservations about doing it, but I doubt that you can actually carry me right now.”

I narrow my gaze. “I’m not that sick. I felt worse earlier and I still had enough stamina to fuck you, didn’t I?”

“Correction, I fucked you. You just lay there like a corpse.”

She’s pushing my buttons on purpose. I don’t know what the hell she’s trying to accomplish here. She knows I can wreak havoc on her life.

“Do you want me to hurt you, Isabelle? Is that your kink?”

“If you’re asking me if I like chains and whips, no, Jason, I don’t.”

I glance at her neck, remembering choking her a bit as I fucked her. I get a hard-on almost instantly. Jesus, and I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like fucking her when I’m not dying.

I run my fingers over her neck, then flatten my palm there. “But you like it rough, don’t you?”

She doesn’t answer right away, but her eyes never waver from mine. “Only with you,” she says.

Her words feel like a punch to my chest, and for a moment, I can’t breathe right. I’m still struggling to find words when she continues, “You were in Switzerland for a violin competition when you were ten.”

My eyes widen of their own accord, and my pulse accelerates. “You remember me?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t remember much about that day, to be honest. I don’t even remember playing. On the way to the venue, we received the news that my grandmother had passed away. I was close to her. I didn’t want to compete, but my parents insisted. The prize was too important.”

And don’t I know it?

She closes her eyes for a second. “They convinced me that was what my grandma would have wanted.”

A tear rolls from her eye, and I wipe it off with my thumb.

Why am I allowing her sappy story to move me this way? People die all the time.

“What did I do to you that day, Jason?” She pleads for an answer with her bright eyes.

I clench my jaw hard and then look away. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing you can say now will change how I feel about you.”

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