Page 177 of The Catalyst

His brows pull together like he’s wondering why I suddenly sound meek.

Where the fuck did all her sass go? What is happening?

The thoughts are practically written across his forehead, which is odd for him.

Human emotions are such a foreign concept to him it’s almost hilarious.

“Any other excuses to share?” I grab my wallet off the table and flip it open to pull out a twenty for sweet Dolly. She’s always such a pleasure, even though I didn’t get to eat my food, and I don’t have the stomach for it now. I doubt it will still be good by the time I’ll feel up to eating again.

“Excuses? It’s not a fucking excuse.”

That’s a good enough response for me. Throwing down the twenty on the table, I climb out of the booth, but before I can dash out of the restaurant, he’s blocking my way, anger across his face.

“Stop running from me,” he groans.

I roll my eyes. “Running? No, I’m not running away from you. I’mwalkingaway because there’s nothing left to say. I’m being the adult in this situation instead of throwing a fit. My age is a problem for you. Fine. Then, leave me the fuck alone. I’m sure Aimee will be glad to hear I’m no longer an issue.” I know that last sentence was a bit below the belt, but I’m allowed to lash out when I’m hurt. He fuckinghurtme.

For a while, I felt like a total bitch because I thought I was dragging him along–dangling a steak in front of him–but it was the exact opposite. Oliver has been dragging me along, making me fall in love with him just to knock me on my ass with hisyou’re too young for mereasoning for abandoning me when I needed him. It’s a little too late for that. He’s already fucked me. Hell, I have the proof of it growing inside me every second Oliver stands here, breaking me.

I never fucking cared that Oliver was twenty-eight. To a reasonable extent, age is just a number. My dad was thirty-five when he met my mom, who was only twenty. Relatively speaking, our age gap is much smaller than theirs, but it’s still an issue for him.

Fine.

He has seven months to decide whether he wants to be in this child’s life or not, and until then, he can give me distance so I can work through the severe emotional pain he’s putting me through. I’ll cry some more and deal with some resentment on my end, but I’ll get over it eventually, and I’ll love this baby unconditionally.

“You’re not a fucking issue, Beth.”

I wince because, yeah, his confirmation stings like a bitch, and the last thing I want is for him to see how badly this hurts. I just want it over and done with. “Goodbye.”

“No,” he growls as he pleads with me using only his hypnotizing eyes. “This isn’t coming out right.” He takes my chin in his fingers and tilts my head up so I have no choice but to stare at him, locked in with his gaze. “You’re not an issue because I don’t fucking want Aimee or anyone else. Just my crazy girl.” His thumb runs along my cheek as my lip trembles uncontrollably. “I tried to let you go, but I was hanging on by a thread before I made my way back to you. I’m fucking obsessed with you. Everything always leads back to you. So, no matter what you do, how fast you run, how hard you push me away, or how many doors you lock to keep me out, you’ll never escape me. You’re in my damn veins, baby, and you’ll never be rid of me.”

There is no excuse or explanation good enough for what he did, how he hurt me, but he’s right. No matter how far I run, I won’t get far enough away from him that I won’t constantly think about him. It’s the same with him and Martin. They are always right there, haunting me, waking me in the dead of night to remind me how much I belong to them.

Both of them.

I am hard headed as hell, and so is Oliver. We’re at an impasse, and the only way to escape a standoff is for one person to break. If tonight has taught me anything, it’s that it won’t be Oliver.

* * *

I cryout as Oliver slams my back into the wall, and his tongue teases the length of my neck, dragging down into my cleavage where he bites the swell of my breast, embedding his teeth into my flesh.

His hand slams down on the lock to the bathroom before yanking my skirt up my thighs. “I need your pussy right fucking now, crazy girl.”

I lock my arms around his neck as he presses his hips between my thighs, working at his pants.

“Please,” I whimper, and his thick cock slides inside me, finally connecting us again for the first time in two weeks. “Give me all your depraved and demented, Daddy.”

Suddenly, he slams my hips into the counter before pulling out of me. Oliver flips me over, lifts my hips, and slams into me as I dig my nails into the laminate countertops, moaning from how good he feels.

“Are you sure you want that?” he asks, a groan on the tip of his tongue as he slams into me again and again, taking my body hard and relentlessly, just how I like it.

Lifting my eyes to look at him through the mirror, I take in the desire and depravity across his face. I know I’m fucking done for because that expression awakens the most demented parts of my soul, and they cry out for him, demanding he completely break me apart and stitch together all the shattered pieces of my psyche using the strings of his brand of psychosis.

“I fell in love with the darkest parts of who you are. The only direction you can go is up.”

His fingers leave purple impressions on my hips as he takes me hard, slamming his cock as deep as he can. My head spins as I struggle to stare at him in the mirror. The tension between my thighs amps up and coils tighter until I scream from the orgasm I’ve been denied since Martin fucked me a week ago.

“Ah!! Yes, Daddy,” I moan as I come down from the orgasm, and he pulls out of me. Nooo, it can’t be over. I need more of him.

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