Page 81 of Pretty Cruel Love

The couch.

The floor.

His bed.

My body forgets every name but his.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t demand. He takes his time driving me over the edge again and again, learning every inch of me like a man who doesn’t just want sex—he wants to memorize me.

For once, the sex is what I want. For once, it’s mine.

And he makes sure I come every single time.

Later—breathless and flushed—we collapse in his bed, our skin still damp, limbs tangled in his dark sheets.

He runs a single fingertip down my side, slow and deliberate, until it grazes the raised scars along my lower back. His gaze lifts to the mirror. Watches the moment his touch finds the branded letters again.

“Rug burns don’t usually come with letters,” he says softly. “You didn’t do this to yourself, did you?”

I freeze. My throat tightens.

“I didn’t even know what it said for a whole week,” I whisper. “It just… kept burning. And when I could finally walk, when I saw it in the mirror...”

The tears come fast. No warning.

He pulls me into his arms without hesitation, cradling me like something precious. Like I’m not broken.

“Who did this to you, Sadie?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” His voice drops an octave—soft, but edged in steel. “Who did this?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“This isn’t a request.” His grip tightens slightly around me. “Tell me now.”

I take a breath. “He’s on a really popular football team. They might even make it to the Super Bowl this year.”

His jaw tightens. “What’s his name?”

I hesitate.

“It’s safe with me,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along my cheek. “I just want to know.”

“…Jonathan Baylor.”

He stills. “The star quarterback for the Falcons?”

“Yeah.” I look away. “Let me guess—you don’t believe he could ever do something like that. You think I probably asked for it.”

“No,” he says. His voice is quiet, but hard as concrete. “I believe he’s probably gotten away with it more than once.”

A long pause.

“Probably,” I echo. Then, before I can stop myself, “Can I tell you a secret?”

His eyes meet mine. “Yes.”

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