Page 81 of Shallow
Locking her eyes on our reflection, she reaches for the footboard and wraps her fingers around the wood until they pale. “Letgo.”
She has no idea the power she’s giving me. My cock is throbbing and I’m already on the edge, ready to tumble. Without warning, she shifts forward then slams backward, fully imbedding me inside her again. The impact forces me to grip a fistful of her hair and tug it against mychest.
“Do you want me to hurt you?” I growl, my patiencegone.
“Yes.”
I have no idea if it’s the desperation in her eyes, or the roar of blood pulsing through my cock that pushes me over the edge, but something snaps in my head. My fist winds tighter in her hair as I lean down and place my lips right against herear.
“Hold on, and don’t take your eyes off thatmirror.”
Digging my fingers into her hip, I pull out and slam back in to her with fullforce.
Shiloh’s screams fill the room as her nails dig long scratches into the wood of the bed frame. “Holyshit!”
Lust drunk and crazed with a need to own her, I release her hair and curl my fingers around her throat, applying just enough pressure to get her attention. “Who do you belongto?”
“You,” shewhispers.
Not good enough. I press a little tighter and she groans as I fuck her so hard we’re both going to have bruises. “Say. My.Name.”
“Cary Kincaid!” she rasps, and it’s goddamn music to myears.
I can only manage one word. “Mine.”
Once her walls convulse and squeeze my cock, I’m in suspended animation. Time freezes, and I’m rushing down a rollercoaster without any brakes. I groan her name against her spine as my mind numbs—just like every moment I seeher.
In life and in bed, Shiloh makes me feel both helpless and in completecontrol.
Looking up, I meet her glazed stare in the mirror, and I know there’s no going back to any plan or anyphase.
Everything’schanged.
Twenty-Six
Shiloh
The first thingI notice when I wake up is the time on the alarmclock.
Ten fifteen. I haven’t slept this late in a long time. I didn’t even wake up with one of my usual nightmares. I slept peacefully. Silenteven.
Huh.
The second thing I notice is that I’m not alone. I’m confused for a moment before it all comes rushing back in a heated blur of lips and tongues. I had sex with Cary. My childhood friend. My biggest regret. My enemy. My boss. The man who played my body like an entire symphony orchestra until I burst intoflames.
My how times havechanged.
The third thing I notice is I’m staring at myself. It’s such an odd feeling that I don’t know whether to be in shock or bust out laughing. I haven’t seen my own reflection in over nine months. Once the doctors took the bandages off and told me the wounds would heal, but I’d bear the scars forever, I shut down. For the first time, I was lost. My face was everything tome.
Conceited and shallow. That’sme.
Beauty was all I’d ever known. The only thing that made me special was perfect skin, great bone structure, and the fact that people payed me to be pretty. The minute I looked in that goddamn mirror I knew it was allgone.
Then there was the whole psychiatrist’s wet dream concerning my theory that my scars were my penance for killing Kirkland, and if I didn’t look at them, then she wasn’t really dead. It’s a little psycho, but it didn’t have to make sense to anyone but me. Covering every mirror not only blocked out my image, it blocked out reality. I could pretend it wasn’t there. It didn’t really happen. When strangers stared at me in shock or pity, I pretended it was because they were just starstruck.
Because I was still beautiful. Stillperfect.
I stare at the tattered remnants of torn plastic and ripped duct tape and laugh. I laugh because when I lift up and stare straight into the mirror, I don’t see my scars. All I see are faint purple marks around my neck. I touch them and press my fingers where his were, remembering how powerful it made me feel to hand control over to him. How he forced me to confront my demons while exorcising his own throughme.
