Page 18 of Meet Me in the Vines
It’s moments like this when he is soft and disarming that have kept me in his hold for so long. Kellan knows how to lift me so high that I swear he would never hurt me again, only to drop me so low that I can’t see a possibility of surviving this.
“Let me show you how sorry I am for the other night,” he murmurs into my ear. Leather and spice sting my nose as he scrubs his rough stubble over my cheek. I flinch at the texture, and he grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“Kellan, you hurt me. Why do you do that?” I say with a break in my voice. I know why. It’s because this is who he is. He needs control over everything and everyone in his life. Especially me. Isn’t being an heir to an international hotel empire enough? Isn’t loving me enough?
His eyes soften as he loosens his grip on my chin. That’s the look. The look that has me coming back, over and over. It says,“I won’t hurt you again.” “I promise, I’ll do better.” “I love you.”
“Little bird, I already told you I was sorry,” he whispers huskily. The pad of his thumb rubs against a bruise on my neck. I shudder at his touch, squeezing my eyes shut to keep the tears from slipping.
My heart is in a tug of war with anger and forgiveness. The ache is too much to bear—I melt into his touch, craving the love I desperately want. He smirks, feeling my submission.
“See, I knew you’d forgive me,” he growls, his voice suddenly dark and ominous, sending chills down my spine. In the blink of an eye, gone is all the tenderness, the soft Kellan I try so desperately to reach. He trails kisses down my neck, sucking and biting my flesh. I tense my body at the pressure he holds on my hips as he grinds himself underneath me. My breath quickens ashis touch becomes harsher, his desire searing through me as it burns my skin.
He cups his hands around my breasts, squeezing my nipples through my blouse.
“Take this blazer off.”
He lets out a grunt, stripping the sleeves off my arms and tossing the blazer on the floor. My vision blurs through the dam of tears I refuse to let loose.
His large hands spread my legs apart, his fingers graze over my panties. Not an ounce of arousal is in me. I’m just a body built for his pleasure, and I hate myself for it. He calls it love, but I call it punishment.
Punishment for allowing myself to sink deeper into Kellan’s hooks and being too weak to do anything about it. Punishment for letting my father put those same evil hooks into me for my entire childhood.
A vision of my father adds to the sting in my eyes. I smell his whiskey breath. His strong hand strikes my face. I hear him screaming at me. “It’s your fault your mother died.”
Kellan brings me back to reality as his hand comes out from under my skirt and grabs my neck, nearly choking me. This is an angry grab, not an aroused one. Sadly, I know the difference.
“Why aren’t you wet for me?” he growls out. I freeze and hold my breath. Like if I breathe, it will start this chain of violence that I so desperately want to escape. The way he touches me should turn me on, but it doesn’t. There’s no warmth. No play. No intimacy. It’s cold and fueled with revenge. It’s laced with an anger I can’t explain. Of course it doesn’t get me wet.
“I’m sorry, let me help with that,” I breathe out. More lies. More deceit. I have to survive, and if that means giving my body to Kellan, then so be it.
With my back still pressed against his chest, I slightly turn my torso and put my fingers in his mouth, taking him bysurprise. His eyes suddenly go dark and desire fills his face as his erection hardens underneath me.
He stands me up and grabs my wrist, guiding it under my skirt to touch myself. He takes my neck and pushes me down on his desk, slamming my face on its side. I feel a sting of pain and hear a slight ringing in my ear. His spicy cologne floods my senses, making me nauseous.
I hear him frantically taking off his belt and pushing down his suit pants and briefs. And with one painful thrust, he enters me with no warning. I wince at the lack of wetness. He thrusts again, forcing me to adjust to his size. He keeps one hand on my neck, pinning me to his desk, and the other on the small of my back. He grunts and speaks filthy words to me, but all I do is stare into nothingness. No love, no pleasure. A tear falls across the bridge of my nose as he thrusts faster, finding his release inside me.
As soon as he finishes, the pressure of his hands lets up, and I stand, wiping the tears quickly before he sees. I smooth out my skirt, and he turns me to face him, kissing me hard. His tongue invades my mouth like an unwanted visitor, but I let him in anyway. He breaks the kiss and looks into my eyes.
“I love you, little bird.”
I used to believe him. I used to love him. Or whatever I thought love was. But this—this is not love. This is delusion.
“I love you too.”
Another lie.
The workday is a blur. Most days are. After my morning with Kellan in his office, I excused myself to a private restroom on our floor and scrubbed my intimate parts raw with soap and waterwhile I cried. I hate that he was inside me, and I hate myself more for tolerating it.
Back at my desk, I gather myself and do what Kellan tasked me to do, filing paperwork for prospect hotel locations and setting appointments on his calendar. I notice he has a business trip coming up next weekend and pray that I don’t have to come with. The thought of being without him for a weekend gives me more joy than I’ve had in years.
I fantasize about this glimpse of freedom, losing myself to the possibilities. Maybe try out a new recipe to bake. Eat gelato on the Met steps. Go to the public library and get lost in a sea of books.
The vibration of my phone interrupts my daydreams. I see my grandfather’s picture light up on the screen, and my heart drops. I haven’t called in months. Hell, I haven’t seen them in nine years. I’m running from home, and everyone knows it. The guilt gnaws at me from the inside out.
The last time I saw them was at the San Francisco airport waving goodbye after a short visit home for Christmas during my freshman year at NYU. Kellan came into my life the following semester, and well, I got swept up.
The longer I stayed away, the longer Ineededto stay away. I couldn’t tell them the truth about my relationship, my facade of a life. So I don’t tell them anything at all.
