Page 120 of Tear Me Down
Dranan makes another noise, one that’s clearly in pain, but displeased, as if our show is angering him. This is what I knew I needed, a performance to show that even if it’s only temporary, I’m not completely broken. That he didn’t beat me. He didn’t destroy us like he set out to do, and I want to see the failure overtake his eyes. A defeat that’s deserved, and not the unjustified degradation my husband is putting himself through. His eyes narrow even more than they already are, and he almost looks disgusted through the pain.
That’s when I know I have him right where I want him.
Damien starts kissing up and down my neck, leaving a trail of fire and goosebumps in his wake, but then I do something he doesn’t expect, and I can feel him tense as I do. I hold up his favorite knife, presenting it to him as an offering, an ultimate show of trust for us both, and I want it displayed in front of the creature who thought he could defile us.
His pause in movements alerts me to the fact that he knows exactly what I want him to do, but he’s reluctant, overthinking what I’m asking of him. He’s never hurt me. Never even thought of it, and while I can tell he’s having trouble with the thought, I can’t have him questioning it. It won’t hurt—I know he would never do anything that could potentially harm me—but I need this.The bite of a knife at his hand, a controlled and meaningful sting that will last longer than the rest. A scar that will forever remain, created by the love of my life to mask the others, and finally a display that proves as long as he’s by my side, nothing can truly harm me. I squeeze harder on his dick, and he bucks, thrusting into my hand with a throb as he reaches out and grabs the knife.
Dranan forces his eyes to widen, and now that I’m sure we have his full attention, I say the only thing that comes to mind. The one statement that will stand resolute for the rest of my life but will follow him into hell.
“You haven’t ruined anything.” I’m sure to say that as coldly as I can, and with my words, Damien fully understands what I set out to do with this. He reaches under my dress and begins to pleasure my clit through my panties, the initial contact from him already tugging at my gut. I pick up the speed on his cock, running my thumb over the head to collect beads of precum as he raises the knife to the space between my neck and collar bone. I can tell he hesitates, not sure if I'm ready for this, but I am. This is not only his doing, but mine. I trust him completely, and I know that the pain he causes me is out of love, not hatred.
He drags the knife down, slowly and methodically, careful not to cut too deep, and while he probably hates himself for it, I can feel his shaky breath graze the column of my neck. His cock twitches in my grip once again, and I don’t miss the way cutting me turns him on even more. I feel the blood begin to run down my chest, and Damien forces his head into my neck. He begins biting and licking around the cut he just created, causing me to shiver in pain and pleasure. The knot in my stomach intensifies, coiling tighter with every perfectly pressured stroke on my clit, and his tongue runs along my neck—sending ecstasy down my spine.
A moan escapes my lips as he moves the fabric separating us, and I can feel his touch pressing against my little bundle of nerves, making my knees buckle a little. His hand that holds the knife wraps around me, holding me steady as he puts more pressure on my clit, causing me to pant as the climb becomes almost too much to bear. I pump my hand a few more times, and it’s not long before we’re both reaching our limits. He tenses and his cock pulses as I shatter, crying out and coming on his fingers as he groans and spills into my hand with stuttered thrusts.
As we’re both coming down with heavy breaths, a smirk that I’m sure is sinister sprouts on my face as I stare the pathetic man in front of us down. I withdraw my hand from him, and bring it up to my face, showcasing the proof of what I do to my husband before dragging my tongue through the mess, cleaning it up for him to see. The taunt is erotic, and so fucking freeing that I almost feel manic, wanting to laugh at the defeated look in his eyes, but I hold it back. My triumphant look is going to be the last thing he sees, and I don’t want anything to deter from that. I take the knife out of his hand with slow, deliberate movements, and lay my head back onto his chest, reveling in the heavy breaths that still brush against my cheek.
“Now you can kill him,” I huff out.
Without hesitation, my love obeys my command. In one swift movement, he tightens his grip around my body and pulls me to the side. He shields me, while remembering not to obstruct my view as he withdraws his pistol and aims perfectly between Dranan’s eyes. The shot is quick, and even though the silencer almost mutes the sound completely, it rings out as a soft bell, a signal that marks the beginning of our twisted future. As I watch his head fly backward, then slump forward as lifeless weight, the room is sucked into limbo. One with no sound, no movement, and nothing but reprieve and warning waiting to battle it out once we come back to reality.
Chapter forty-five
Ashia
When we finally got home, Damien held my hand so tightly I thought he would crush it. We both thought I would be terrified to walk back in, but the reality was that I didn’t feel any differently than I normally do. The same warm feeling was there, and to my surprise, there wasn’t a dark cloud looming over me like I expected. Though it was clear the space was cleaned up before we returned. There was no blood staining the hard wood floors, and there was seemingly no trace of any altercations. When we walked into our bedroom, I wasn’t looking at the spot where I killed a man or reimagining the violence of when I was taken. Even with the brand-new door to what will be the nursery, it was justourroom. Our own personal getaway that smells and feels like us, and it felt good to walk back in and sense that hadn't changed.
Serena and Carter are going to be staying with us for at least a week, and while we told them they didn't have to, they insisted on it. Ser argued that once Damien finally crashes, we may need them here to ensure we both take our meds at the right times. On the off-chance Damien needs help, I'm not supposed to lift anything heavy—including him, obviously, and that was Carter's argument. So, this is about to be a very long and awkward week, but they've kept it amicable this long. Hopefully they can continue to do so.
Damien is really struggling, and I can see how much pain he's in. His movements are slow, and even now as we stand under the running water of our shower, his body is tense and strained, clearly in turmoil. We take turns washing away the dirt and grime of the day, along with the blood that coats Damien’s body—whether that be his own or Dranan’s, I’m unsure.
Serena got us an antibacterial soap that she insisted we use, and while it’s not very soft or filling the bathroom with a warm fragrance, she swears it will help our wounds heal. My stitches were taken out this morning, while he still has quite a few, but navigating around them is actually more satisfying than it should be. They’re allowed to get wet, but soaking them isn’t the best idea, so I’m trying to be careful with his body, even though he doesn’t seem to care about it.
We finally turn the water off and step out, carefully dabbing each other dry so we don’t aggravate our wounds. Only a few of mine, including my newest one, need to be covered with some sort of dressing, but Damien? He still has bullet and stab wounds that need to be painted with ointment and protected. I can tell just by how bruised, swollen, and angry they look that they’re excruciating. I try to lay the gauze on tenderly, but I don’t miss how his body tenses up when I touch them.
Once it’s covered, I put the supplies away in the drawer and we both dress in some comfortable clothes. He slips on a pair of sweatpants, but doesn’t put on a shirt, and I just slip on some sleep shorts and a loose tank top. That way we’re not completely exposed when Serena inevitably bursts into our room unannounced for our meds.
Just as we’re about to step back into the bedroom, he grips my hand, stopping me and turning me to face him. His lips find mine in a soft, but desperate kiss—one that conveys all of his worry and guilt. I pull back to look at him, but he leans in again and rests his forehead on mine.
“I swear I'm going to be better for you,” he whispers quietly, barely audible. His words are pained, tortured, and filled with regret.
“Damien…”
“I am. I'm going to be the best husband, and the best dad. I swear to you…”
“Hey.” I caress his cheeks, trying to convince him to open his eyes and look at me. He does reluctantly, almost as if he feels he doesn’t deserve to lay his eyes upon me. “I know you are. You don’t have to prove or try to convince me of that. You're going to be an amazing dad, and you've been an incredible husband. I’ve never thought otherwise.”
He nods in my hand, and I wipe away a tear dripping from his eyes. His body tenses as he takes a deep breath, and the trembles that follow are heartbreaking.
“Please don’t leave me…” The torment in his words grips my heart and squeezes it tightly. The idea of not having him beside me is almost crippling, and the pain in his voice tells me he really believes that I would walk away from him after everything that’s happened. I grab his face with my other hand and hold his head firmly, trying to convey the conviction behind my words.
“Never. You’re stuck with me, Damien.” He kisses my forehead before kneeling and kissing my abdomen, burying his face into my stomach and caressing it with his thumb. I hate seeing him in so much pain, so much turmoil, both emotional and physical. He’s never been one to be easy on himself, and while I know we both have a lot of healing to get through, it’s just going to take time. I could confess my love for him every second of the next week, and it wouldn’t be enough for him. His guilt and self-doubt will eat at him regardless, and the most I can do right now is comfort him while we work through our pain. “Let’s get you to bed, baby. You should lie down.” He nods and stands back up with a grunt, clearly struggling.
As we approach the bed, I let him climb in first, watching as his muscles tighten and twitch as he lays down. The sight makes me want to cry, watching him strain so much, but I keep it together and slide in beside him. He pulls me tightly against him, and I can feel his body screaming for rest. Now that his mission is complete, and Dranan is dead, his breathing is deep and rigid again. With what he did today, I’m shocked he hasn’t passed out.
“I wish you would take something, Damien. You're in a lot of pain.”
“I can't take care of you if I'm high.” He shakes his head and traces gentle circles on my back.
