Page 77 of Heartfelt Pain
Her lips part before she can try to restrain her moan when I rub her clit. Her hands form fists as she comesagain, biting back her noisy whimpers. I fill her up, my semen coating her insides as I ride my climax.
Her chest moves, the pair of us trying to catch our breaths.
She shoves her hands hard against my chest, forcing our bodies to untangle. I stumble off the bed.
“Get out!” She slams the bathroom door behind her.
CHAPTER 17
Ren
Icry in the shower.
Sobs that are hotter than the boiling water running over my body. I hold myself but it’s useless.
I’d been fine this morning. By the afternoon, I found myself off-kilter. Now, I’m completely on the floor, sprawled out and reeling.
It’s been one week since I let Roma back into my life and already I’ve crashed and burned.
My stomach clenches as I think about our bodies moving together. About how he pounded into me relentlessly. Everything I goaded him with the past few days, he gave it right back.
And I took it.
Steam fogs up the bathroom, I stand under the burning water for so long. My skin is red. All the anger is burning me from the inside out.
My face is puffy and I can only manage to pull on a fluffy robe. I slap some moisturizer on in an attempt to pull myself together.
Roma is changing the sheets when I exit the bathroom.
I pull my arms around myself, pulling the robe tight. “I said get out.”
He’s pulled his briefs back on and the sheet floats in the air as he shakes it out. His long arms spread the material flat.
I’m sniffling as I tell him, “Get out.”
He tucks the flat sheet into the corners, pulling them tight. He grabs the duvet next, pulling it over the cotton sheets.
“Would you leave my bed alone.”
He walks to the kitchen and I hear my fridge open. “You need to drink some water.”
I don’t bother to take the glass when he tries to hand it to me. “You’re not staying the night.”
His chest lifts slightly like he’s holding back a sigh.
“You need to leave.” My throat aches. My eyes still burn from the hot steam and tears that have decided they’re not done.
Roma places the water on a coaster on my nightstand. It’s clean for once, the weeks’ worth of empty soda cans thrown away. And all my clothes have been tossed into the laundry basket. The washer whirls in the background and I’m guessing he already threw in the old sheets.
“Get out,” I say again, tired of repeating the same damn phrase.
He throws pillows onto the bed, rearranging them. I can’t remember the last time I’d made my bed and it pisses me off how the décor comes naturally to him. Somebody’s watched a little too much HGTV.
“Do you want to talk about what’s upsetting you or do you want me to order you some food?” he asks, smoothing a hand over the duvet to get all the wrinkles out.
He’s dreaming if he thinks either of those things are happening. And I do not appreciate this littlelet me get you food and wateraftercare.
He fucking tore into me when he knows I’m the onewho’s supposed to call the shots. That’s how this arrangement works.
