Page 50 of Bedding Rose
By the time he’s finished, my pastie is soaked. When he slowly peels it off, it no longer hurts, other than from the ache of wanting him, from my nerve endings craving direct contact after being teased for so long. “Yes,” he whispers, as his mouth dives down and wraps around me, sucking on my sensitive bud without any barrier this time.
I end up shamelessly grinding against him, nearly overwhelmed by sensation. Moaning a soft complaint when he pulls away, my hands dive into my panties. I need some relief and when my fingers glide down either side of my clit, jagged pleasure shoots through me and I nearly come.
When his mouth moves to the other pastie, I rub myself in slow circles as my hips swivel over him, the rub of his bulge and the heat of him making me tighten in anticipation. I move my hand more quickly when he finally starts to use his teeth to pull the tiny covering off my nipple. I pinch my clit then, the intensity fracturing me into pieces so that I’m shuddering as he frees my nipple. I’m moaning desperately when his lips finally close around it and tug gently, that final touch from him sending me spinning. As he suckles, the torrent inside me goes from a rainstorm to a dark sky pierced by a lightning bolt.
I collapse against Angelo with a contented sigh and he wraps his arms around my back, standing and shuffling forward. I’m still in the haze of my afterglow when he lays me on the bed and then crawls up over me, leaning on his elbows.
That’s when it hits me.
I’m bracketed by him. Pinned down by the hips.
Panic makes my throat cave in.
Angelo’s face suddenly flashes out of existence andthat nighterupts from nowhere, from the recesses of my memory. Three shadowy figures loom over me, holding me down on the bed. My entire body clenches up and my lungs halt mid-breath.
“What is it?” Angelo immediately freezes. “Rose?”
His voice calls me back into the present so that my eyes can see him, see his chiseled face above me and not the disgusting drunken leers of those fuckers, but my body is still in a limbic, panicked response. I can’t uncurl my hands or unlock my knees, only stare up at him with a terrified expression.
His face softens for a moment, and I watch him shut his eyes as he swallows hard—either shoving back lust or anger, I’m not sure which. But he quickly moves off of me, climbing from the bed and backing away toward my bookshelf, arms held up in a pacifying manner. “We don’t have to …”
The fact that he’s gone, out of my space, lets me breathe again, albeit slowly. My lungs restart and I gasp as I take in air, gulping as if I’ve just been drowning. My mind races a mile a minute to process what just happened. I try to calm my pulse and reconnect with my reality by rubbing my fingertips up and down over my comforter, the familiar texture of the soft threads reminding me that I’m home. I’m here. Not there. I’m safe. It’s okay.
My eyes travel across the shadows of my bedroom, trying to convince my limbs that I’m truly secure when I see him turn. The reality that Angelo’s facing my window, ready to leave, smashes into me like a fist. Fuck. What have I done? I’ve just ruined this blooming, budding, explosively brilliant thing between us.
“No. Wait.” I force my stiff limbs to sit up, fighting their stiffness as I push up off the comforter. When I shove my hair back from my cheek, I realize my face is wet. A tear has escaped. I swipe it away angrily, annoyed at myself. Guilty. Horrified. Embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I knot my fingers in my lap. I’m apologizing because those bastards intruded on our moment. I’m agonized by the fact that it happened because I never even thought it would or I wouldn’t have unlocked the window for him.
I’ve done so well. I’ve shoved them and that night aside and I’ve been putting one foot in front of the other since then. I haven’t cut myself either. I … I was proud of how I was coping. I thought it was all over and done. Apparently, I was wrong.
They’ve been waiting. Those nightmares have been waiting for the right moment to pounce so they could destroy me a second time.
Fuck them.
That’s not fair.
I sniff a little as I murmur, “I don’t want those fuckers to own me. To break this. Us. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” My words don’t even make a lot of sense, but my mouth isn’t able to keep up with my thoughts, which are pulsing with fury and self-loathing.
Theydon’t deserve a single additional millisecond of my time or attention. And they definitely don’t deserve to have the power to steal away my happiness. But here they are, fucking me up at the worst possible time in the worst way. Here I am, letting them.
Pathetic.
“Hey, shhhh, none of that,” Angelo croons softly, taking a solitary step toward me, careful not to come too close.
Because I’m a freak show.
Because he doesn’t know what set me off and he’s worried he might do it again.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I bury my face in my hands and let out a sob.
There’s a creaking noise that has me peeking up, certain he’s slipping out my window, but I find him sitting down in my desk chair, holding his arms out toward me. “Do you want—”
