Page 62 of A Pawn in the Game
“Sophie,” I whisper, gently rocking her. I’m so out of my depth. I don’t do gentle.
“Please.” She releases a pleading whisper, one that hits me right in the sternum, clogging my throat.
“Sophie,” I say louder, but she continues crying.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself. I hate doing this again. I place both of my hands on her upper arms, holding her tightly. “Sophie!”
She gasps, her eyelids fluttering open. The bathroom light casts a warm glow over her. Her cheeks are wet with tears, her eyes glossy and wide as saucers. It’s obvious she’s scared. Soon, her features relax as she releases a long breath.
“You were having a nightmare,” I explain.
She does a small nod.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice low.
She shakes her head. Her sleeve has rolled up, revealing more raw red streaks from where her own hands hurt her.
“Is there… is there anything I can do?” I groan internally at my stupid suggestion.
“It’s just… it just hurts.” Her voice breaks, and so does my heart.
“I know.” I don’t even know what’s haunting her, but I know the feeling.
She swallows audibly. “And when I’m in pain…” She drops her gaze to her chafed skin, and sighs loudly. “When the emotional pain gets too much, physical pain is the one thing that helps.”
“Oh.” Her legs. She tried to relieve her emotional pain by hurting herself. That explains the scars on her thighs. My chest squeezes.
Then her eyes flicker to mine, and there’s something else other than sadness sparkling within them. Hope. “Please,” she whispers.
My heart does a little leap, and I know then that I’d do anything she asked of me. No matter the consequences. “What do you need?”
“Make me forget.”
My gaze drops to her lips, and I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to hers. She tastes like salt and tears, and I hate it. I want to lick every single tear off her face, swallowing her grief alongside them. I slip my tongue into her mouth, and she releases a whimper. Her hands wrap themselves in my shirt and I snake my hands into her hair.
I kiss her with everything I’ve got. With all the anger and sadness I carry. With all the guilt I feel for doing this to her. And all the passion my body feels for her. I kiss her like this is the last kiss of my life. In a way, it is. Because nothing will be the same after this. Once was a fever dream. Two times was a mistake. Three times is a betrayal. A betrayal of my family. And I can’t bring myself to care. Not when her cries turn from hopeless to passionate while I kiss her. Not when she needs me to relieve the pain.
“More,” she breathes out. “I need more.”
We’re a mess of limbs as we struggle to take our clothes off. She lifts my t-shirt, and I tug it over my head. I lower her pants, and she helps me drag them down her legs, until we’re both naked.
I make room between her legs and grind my hips into her. My rock-hard dick rubs over her already wet pussy and we both moan in unison.
“Is this what you need?” I ask her, caging her in with my hands.
She bites into her lip before responding, “I need it to hurt before you make it feel better.” Her gaze is pointed and my head snaps back.
She wants me to hurt her. My biceps flex, refusing to take part in it.
But as she stares at me with wide, honest eyes and whispers, “Please,” I can’t do anything but follow.
I swallow, remembering everything I know about impact play. What I picked up from my own experiences and learned in Charles’ club. “Turn over,” I say.
She flips to her belly, and I pull her hips up, exposing her ass to me. I suck in a breath at the sight. Her smooth skin glows under the partial light, her back rising and lowering with rapid breaths.
“I’m only doing this because you asked me to,mila. And I’ll stop as soon as you say so.”
She doesn’t give me a response, so I place both of my hands on her ass, roughly kneading it. She gasps.
