Page 73 of Unorthodox
I wonder why I’m stronger than he is, even if it’s in all the ways that don’t count.
“Did you think that if Dante fucked you, you’d go free?” he asks me suddenly, his eyes on mine, his fingers still running along my face.
My stomach twists into knots, because no matter what I say to this, it’s not going to end well. I decide to go with the truth. At least part of it. Becausehe doesn’t know.
“Yes.” My voice is rough, and my lips tremble while I say the word, but I get it out.
He doesn’t stop stroking my face, and his expression doesn’t change. After a moment, he nods, almost as if I said something else, even though I’m barely breathing, never mind speaking. “I’m going to tell you a secret, Addison.”
My legs lock up with those words, and I’m rigid beneath him as he keeps touching my face, and keeps talking, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Your buyer really,reallywants you.” He shrugs, his fingers trailing down along my jaw, curving toward my mouth, running along the seam of my lips. “I don’t know why, and I don’t care. But I think, no matter how broken in you are, he’s still going to want you.”
Time seems to slow as he watches me take this in. I avert my eyes from his, instead staring at his muscles outlined beneath his white shirt. I watch his chest rise and fall, steady, even, as if he does shit like this every day.
“I personally don’t like fucking virgins. They’re clumsy and awkward and don’t know when to shut the fuck up.”
I’m not a virgin, you dumb fuck.I don’t say it, but it takes effort to keep the words in. He thinks I’m valuable this way. He assumed I’d told him all my secrets when he asked who made me come, but the idea of telling him about my father, about who really stole my virginity, it makes me want to die. I’d rather suffer Max’s violent hands than that confession.
He runs his thumb along my bottom lip as he watches me.
“But if anyone in this house is going to have you, it’s going to be me. And if you make me do that, if youmake mefuck you, just like youmade mehurt you, I’ll make sure it’s the worst experience of your miserable fucking life.”
His words blind me with rage, like a living thing in my bloodstream. Even though my mind tries to warn me, even though the logical part of my brain tries to protect me, I can’t stop the hate-filled half-confession that spews from my mouth. “It’s not going to beyou,” I sneer, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from my mouth, nails biting in his skin. “It’s not going to be you, becauseDante already fucked me.”
In the aftermath of my revelation, time stands still.
For a long, long moment, nothing happens.
My nails are still digging into his wrist, and he’s still standing beside my bed, staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face.
A sliver of unease pricks at the back of my neck as I try to keep breathing. Try not to long for a way to undo what I just said. To snatch that admission from the air between us, stuff it back down my throat.
But it’s too late.
It’s too fucking late, and when he pulls his wrist from my grip and goes for my throat, I know what’s going to happen.
It doesn’t make it any better.
When he shoves down his pants with his free hand, kicks off his shoes and pulls off his black boxer briefs, when he’s on top of me, pinning my hands above my head, my body elongated beneath him as he straddles me, keeping me in place with his hips, I feel sick.
Physically sick all over again, and my stomach convulses as he positions his hard cock against my entrance, watching me all the while.
“Do you want to take back what you just said?” he asks me coldly, his grey-blue eyes gleaming in the light from the bathroom at his back.
I try to move underneath him, try not to watch him stroking himself, his cock long and thick in his hand.
It’ll hurt.
Tears fill my eyes as I squirm, but he lets go of himself, shoves up my shirt and pulls one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then twists it. Hard.
I cry out, hating myself for being weak. For reacting to his pain.
Surprising me, he lets go, smoothing his hand over my breast, calming the ache.
“Do you want to take it back, or did you really let him fuck you, love?” he asks quietly, leaning over me so his mouth is nearly touching mine. His breath smells like mint, his beachy scent full of a divinity the devil shouldn’t possess. “Did he really get inside of your tight cunt?”
I swallow down the lump in my throat as he caresses me, still holding my wrists above my head. I try to fight back the tears, but I feel one betray me, warm as it falls down my face. I should be used to this by now, being used as the men in my life see fit.
