Page 41 of Immoral

She shuts her eyes and exhales sharply.

"What do I need to do so we can get past this?" I ask for what feels like the billionth time.

She opens her blues. "Release me."

My sadistic, controlling, have-to-prove-a-point self answers, "No. We made a deal. You're to submit to me all night. I get youhoweverI want you. Or did you forget?"

Her eyes harden.

I challenge, knowing she won't go back on her word, "Are you not going to comply?"

She stays quiet.

"Let go of the bars," I demand.

She obeys. I move her hands away from the headboard then flip her over so she's on her knees. I order, "Grab them again."

She tightens her fingers around the metal. I wrap my body around her, weaving my hand in her hair and grasping all her locks. I apply pressure to her bruises again, savoring her tiny moans. Slowly, I shimmy my erection between her legs, making sure I hit her clit. She arches her back into me, quivering. I lean into her ear. "You think I'm going to get bored with you when all I did was obsess about how to get you back for years?"

She stays quiet, lifting her hips to rock on my cock faster.

"Answer me," I bark.

Her voice cracks. "You always do."

I turn her head so she can't avoid me. "The past is not our future. Do you understand?"

Her eyes glisten. She shuts her eyelids.

"Look at me!"

She opens her eyes, and tears fall.

I ask again, "Tell me what I have to do!"

A river of tears drip onto the pillow. Agony crumples her face. "There's nothing you can do. It'll always be this way."

I might as well have just gotten stabbed. "That can't be true."

"It is," she chokes out.

"No, it's not," I insist. But for the first time ever, I'm scared she might be right. Did I hurt her so badly there's no way to earn her trust again?

She squeezes her eyes shut. "Please. Stop talking about this tonight. Just fuck me."

It's a rare occasion where I don't know what to do. Right now is one of them. I start counting in my head. When I get to twenty, my heart hurts more because only she knows what goes on in my head.

She whispers, "Twenty-one. Twenty-two."

I freeze.

Her raspy voice begs, "Please. Stop counting and fuck me. I don't want to think anymore."

"Let go of the headboard," I demand.

She does it, and I roll over on my back, bringing her with me. I unhook her leash and unwrap it from her wrists. I tug the covers over her back and tighten my arms around her.

Her fingers lace through my hair. Our mouths meet in an inferno of too many emotions—her pain, my newfound fear, the burning desire we both have to fix this problem between us, yet we can't seem to figure it out.

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