by Amelia Wilde
“No. I’m the beast now. The nightmare.” Looking at myself as I was before offers a wrenching contrast to now, to this emptiness, to the hurt that fills every breath. “I’m different. Ruined. Violent.”
Haley slides her hand around my bicep, stroking like I’m on the verge of losing control. I’m not. I’m fucking not. It’s just old anger coming to the surface. It’s just old habits, as if being confronted with this person is a threat. He is not. I’m the threat. “I see you for what you are. You’re a prince. My prince.”
I can’t be. I can’t do this to her. Haley is like the person laughing in the photo. She is still relatively clean. She is still undamaged, if I can keep her that way. The biggest danger to her has always been me. Ever since the moment I saw her in that alley. Ever since the moment her eyes met mine.
“I’m not a fucking prince.” I drop the frame and it clatters onto the rug, turning facedown. And then I undo the buttons on my shirt. Strip my undershirt over my head. My heart pounds at the exposure. At the shame. Haley backs up a step, her lips parted, her blue eyes wide, and I can’t bear it, the look in her eyes. I turn away from it. Plant both hands on the desk. The sun breaks free from a cloud and golden light pours into the room. It shows everything. Every fucking thing. “Look at me. Fucking look.”
I demanded that she look at me, but I’m the one who can’t stop looking at her. In the mirror Haley is a creature of sunlight. All sweet, gold softness. And I’m myself. I wait for horror to overcome her features. Or worse, pity. I wait for the expression on her face to match the hurt that roils through me.
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. They’re crystalline blue in this light. The color of the water in that photo. “I’ve seen you, Leo. Lots of times. When you were sick. When you brought me home.”
“Not like this. Not in daylight. You can’t deny it to yourself here, darling. I’m a fucking monster.”
Haley takes a deep breath and steps closer. Closer again. She’s doing what I told her to do. She’s looking. Outside of a parade of anonymous doctors, outside of Eva, I’ve never allowed anyone to look at me like this. It hurts like a motherfucker to hold still and let it happen. Haley studies the scars without flinching. Without recoiling. Without disgust twisting her lips.
“It’s just scars. It’s just your skin.”
A bitter laugh slices out of my throat. “It’s proof of how weak I am. What kind of fucked-up soul I have.”
Haley shakes her head, and I didn’t know how much I needed for her to deny this until she does. “It’s not.” She carefully, deliberately touches the top of my shoulder, where there are no marks. “Does it hurt right now?”
“All the time. Since you were taken. All the fucking time.”
“Is there anything you can take? Like when you were in the hospital. Is there anything you can have that would help?”
“I can’t take them. The only ones that touch the pain are so powerful that I can’t avoid unconsciousness. And I can’t be unconscious, darling. I can’t protect anyone that way. I can’t keep myself alive.”
I expect tears. I expect to have to console her in this, but Haley nods. Her eyes catch mine again in the mirror. “Will it hurt more if I touch them?”
“Do it anyway.”
She has always been so careful, since that day at the shower, never to cause me more pain. Haley. The innocent I’m in the process of ruining. And she is careful now. Her hands are soft, like they were when she cleaned my stab wound, like they were when she held me after I was shot. Her breathing is even, as if she’s not looking at a fucking horror show. She strokes her fingertips over my unmarked flesh, down toward the scars, and my body braces itself for searing pain.
But there’s only a featherlight touch. Soft as one of my shirts. I discover I’ve closed my eyes when I open them to seek her out in the mirror. Haley’s looking at her fingertips on my destroyed skin. My heart is a raw, convulsing thing. Hope and pain are both jagged in my veins, in my muscles. She ignores the barely controlled trembling. Haley traces one scar, then the next, and the next. The anticipation of pain bleeds out of me. My skin has gone hot with the shame of having to be touched like this, like I’m fucking made of glass, but that dissipates, too.
It leaves something else in its wake.
She reaches the last scar, the last wound, the last inch, and lets out a breath. “You,” she says, and then she leans in and kisses the first scar, the one across my shoulder blades.
It hauls a gasp out of me. Haley might as well have my whole bloody heart in her palms.
She kisses me again.
It’s too much, and I’m too desperate for it. It’s absolution I don’t deserve. That I never thought was possible. I turn around and kiss her mouth and she flings her arms around my neck, holding on tight while I bite her. Claim her. Let her see.
Chapter Eleven
Haley
Leo crushes his mouth to mine with so much force that I can feel him breaking underneath it. I can feel how far this has pushed him. He’s right. I’ve never seen his skin in daylight before. Only the murky half-light of his bedroom when he burned with fever, and I didn’t really see it then. I was too focused on keeping him alive.
But now he is alive, now he is warm and alive and holding me to him with all his strength. His kisses are echoes of the way he looked at me in the mirror, echoes of the blaze in his dark eyes. The fire there. The storm.
The sun gets brighter as he lets me up for air, catching in his dark hair like a halo. Sun, no sun, it doesn’t matter. I’m lit up with him. Panting with the kiss and this fresh intimacy. We’ve never been this close. Never, never, and my heart bruises and breaks.
Leo’s eyes rake down over me. They stop at the hollow of my throat. At my chest, rising and falling. He’s thick and hard between us. His hand comes up to circle my throat.
“I’m a monster,” he says again, squeezing.
I use the last of my breath to deny him. “No.”
He hauls me up onto the wide desk with him, making me straddle him. My thighs spread wide over his hips while he pulls me down for another kiss. The fact that I’m on top changes nothing about his control or his dominance. I might as well be bound with my wrists above my head for all the power I have now.
His hand remains wrapped around my throat. Dark eyes hot and wounded on mine. He’s waiting for me to admit that he’s monstrous, that he’s terrifying, that he’s a ruined soul.
If Leo Morelli is ruined, so am I.
He watches me pant in his grip. Looks down at my dress flowing over us both. “Take it off.”
I shove it over my head, more aware of it now. I know by the feel of it that it was made from the same fabric as his shirts. He’s started dressing me in it, too. He makes a low noise at the sight of my bra and panties. “Show me your tits. I know how much you love that.”
He accused me of it before. Of liking to show myself off for him. I tried to tell myself I hated it, but I don’t. I love it. Heat flashes across my face, but I keep my eyes on his when I take off my bra and arch my back.
Leo squeezes my neck to make me arch it more and curses under his breath. It seems impossible for him to maintain such perfect balance without bracing himself, but then he has to be strong like this. He’s had no choice. His abs have been carved out by necessity.
He uses his free hand to brush a thumb over one nipple, then the other, until both of them stand out. “Have you ruined your panties yet? Touch them and tell me.”
I slip my hand down to the delicate fabric. “They’re wet,” I whisper. He pushes his thumb into my throat to feel the words. “Does that make them ruined?”
“It makes you filthy, darling. Your cunt loves a sadistic bastard. Your cunt loves a monster.”
A squeeze cuts off my ability to say that it’s him I love. It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve told him twice, but he was sick or sleeping and didn’t hear.
He hooks a finger through the waistband and pulls them against my hip until the threads
fray. One swift yank finishes them. A breath of a moan works past his hand and he makes an answering sound. A pleased one. I want him to be pleased. I want him to not be in pain. I would trade anything for that, I think. Anything.
“Look in the mirror.”
I’m busy melting into his touch, melting into his control, but I open my eyes and look. I can see him. His hair, his arms. See his grip on my neck. See every one of his scars. He’s giving me permission to see them. Leo could order me to close my eyes and I would, but he doesn’t. A frisson touches down. It tightens my nipples. Sends a chill racing up my spine. In the mirror, Leo bows his head and sinks his teeth into my collarbone.
It pulls a cry out of me that he soothes with a kiss, with his tongue. Thick fingers make contact with my pussy, stroking there, dragging through a wetness that humiliates me. Or maybe I just like being humiliated by him. His thumb circles my clit. Leo kisses the side of my neck. “Your thighs are shaking,” he murmurs into my ear. “You’re a slut for my hand around your throat.”
He works his fingers inside me and everything clenches. Leo won’t let me move down, won’t let me fuck his fingers. He holds me up by the neck. I’m flushed in the mirror, my eyes wide and desperate. My lips parted. Wanting him. He’s angled us so I can see everything he’s been trying to hide. His back. His pain. Me. He’s tried to hide me, too. To protect me? To protect him? It’s too hard to think with his thumb on my clit. He’s mean that way, not letting me take any more of him. This is the only time it’s good to be useless. It doesn’t make me feel bitterly ashamed. Because he loves it so much.
I chase more contact with his thumb, chase more contact with his fingers. My orgasm stays just out of reach. I don’t know why. I’m so wet, so hot, and—
“You need to come.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “I can’t. And I don’t—”
“Is it the mirror?”
“No.” I could look at his body forever. I don’t care if he has scars. I meant what I said. It’s his skin. It’s him. I’m not afraid of it, not disgusted by it, or him. I reach over his shoulder and brush my fingertips against one of his scars. The act of doing it, the act of being this close to him, makes my pussy pulse around the invasion of his fingers.
The sound he makes then is closer to the beast than to Leo, and then his hand is gone from my throat. It’s fisted in my hair, pulling my head back, letting me sink all the way down to his fingers. “It hurts,” I breathe, pain arcing over my scalp.
Leo hooks his fingers and my orgasm implodes. I keep my eyes open. I know he wants me to. So I see his eyes burn. I see them flare with possession and pain and a deep relief. “Fuck, darling,” he says. “I want your cunt squeezing my cock. You’re going to give it to me.”
I haven’t stopped coming, my breaths coming too fast and hard, when he pulls his fingers out. Shoves down his zipper, and his pants. Then his palms are on my hips, guiding me to his cock, and thrusting in.
He groans, and for the first time he has to adjust. Leo plants one big palm on the desk behind him and puts the other on the back of my neck. He’s already made me come once and it still takes time to get used to him. To get used to the presence of him inside me. He’s so big. So hard. He’s the only man who’s ever fucked me. He’s the only man I want. I hook my chin over his shoulder. Let my arms drape around him. Work my hips. Leo’s letting me have the illusion of control. He could take it back any time, but it’s a test—that’s what it is, a test. He can’t help it. He needs it.
My thighs burn with the effort of fucking him. Of staying as close as I possibly can. I push myself down another inch and groan at the stretch. Under his skin, his heart pounds. The only gentle touch is his hand in my hair, keeping my head in place. Holding me. It doesn’t seem as gentle against the hard thrust of his cock. All of this in one person. Gentleness and pain. Anger and love. He’s a complicated person. He’ll always be complicated.
I trace one of his scars and grind down harder on him. With Leo inside me I can feel the whole-body response he has, feel how it travels through him head to toe. “Oh, fuck,” he says. “I never thought.” He doesn’t finish the sentence. One hand on my hip takes over the rhythm. “You are so fucking tight. You can’t hide anything from me.”
It’s a double-edged sword. He’s also saying he can’t hide anything from me. A tear slips down my cheek at the admission. I watch myself fucking him in the mirror, watch myself straddling him, but my own face isn’t what keeps me looking. It’s him. His movements. His strength. His searing honesty.
“Fuck me like you want it, darling.” My thighs protest but I move my hips with more purpose. It hurts more, to take more of him, but I need it. “That fucking photo,” he says. “I should punish you for looking.”
“You. Didn’t.” Hard to catch my breath. “You let me see. And I saw.” With my chin on his shoulder like this, I can’t see his face in the mirror. I can only see him turn his head toward me. Only feel it, his cheek against mine. The subtle hitch in his chest. I touch his scars again, mind struggling to fuck him hard and touch him softly. I feel him brace. Not real fear, not with Leo, but a habit. He knows that pain is coming. And when it doesn’t, his body settles. No—I need to be honest. He feels it. I’m just not causing more. His pain is here with us, even now, but I’m not making it worse.
He presses his lips to the pulse at the side of my neck as sweat beads on my skin. I’m running out of breath but my heart feels so huge. It aches so much for him. It wants so much from him. I want so much from him.
I take as much of him inside me as possible, until it hurts. Until I cry out. He pulls me closer, stroking my hair, and nips the flesh at my shoulder. I have that shimmering feeling, like the whole world turns on this moment, and I touch him again. Another scar. There are so many.
“I wouldn’t wish this on you,” I tell him, and he buries his face in my neck. Bites me there. “I’m so—I’m so sorry it happened to you.” Another tear falls. Lands on his skin. “I grieve for you. For anything you lost or you thought—you thought you lost.” Leo’s breathing hard, my skin heating with it. My heart on fire. “But I love this version of you.”
He pushes me off his shoulder, puts his hand around my neck, forces me to look into his eyes. Black and gold. Fire and darkness. He takes away some of my air. Not too much. It makes my hips move faster. “I hate that photo. It fucking—” Leo’s jaw works. “It’s fucking mortifying for you to see it. To see me when I was weak like that. I was a fucking fool who let—” I’m so frantic against him that it breaks his sentences apart. “Darling.”
“You weren’t weak.” I lean into his hand. “You were strong enough to survive. And you became—” His cock. His hand. All of me liquid pleasure and liquid pain. “You became this man, you became this beast, so you could live.” He lets out a shuddering breath. “So I could find you. I had to find you. I needed you like this. I need you. Like this. Exactly how you are.”
He turns us with a feral growl, shoving me down to the desk. A rough hand under my leg angles it up, opens me for him, and Leo takes me in one stroke. I touch him and touch him, my hands on his face, his shoulders. He kisses me while his hand works between us. He’s rough on my clit. Pinching. Making me writhe underneath him. He pulls away just long enough to slide down, to bury his face between my legs. “Look,” he orders, and I turn my head and see myself splayed on the desk, his hands wrapped around my thighs, his back partially hidden by his position. By the way he’s eating me like he’ll never eat again. He teases my clit with his teeth, holding me open. Five fingerprints on each thigh. Ten bruises forming.
“Oh, no,” I gasp. “Oh, no.”
Leo hauls me right to the edge of orgasm and throws me over. It’s a mean one. It makes my toes curl and my nerves spark and my body goes wild. As wild as he is.
He takes his mouth away. No. Not fair, not fair. But he’s using his hands and his body to lever me into the position he wants for fucking. He takes me with a bite and a growl and a vicious thrust. One h
and on my head so that I have to watch myself come on his cock as he fucks me. So that I watch him come too, every muscle working. He’s terrifying in the daylight.
Beautiful. Terrifying. And mine.
I never want to look away.
Chapter Twelve
Leo
I’ve never been so shaken in my fucking life, except for at the moment when Haley entered the room before Ronan shot me. She had no reason to return for me. No reason to think I was worth risking her own life for. All I’d given her was punishment, rough sex, and a visit to the library.
I’d given her the equivalent of a cracked-open door. Practically none of me. And she’d rushed back into the middle of an execution. For that. For me. I can’t sort any of my thoughts. They refuse to line up and make sense. So I place the call after dinner. Send the advance team. Sit with Haley while she reads that fantasy book her brother packed for her when she first came to me—a new copy, to replace the one I tore apart. When she falls asleep over the book, I put her in bed and leave her sleeping.
A frigid shower tempers the pain enough for the trip, but I can feel it waiting there. Crouched and clawed. It can’t be separated from the wreckage of my feelings. They’ve become too real. Too strong to bear.
Gerard waits outside the bedroom door. “It’s all clear. They’ll do a second check before you arrive.”
“If Haley wakes up, I need to know.”
A nod. “I’ll take the post until you get back.”
I don’t have to explain myself to him, but I feel compelled by the tide of the day. By everything that Haley said, and everything we did. “It can’t wait. Otherwise I wouldn’t leave her. Is there any indication—”
“None. All quiet.”
I listen outside the door for another minute, then tear myself away. It hurts to leave. The agony in my back relented while I was fucking Haley, but it’s come back full force now. Top of the wheel. Sitting in the car is misery.