Tricking me.
Tormenting me.
I sob, and it is not pretty. He is without mercy. Without humanity. I was wrong to think there was ever anything else inside of him.
He leans forward and kisses me, his cock still throbbing in my ass. He tastes my tears and licks my throat. He comforts me with the sweetest lies.
“It is only me, Bella.”
My breath has returned. And Javi does not waste this opportunity. He thrusts into me, groaning out his pleasure. And I don’t understand this. I don’t understand how I can be so broken. How I can be relieved that it is him, even after what he just did to me. He unties my wrists, and they are limp at my sides, but still, he drapes them over his back.
I claw into his sweatshirt, wishing I could draw blood, and he fucks me harder. Kissing me until I bite his lip again and force him away.
“I hate you!” I scream. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”
He kisses me anyway. And he fucks me anyway. Telling me how good I feel. How much I please him. And then, how I am only his.
“Mine, Bella,” he repeats with every thrust. “I would not share you. I never will.”
And with these final words, he bottoms out inside of me and shudders out his release.
He collapses on top of me. Kissing my throat. Stroking my hair. Comforting me with his hands and his lies.
“I hate you,” I tell him again.
But my voice lacks the conviction to make it believable, even to my own ears.
He unties me and carries me back to the conservatory. I am certain he will abandon me to my misery now. But instead, he climbs into the bed behind me and wraps his body around mine. Housing me with his arms and his warmth.
“My Bella,” he whispers into the darkness. “Forgive me.”
Chapter Twenty
In the quietsolace of night, her mind is still loud. Haunted by nightmares of the things I have done to her. The things I can’t stop doing to her.
Even so, she clutches me like I am her savior. This girl has it so wrong. And I don’t know how she still doesn’t get it. That I am no savior. I am only a monster.
I swipe away her tears with my thumb, and she opens her eyes. Bluer than ever.
“You’re still here,” she croaks.
I shift away, and she squeezes her fist in my shirt. One by one, I peel her fingers off and abandon her to the warmth of the bed.
“I hate you,” she says again.
But it is without heart this time. And when I look down at the hurt etched onto her sensitive face, I wonder if she will ever really hate me. If there is anything I can do that will make it so.
"Do you like the house?" I ask.
She lifts a delicate brow.
"You mean my prison?” she snaps. “Why wouldn’t I love it here?"
"Then it is yours to do as you please," I tell her softly. "To feel at home."
"You're letting me out of the conservatory?"
She doesn't sound like she believes me.