“FUCK!”
I fold my body to the side, gasping in pain, my body tensing far more than it did when he fingered me that first time. I roll up into a little ball, barely aware that he’s removed his cock as suddenly as he pushed it in me.
“Lia?”
The way he says my name sounds very different from the way it usually does. It’s all soft. No sharpness. No mocking cruelty.
But I close my eyes, drowning the sound out as he repeats it a few times, because I can’t handle it.
I can’t handle all the emotions, all the pain, the visceral memories that are coursing through me. My body feels broken.Repulsive. I want to die.
I’m barely aware of his hands, working to undo my restraints, or of my own arms, falling limply to the floor. Or of the way he brings me back to his lap, folding himself around me.
“Lia,” he murmurs. “What happened to you?”
I can only shake my head, tears spilling out of the corners of my eyes.
His voice sounds strangely broken when he speaks again. “You’re crying, Lia. You’re crying.”
At that, I sniff loudly. “I thought you liked seeing me cry.”
“Don’t, Lia.”
He starts to stroke up and down my spine. I can’t understand him. I can’t understand that this man who seems to have no qualms about keeping me captive, or bringing me back to my abusive husband, or even, killing me himself, seems to care about my reaction to sex. If I hadn’t spent the past two days with him, if I hadn’t been hearing all those things about him for the past three years, I could actually trick myself into thinking he cares.
“Do you need me to leave you alone, Lia?”
Yes. Yes, I would appreciate not being held by a homicidal asshole while dealing with intense rape flashbacks. Yes, please, go. Leave me alone.
“No.”
I really hate myself sometimes.
“No, Logan. Please… stay.”
He lets out a sigh. “Okay. Okay, Lia.”
I feel him dip his face into my hair and take a long whiff, before clutching me to him tighter.Did he just… sniff my hair?
The whole thing feels incredibly strange. To be comforted by the guy who just labeled himself my executioner, and who is planning to bring me back to the boss’s son—the guy who gave me my trauma to begin with. If I allow myself to start thinkingabout it, I’m pretty sure I’ll go crazy. So instead, I nestle deeper into Logan’s arms, closing my eyes, allowing myself to just… be.
Surely, at some point, reality will come crashing back down.
“Tell me, Lia,” Logan murmurs after a while, his voice still soft. “Why did you react like that? Like no one had ever touched you there before. Like ithurt.”
I groan, pressing my head to his chest. “Do we have to talk about it now?”
“Talk about what, exactly? Did something happen to you, Lia?”
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!
I don’t want him to ever know what happened. It’s so disgusting. Papa never looked at me the same since then. Overnight, it seems, I went from being his little princess to something filthy, something tainted. He told me my marriage to Carmelo was beyond his control. But I could tell how relieved he was when Carmelo slid the ring on my finger. How glad he was to have his no longer virginal daughter off his hands.
Logan already hates my guts. I know I can’t sink lower in his esteem. That doesn’t mean I want him to know just how ruined I am. I still havesomepride left.
Besides, I don’t even think I’d be able to find the words to tell him what happened.
So I mumble, “It’s just that… Carmelo and I… don’t really have sex.”