Does It Hurt? (40)
I convulse against him, and he’s forced to slide his hand from my shorts and wrap himself around me, attempting to keep me both still and silent.
If Sylvester wakes, I wouldn’t know it. Don’t know if I’d care, either.
I'm too wrapped up in the stars, and up here, I'm fearless.
Eventually, I come down, my head fuzzy and legs weak.
“You're so easy to break,” he murmurs darkly.
Immediately, what just happened smacks me upside the head.
I go to step away, feeling ashamed for reasons I can’t name, but he's gripping my bicep tightly, pulling me back into him. I cringe when I feel how wet my arm is.
Because his fucking hand is soaked, and he hasn’t bothered to wipe it clean.
“Did your lullaby rock him to sleep, baby?”
“Shut up,” I hiss, my cheeks burning hot, jabbing my elbow into his rock-hard stomach before reaching for the door again.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he growls.
“Are you planning on staying in here forever?” I snap back.
If he thinks I'm going to stick around after that, then he really can suck my toe. I can deduce that he was distracting me from my very apparent panic attack, but now I feel cheap and regret it already.
Now, he's just being cruel.
Tension rolls off him in waves, so I rip my arm from his grip.
Sylvester is still snoring away while I carefully slide open the closet door, so desperate to get away that my hands shake.
Slowly, I slip out from the little black hole Enzo sucked me into and hurriedly tiptoe toward the bedroom door. Enzo follows close behind, ensuring to shut the closet before slipping out of the room behind me.
Instead of heading toward our room, I beeline down the hallway. I need to get away from him before I do something stupid and try to earn his forgiveness.
He may not have deserved what I did to him, but that doesn't mean he deserves my body.
Now, if only I could just stop fucking giving it to him.
Chapter 12
Sawyer
Do you think anyone is ever going to love you, pipsqueak? I'm the only one that does.
But not if you're going to be a whore. No one can love a whore.
I squeeze my eyes shut, then proceed to trip over a rock.
“Fuck!” I shout. It’s stupid to come out here barefoot on injured feet, but I don’t care right now. I just need to get the fuck away.
I want to hear what it sounds like when you’re breaking and can’t scream.
“Shut up,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “Both of you, shut up.”
You're so easy to break.
Blood is pooling in my head from shame and embarrassment, and beneath the hot sun, I'm confident a plane could see my tomato-red face clear as day from ten thousand feet above.
Who needs a goddamn radio when my hatred for men could signal an alien race from an entire galaxy away?
I'm storming from the lighthouse, perspiration forming along my hairline and the back of my neck. I've no idea where I'm going, but I don't care as long as it's far from that place—far from him. Yet, I'm never left alone anyway. I've been running for six years, and I've never been able to escape Kev.
There's no hope of escaping Enzo, either. His cruel words, his wicked tongue, and his sinister intentions.
And I have a terrible feeling that even when I do slip between his fingers, he'll follow me wherever I go. Just like Kev, he'll fucking plague me and won't stop until I'm exactly where he wants me.
I climb over a few rocks, growling more insults toward both men, when I find a massive stone mound, my words trailing off. Something about it seems a little peculiar to be more than just a cliff, so I deftly amble toward it, attempting to be cautious of the sharp rocks.
As I get closer, I notice an opening in the boulder, a black abyss beyond it.
It’s a cave.
My heart thunders, but I’m not sure if it’s from exertion, excitement, or trepidation. Hesitantly, I approach the mouth of the cave, straining my ears to listen for wild creatures.
This doesn’t seem like the type of place for any kind of animal to thrive. But I’ve seen one too many B-rated horror flicks with monsters that do just fine in these conditions.
Yet, it feels like a rope is tied around my waist, and something is pulling me in, whether I want to go or not.
Chewing my lip, I turn to stare at the looming lighthouse behind me. It takes only a few seconds to decide that I’d rather be in a cave than in there.
But I need to get a light first.
Excitement takes over as I hurriedly make my way back to the lighthouse, flying through the front door and finding Sylvester sitting at the dining room table, cleaning his shotgun.
He’s already awake from his nap. At this moment, I’m glad my face is already red, because the sight of him has all kinds of reminders rushing back in.
He looks up at me, seemingly shocked by my sudden entry.
“Well, hiya there. You all right?”
He seems oblivious to what happened in his closet. Good.
“Can I borrow a flashlight, please?” I ask, breathless and sweaty.
His bushy brows furrow. “Whatever for?”
“I’m just exploring the island,” I say, not wanting to tell him about the cave. I’m not entirely sure why. It could be because I don’t want him to tell Enzo, but really, I like the idea of having a place to escape where no one can find me.