Does It Hurt? (42)

“Goddammit, Sawyer,” he groans. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“You!” I shout, slapping at him again. “Get off of me, you fucking mammoth.”

“Stop hitting me,” he growls, adjusting until he’s sitting atop me, pinning my hands to the floor, and getting in my face. “You’re acting like a fucking cu—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence or so help me God, I will drown you in that ocean when you’re least expecting it,” I threaten, panting. It’s hard to breathe, but only because his proximity is so damn suffocating.

“Do you honestly think you scare me? A shrimp is more intimidating than you.”

I gasp. “That is so fucking rude.”

He leans in closer, and it’s a regretful discovery to find that I can’t move through solid objects. I try to lean away, but there’s nowhere to go, the floor refusing to become penetrable no matter how hard I press the back of my head into it.

“You want to hear rude, Sawyer? How about the fact that it’s hard to sleep next to a fucking soul-sucking demon? And you being so close makes me sick to my stomach.”

I bristle, a stone forming in the base of my throat. I had thought it was hard to breathe before, but now it feels like I’m chained to the bottom of the ocean. Not only is there no oxygen down here, but there’s so much pressure on top of me, making it impossible to even suck in a breath.

“What’s worse? I can still smell you on my fingers, despite washing you clean of me. Now tell me how the hell you expect me to find peace when you’re invading every one of my goddamn senses?”

The ice chips in his eyes are melting, slowly replaced by a fire so strong, it’s radiating from him in waves, burning me up from the inside out and turning the air dense.

He’s hurting me, the ache in my wrists spreading down, down, down, until I’m clenching my thighs beneath him.

I'll never understand why I want him when he’s so fucking cruel.

“You’re so fucking hot and cold,” I bite.

“Good,” he barks. “Because there’s not a damn second that goes by where you’re not fucking with my head. You’re the worst thing to ever happen to me. Every day, I regret walking into that bar. I hate myself for falling for your lies and believing you were nothing more than a sad girl. I hate that I allowed myself to be seduced by you. And I hate that I can’t stop, even now.”

I fight against his hold, his harsh words needling beneath my skin and hooking into the sinew. They hurt, but only because I can’t blame him.

“Get off of me,” I hiss, bucking my hips, but only accomplishing in straining my back. He’s so fucking heavy. “Better stop touching me, Enzo, or else you might accidentally be seduced.”

He bares his teeth. “Everything you do is calculated. Were you even truly panicking when we were in that closet or was that another one of your schemes?”

I gape at him. “I didn’t ask you to touch me, you dickhead! How could I have possibly known what you were going to do?”

“You were doing it to gain sympathy,” he accuses.

I’m so fucking baffled, I’m speechless.

Arguing with him is pointless, though, so I buck my hips again.

“Get off of me!” I bark, that feeling of being trapped trickling into my system. My thrashing becomes more desperate, yet his lips only tip up cruelly.

Far from a smile but amused all the same.

“You gonna panic again, bella ladra? Hoping for my cock this time?”

“You’re sick,” I spit. “I don’t want that thing anywhere near me.”

He tilts his head to the side. “No?”

That’s a challenge, and it only stirs the panic. He rolls his hips, his hard length pressing firmly against my clit.

“Enzo,” I snap, but it comes out breathy.

His lips lightly skim across the shell of my ear. “Would you scream this time?” he questions darkly. “You always do when you create your own little ocean all over me.”

“Fuck you,” I breathe, accompanied by a full body shudder when he rolls his hips again.

“I won’t. I’ve already conquered your ocean, amore mio. You have nothing left to give that I want.”

Finally, he releases me, standing above me with his legs on either side. I slide out from beneath him, pressing myself into the stone wall and panting heavily.

“You’re a liar. Even now.”

Colorful words build on my tongue, and I open my mouth to let them spew, hoping they’re sharp enough to cut past his thick skin, but before I can get a syllable out, his head is snapping to the side.

His eyes are caught on something outside the window. Whatever he sees causes him to stiffen, his spine snapping straight as he rushes toward it.

“What? What is it?” I ask breathlessly, climbing to my feet to stand next to him.

My eyes widen, a gasp on my lips when it registers what’s outside.

It’s a girl. She’s standing in the ocean, about knee-deep, black water licking at her legs. Only a thin white dress covers her rail-thin body, the collar hanging over one shoulder and exposing moon-white skin

“Oh my God,” I mutter, rushing on to the bed and reaching for the lock on the window, but there are gnarled nails pinning it down, keeping it permanently closed.