Does It Hurt? (55)

Despite how cruel I can be, she comes undone for me so fucking easily. As if she was made just for me.

Suor Caterina used to tell me that we were all God’s creations, but I never bought into that shit. But if it were true, then fuck Him for making her the bane of my goddamn existence.

And fuck Him for making her the one thing I want most.

Was that the nightmare you were hoping for?

No, it was worse.

And it was. It’s like I’ve scribbled all my resistance into a charcoal ball deep into the paper, and she took a fucking eraser to it until there was nothing left but the faded remnants of when I hated her.

“I am sorry. And maybe you are, too. Isn't that why you told Sylvester not to touch me again?” she insists. “Because you don't want any more men hurting me?”

I shrug. “If he does, I’ll just do what I said I’d do.”

The thought of carving my name into her soft skin has my cock thickening. She makes it so hard to feel sorry when hurting her is so fucking intoxicating.

She comes to stand before me, her shorter stature forcing me to look down. Her face is twisted into a snarl, and she’s glaring at me. How cute.

“That defeats the purpose of not hurting me.”

“I never said I didn't want to hurt you.”

“You’re not carving your name into my skin, you freak.”

I cock a brow. “Watch me, bella ladra.”

She snarls. “You like to fuck me when you hurt me, Enzo. And you said you wouldn’t unless I begged, which I will never do.”

“You are as unreliable as I am when it comes to fucking each other, and last night was a clear indication of that. This may come as a surprise to you, baby, but I don’t believe a goddamn word you say anyway.”

Dropping my arms, I spare one last glance at the darkening ocean, the waves becoming ferocious as the storm nears. Even the ones licking at our legs are becoming angrier. Then, I turn and head toward the lighthouse, dreading another night trapped in a dark room, left with nothing but my own thoughts and a girl I want nothing more than to get away from, but can never seem to. Even when she's not around.

“You know, not everything I say is a lie,” she calls, stumbling over a rock as she chases after me. I shake my head in disbelief that she doesn’t have a chipped front tooth or a crooked nose with how much she trips over herself. She’s almost bashed her face in as many times as Sylvester wheezes whenever he moves a muscle.

“And how would I know that?” I retort. “You lied about your entire identity.”

“I lied about my name, Enzo. Not who I am as a person.”

The anger constantly boiling beneath the surface bubbles up again, like a pot of water left on the burner for too long. For the second time, I'm pivoting and getting in her face. It catches her off guard, causing her to stumble back and almost land on her ass again.

Blue eyes wide, she stares up at me in shock as I spit, “There you go lying again. You did lie about who you are as a person, Sawyer. You did. Because the girl I took home was not the same person as the one who stole my life from me. I don’t care who you say you are because I see it. Vuoi sapere cosa vedo? I see nothing more than a lying thief who only cares about herself.”

Her eyes fill with tears halfway through my tangent, and fuck if it doesn’t make me want to both throttle her and take back everything I said. She’s got me so twisted, I can’t get my head straight.

How is it that I want to hurt her, yet protect her from my own damn self?

She looks so fucking sad, but part of me is still convinced it’s a fa?ade. A pretty, little costume she dresses up in to make people feel sympathy for her.

Growling, I turn away, but she’s grabbing my arm and stopping me. I’m not entirely sure what she sees when I look back at her, but it’s enough to make her release me like she was holding on to a hot poker.

“I didn’t want to steal it, Enzo,” she insists. “I… I didn’t have a choice, okay?”

The wind is picking up, howling as it rips through her hair and our clothing, strong enough that I steel my spine.

“You always have a choice. You could’ve chosen to do anything else with your life than steal from people.”

“I couldn’t!” she shouts, her voice cracking. She’s shaking, but I can’t tell if it’s from the influx of emotion bubbling within her or because of the intensifying wind. Tears spill over, tracking down her cheeks as she stares up at me with sorrowful eyes.

And I hate her even more in this moment. Because the longer I stare at her, the harder it is to fucking breathe. It’s enraging that she has that control over me—that she holds so much power, she can suck the oxygen from my body like it’s hers to wield.

“Why, Sawyer?” I shout back, throwing my arms out, actively fighting against the powerful wind. We need to get inside, but I need to know why she would do something so fucking horrible.

Her bottom lip trembles and she glances away.

I drop my arms, straightening my spine, her answer written all over that deceptively beautiful face.

“You’re not going to tell me,” I conclude.

She shakes her head, several tears spilling over. Her mouth opens and closes, fighting for words.

But I’ve already lost interest.

This time when I turn away, she doesn’t stop me. By the time we make it into the lighthouse, the quiet compared to the outside is almost deafening. Sylvester is setting down three glasses of whiskey on the table. In the middle are several lit candles.