Bane (Sinners of Saint #4)(69)

“I got pregnant. I wanted to keep the baby. Stupid, huh? But I did. It was like the silver lining of The Incident. I was going to have someone for my own. Someone who would be faithful and loyal to me. Someone who would love me, no matter what. We could take care of each other, and she or he would never take their father’s side, because they wouldn’t even know them. It felt almost like revenge, as sick as it may sound. They took something of mine—my will, my power, my innocence—so I took something of theirs. But Pam forced me to have an abortion. I didn’t want to, but I was weak. I was too weak to scrape myself off the bed, let alone fight her on this.”

He pushed my wet hair away from my face. Bane had pressed me to talk about it the other night. Now he got his wish, and oh, how ugly was the truth.

“The truth is, I wasn’t a virgin when Emery tried to take my virginity, Roman, but something happened before. Something I can’t remember. The Incident wasn’t the first time I’d been raped.”

Bane’s nostrils flared, and his eyes leveled with mine. They breathed fire, and I was afraid he was going to tear the whole bathroom apart. I kept talking, knowing I was going to lose momentum if I dared to take a breath. “After what happened in the alleyway, I was so confused that I panicked. I didn’t know what to say or think. Pam solved this issue by walking through every sentence that left my mouth. She said if I screwed it up, we’d be forced to leave and Darren would dump us on the streets. The boys’ parents were breathing down my neck. Pam and Darren thought it was an orgy gone wrong, and that I was ashamed to admit it. Hell, even I didn’t believe myself for a while. I thought—maybe I did cheat on Emery. It took me a lot of time to understand just how played I was, and by the time I figured it out, it was too late. Everyone had already moved on. Well, everyone other than me.”

His thumbs pressed my cheeks, and he pulled me into a hug. I wanted to curl into his strong body and live there.

“For the past two years, time did not move. Technically, it did, but not for me. Not really. That night in the alleyway still chases me like it was yesterday. And in walks you. At first, I didn’t want you in the picture. My grief was still so fresh and pristine—I didn’t want anyone tarnishing it with hope. But you didn’t just walk into my life, Roman. You stormed into it. You left me no choice but to heal. Now I want everything. I want the job and the friends and my sexuality back. If you don’t fuck me, someone else will, Bane,” I purposely used the name he didn’t want me using. “I need this. Need this to heal me. To break me and to put me back together. To kill me and resurrect me. This is not about sex. Not all of it, anyway.” I gulped in a breath. “It’s about me.”

Bane swallowed, but didn’t say anything.

I shook my head, dropping my gaze down to my toes. Then I turned around and charged for the door, ready to flee his boathouse, even naked. I was done asking, and begging, and bargaining. I was done seducing, and luring, and hoping. If he didn’t want me after this admission, we were done.

I didn’t even want him to be my friend. Like I could really be friends with Bane Goddamn Protsenko. Every word to leave his mouth was foreplay.

“Jesse,” he growled. I ignored him, yanking my duffel bag to get my clothes. Before I could unzip it and pluck them out, Bane slammed me against the wall of his kitchen. The thud of my back crashing against it pounded between my ears. I was ready to slap his stupidly gorgeous face when I felt his cock springing free from his wetsuit, hot and velvety against my opening. He wrapped my legs around his waist and crashed his fist to the wall above my head.

“Fucking dammit, Jesse!”

“Leave me alone, then,” I yelled in his face. “Just let me leave.”

“Never,” he snarled, biting my neck. Hard. “And ever.” He dragged his nose down to my shoulder, sucking a sensitive spot on the curve of my collarbone. “And fucking ever.” He thrust into me, nailing me to the wall and filling me to the hilt. A moan escaped between my lips. He was big, and long…and bare.

“You want to be fucked?” he spat out the words, his face so intense I shivered under his touch. “Just remember, Snowflake—you fucking begged for it.”

He pounded into me, each stroke harder and deeper and more punishing. My body felt like a dormant nest of fireflies lighting up together in batches. I felt their lights flicking, their wings zapping over every inch of my flesh. I felt every inch of him inside me, the titanium hoop of his piercing scraping my walls, and it still wasn’t enough.

I was desperate. I was feral.

I clawed at his face, tears streaming down my cheeks and onto my neck, and he licked them, laughing as he fucked me harder, not giving much damn about who or what I was, just like he’d said he would. Taking me the way I wanted to be taken. Not gently, nor apologetically. Like an equal. Like a captured soldier, in a war where pleasantries and fake condolences weren’t necessary.

“Harder,” he taunted. “I’m denting your ass from the inside. Least you can do is leave a pretty little mark on me.” Roman laughed, smashing his lips to mine with a kiss that made it clear that he owned my body—every inch of it—and all the things inside it. Every thought and heartbeat. Every painful breath. His.

I raked my fingernails down his back, returning the violence when his tongue went to war with mine. Heat pooled in my lower stomach, his cock stretching me out and swelling inside me, twitching, circling, pounding.