equally. As she starts drifting off to sleep in my arms, I come to a frightening realization of my own.
Just as tightly as she is clinging to me, something inside of me clings back, holding on for all its worth. It scares the shit out of me—but even then, I can’t pull away.
21
Elena
Sometime during the night, Diego moves me off his lap and lays me on my stomach. I remember the sting of him touching the flesh he struck with his belt, but then the soothing coolness of some kind of balm followed. The touch of the blanket against my naked, throbbing skin stings, but the edge is taken off by whatever Diego slathered over it. I slept like the dead, my dreams filled with Diego. Arousal plagues me in my sleep, despite the pain in my ass and the soreness between my legs from Diego’s ruthless claiming. Or maybe, because of them.
I hardly know pleasure from pain after what he did to me, taking me to some transcendent place I never would have thought to exist. I once had a friend who was a real life submissive, and her entire lifestyle was shaped around a relationship with a man she called her ‘master.’ At the time, I couldn’t understand how she could let herself be controlled, how she could take pleasure from pain. Now I understand, even if I haven’t decided how I feel about it. The combination of Diego’s dominance and sadistic streak with the pleasure he gives so well are like a drug. Even as I open my eyes the next morning feeling hung over and disoriented, I’m wet and pulsing, my body begging for more.
It doesn’t help that I find Diego sitting in a chair beside the bed, looking completely relaxed, as if last night didn’t happen the way I remember. He’s dressed more casually than usual, in sweatpants and a T-shirt that clings to his chest and biceps. The necklace I noticed the first night we met gleams gold against the black fabric, and I realize it’s a crucifix.
He’s such a contradiction, a mystery my mind can’t help but want to solve—even when the rest of me is determined to get away from him. His tattoos are a tribute to what I assume are deeply held beliefs, but the rest of him is hard and sharp like a blade. How the hell did he come to be this way? Is he this possessive with every woman he takes a liking to, or am I a special case—and if so, why me?
Trying to figure it out makes my head ache, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the bright morning sun. Diego’s big hand falls gently on my forehead, pushing my hair back and then stroking down my cheek.
“Wake up, Elena. We need to talk.”
Knowing he won’t be convinced to wait until later, I slowly rise up on my elbows. The abrasion of the sheets against my ass hurts, but not as badly as I expected. Last night, my butt felt like it was swollen to twice its normal size, and like he had lit it on fire. Reaching back with a tentative hand, I’m surprised to find that there isn’t a single mark left behind. Apparently, Diego knows what he’s doing with a belt. It makes me wonder what else he’s good at.
Annoyed with myself, I ease onto my side, not bothering to stop the blankets from slipping down to my waist. Diego has seen every bit of me, and after last night there’s nothing left for me to hide.
He reaches for a neat stack of folded clothes sitting on the nightstand. “Get dressed. I brought coffee. Would you like some?”
I don’t want to accept anything from Diego, or give him any reason to expect gratitude. I want to be angry over last night and lash out. But I don’t have the strength for either. Diego broke me last night, and I’m not fully myself just yet. I’m confused and exhausted, both mentally and physically, and coffee sounds heavenly.
“Yes, please,” I reply, leaving the bed and accepting the clothes.
My entire body aches, but I push through it to pull on my favorite loungewear set—a soft and worn-in tank top and matching, loose pants. Diego goes to the other side of the bed to where a tray sits on his nightstand, holding a silver pot and a set of cups, and containers of sugar and creamer. Diego pours the coffee, and I’m stunned he remembers how