masculine traces he left behind. That’s only the beginning of it, because everything in this place reminds me of him.
It reminds me of how he sneaks up on me from behind and picks me up just so he can fuck me on the bed.
Or when I wake up to him either spooning me from behind or eating me out until I scream.
Or when we wrestle to see who gets the upper hand and I end up losing—mostly on purpose—just so he’ll fuck me roughly.
Or when he thrusts toys into me, his gleaming eyes never leaving mine, because we both love the depravity of it.
It hasn’t been a long marriage, but he’s became such an inseparable part of my life. Now that he’s gone, I have no clue how the hell I am going to pick up the pieces.
I wish I really had amnesia so all of this would be easier.
But would it, really?
I don’t bother with a shower or with changing my clothes.
Removing my dress, I kick it and the shoes away and flop on the bed in only my underwear.
Even the damn sheets smell like him, clean and masculine.
It won’t be long before his presence completely vanishes. It’s for the best. I know that, but a tear slides down my cheeks as I close my eyes.
God, it hurts. It’s not supposed to, but I can almost hear my heart shattering to pieces all over again.
The pain is so raw, I gasp for air. It’s like I caught a nasty disease with no cure.
I try telling myself it’ll be better with time, but I said that lie seven years ago and it never worked. If anything, I kept thinking about him day in and day out like an addict.
I hated it.
I hated myself back then.
So why am I repeating it again?
No answer comes to mind, but tears do. They won’t stop, and I fall asleep with my eyes wet and my heart in shreds.
Soft fingers wipe them away before they slide down my body.
I startle, eyes snapping open.
A large shadow looms over me. I scream, but his hand muffles any sound I might make.
I pause as his scent fills my nostrils and seeps into my bones.
Is this a dream or a nightmare? Perhaps it’s both.
“You didn’t really think you would get rid of me, did you, Princess?”
12
Rai
At first, I think I’m hallucinating. Perhaps this is another play of my imagination, or maybe I’m still asleep and lost in the dreamland where everything is possible.
However, when my eyes clash with his in the darkness of the room, something inside me shatters, and it’s not the same sensation I had the entire day ever since I left him in the warehouse. This one is harsher and leaves me gasping and finding nothing but the distinctive taste of his hand.
His hold on my mouth forbids me from saying anything, but I couldn’t speak even if he allowed me to. It’s like being trapped in an out-of-body experience where I keep levitating with no plans to come down to the ground.
In the dark, his face is shadowed by the night, but due to the small light coming through the balcony, I can still decipher the bruises on his lids, the diagonal cut across his lip, and the smudges of blood all over his face. But even with those, strangely, all I see is the Kyle I knew from before, the arrogant handsome jerk who infuriated me most of the time.
I didn’t think I would forget his face this soon, but isn’t it odd that I can recall exactly how he looked? Or that I can easily imagine that face while I’m sleeping or in my darkest hours?
When he speaks, his voice is quiet, but it feels like being slammed into a sturdy, impenetrable wall. “Here’s the thing. I’m not leaving.”
I mumble against his hand, my body arching off the bed to fight him off. Not that it works. He pins both my wrists above my head and his thighs are caging mine. The position is so familiar to my starved body, but that’s not what I force my brain to focus on.
It’s his words.
What the hell does he mean by saying he won’t leave? I already broke my heart for this, and it needs to be done for everyone’s sake.
I attempt to lift my leg, but his thighs tighten, holding mine in place, and he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of my wrist.
“Stop fighting.”
“Mmmm…” I mumble what is supposed to be a