with a need for release. It isn’t just the sex though; this is the mental kind of release. She is having a breakdown, but we don’t have time for this shit right now. She needs to get herself together, and I know just the way to do it.
“Get the fuck away from me,” she hisses, reminding me of a trapped animal. Her eyes are brimmed with emotion, her anger front and center.
She looks like she’s caught between wanting to give up and wanting to cry.
“The only place I’m going is inside of you.” I smile like a prick, my arms trapping her, so she’s unable to move. Whatever is going through her head has nothing to do with her and me.
“Tell me, Amara, what was it that pushed you over the edge the most—seeing your real father, your mother lying to you, or you loving the man who killed John?” It’s a low blow, and I know it, but in this situation, it is necessary.
My face is a stone mask, knowing if I cringe, even the slightest bit, she’ll call my bluff. She squirms beneath me, trying to get away.
“How could you even bring that up, you sick bastard?” She shoves against my shoulders with all her might, but I don’t budge.
“Or maybe it was the lies. We all know there are tons and tons of lies. Your whole life was a giant lie. No answers were ever given. How’s that feel?”
Her fists pound against my chest, and her legs kick out, but I hold my ground.
“Learn to acknowledge the hurt and pains in your life, Amara. At least you can fucking feel them. At least your heart is still beating. Deal with it!” I all but scream at her. Her hits become more powerful, and as I push more weight on her, I can hear her cries growing louder.
“She lied. She fucking lied to me. No one gave me answers. No one cared, and now I have no one.”
“So she fucking lied. What do you want to do about it?”
“I want to hate her. I want to know why she lied. One note is meant to make up for close to twenty years of lies.”
“It’s a note, Amara, not your life story. I know you wanted more, but we can’t change the past.” My tongue darts out, licking a path directly to her ear. She tastes like cinnamon and sugar.
“I believed all of them. I believed my parents. I believed you. I’m so stupid and naive.”
“You’re a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them. You might have been naive, but that’s not your fault. Your father was a well-trained manipulator.”
“I don’t care. I want revenge, I want madness and chaos. I want people to pay,” she snarls, every word like a demand. “I want to make them pay, but there is no one left. No one to blame but me.”
“Blaming yourself isn’t going to help. Revenge only gets you so far. Killing John didn’t make me feel any better, Amara. It’s a temporary feeling, really. It’s a false sense that maybe—just maybe, it will make you feel better to get even. Maybe it will bring back the person you lost—but it doesn’t. It makes you feel worse because you inflicted the same type of pain on someone else. Yes, John deserved to die, but not by my hands.”
“Death was yapping at his feet, you just helped it along… just like I had my role in helping it along.”
“Stop this. This isn’t you. Don’t let this shit consume you. Deal with it.”
“I hate you. I hate everyone,” she barks, her chest rumbling with my own.
“You hate me?”
“Yes, I hate you,” she roars.
“Good,” I say, pressing my lips against hers firmly. She bites at them so hard I feel the skin break. Blood seeps out of the wound and onto both our lips. I revel in the taste and the pain. This is better than her sadness. Anything is better than her sadness.
“You want my cock? You want to take your frustrations out on me? Show me, tell me what you want, piccolo,” I purr against her skin. She whimpers, turning her face away from mine.
“No, I want you to leave. Get out! I don’t want you in my bed anymore. I don’t want you anywhere near me.” I know she is only saying this to push me away, because she feels guilty about loving me–loving the man who killed her father. But I will not allow it.