Our Broken Pieces - M.E. Clayton Page 0,17

done to her.

I knew she wrestled with the shame of how she let me use her, but I couldn’t fix that for her. Unlike her, I knew my desires were sick, but in finding someone I could share them with, that went a long way in allowing me to live with myself. I wasn’t going to have to pretend to be something I wasn’t for the rest of my life. I was going to be able to embrace it all and have it all.

I leaned into her space and whispered against her ear, “You love being covered in my cum, blood, and bruises, Mystic.” I placed a soft kiss on her earlobe. “If you wanted sweet words or odes to your beauty, you wouldn’t be with me.”

“Gage…” Her chest was heaving with anticipation and her voice was cracked with desire. “Gage, we can’t do this. It’s...not safe.”

I knew what she meant. Being limited to how often I could have Mystic, it had helped with her healing. I could fuck her up, but she had weeks to heal from the trauma I inflicted on her body. She could chalk up my carelessness to tripping down the stairs or bumping into a door. But now that I had outed us, and there was nothing preventing me from having her whenever I wanted...well, sooner or later, someone would notice how this beautiful girl looked battered and beaten all the time. They would think that she was in an abusive relationship, but it would be so far from the actual truth of the matter.

I had the scars on my body to prove it.

Most of the time when I fucked Mystic, the brutality was all me and I didn’t stop until she had nothing left to give. But, sometimes...sometimes Mystic’s demons reached a level of desperation that rivaled my own and she would battle me for dominance.

She never won, but the scars on my body were proof that she held nothing back during those darkest of times for her. My injuries were usually attributed to football, but there’d be no bullshitting away Mystic’s battle scars.

And there was no fucking way I’d ever let anyone take her from me.

I tightened my hold on her hair and pulled her head back. Her neck was bared for me, and I could see her pulse thumping in her vein. The sickness inside of me wanted to bite down on that exact spot and bust her skin wide open to watch her bleed. I had all this violence coiled up in my body and sometimes it was too strong to contain, and only Mystic could ease the need to hurt...to inflict pain on whoever was unlucky enough to cross my path.

But it wasn’t just sex with Mystic.

It was survival, and she was fucked in more ways than she could possibly imagine.

With my left hand tangled in her hair, I reached underneath her skirt with my right hand, and the second my fingers touched her skin, she moaned. I was going to have to do my best to limit the damage, but there was no way we were exiting this bathroom without me fucking her. We were going to walk out of this room and everyone at this party would know that she’d just been freshly fucked. And I didn’t give a fuck if that made me an asshole. Even if I didn’t want Mystic the way I did, I needed to make it clear to everyone that she belonged to me.

I stared down at this beautiful girl in my arms and the compulsion to hurt her was like a craving for the strongest drug around. I couldn’t get enough of her. I couldn’t kiss her long enough. I couldn’t hold her tight enough. I couldn’t fuck her hard enough. I couldn’t love her strong enough. I wanted her to feel everything I was feeling, but I couldn’t. And that’s what made me want to hurt her.

I couldn’t make her feel my love. I couldn’t make her feel my cravings. I could make her feel pain, though. That, I could do.

I slid my fingers into her tight warmth and her entire body slumped with pleasure. “This pussy is mine, Mystic,” I whispered against her lips as I tightened my hold on her hair. “Every part, every piece of you belongs to me. You belong to me to do whatever the fuck I want to.” Mystic spread her legs wider and that small movement made me positively desperate.

I pulled my fingers from