it to the cuff. It slips around her wrist as her eyes go wide.
She struggles with a yelp and a violent push against my chest, but I’m faster. I’m stronger, and it’s easy to pin her down and close the cuffs around her wrist.
“No!” she finally yells out.
“Oh no, little mouse, you started this game.”
Her body writhes against mine, her gasps undeniably filled with fear. The cuffs click as I link them together, placing her thin frame where she held me captive. The heat of her body is addictive, her curves against mine everything I’ve dreamed of for years. As my fingers trail down her soft skin, and the goosebumps travel along with my touch, she begs me to stop.
To stop.
My body’s still pressed against her as tremors run through her. For a moment, I worry I’ve hurt her; I lift my weight and account for every bruise. Even still she violently pulls away from the cuffs, with motions that do nothing but dig the metal deeper into her wrists. A moment passes, followed by another before I realize what the two of us were thinking are two very different things.
Her amber eyes don’t peer into mine with pupils dilated from desire. Instead they’re closed tight with fear etched onto her features. I hate myself.
A sudden gasp warns me of the silent sob that threatens to spill from the only lips I’ve ever craved to kiss. With the tips of my fingers just slightly brushing up her tank top, I wait for her to calm down. I let a moment pass as the seconds tick by, praying she’ll come to her senses.
But I’m the one who’s confronted by the hard reality with every breath that passes and the panic not leaving her stiff body. She’s terrified of me.
“I would never hurt you,” I murmur and I’m not sure she heard me as tears leak from the corner of her eyes and her face presses against the pillow, refusing to meet my gaze. Clearing my throat, I tell her again, clearer and louder, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
My timbre trembles toward the end of my statement and that’s when I truly realize the damage of this raw moment between us. Both of us bared, and both of us scarred.
“You think I’d hurt you?” My tone is wounded.
Delilah’s inhale is stuttered with tears caught in her thick lashes. Bruises still linger along her cheek and down her jaw. I’m gentle as I cup her face, mindful of the pain she’s in. I swear I can feel it, I can feel her pain, and I haven’t the faintest idea if she can feel mine.
My gentle touch only elicits a harsh whimper from her. With my throat tight and the haze of what I thought was between us subsiding, I lean back, listening to the bed groan as I put more distance between us.
Instantly her nipples harden, the cool air replacing my warmth and I climb off the bed, placing the comforter over her body. With her wrists bound to the headboard, just as she’d cuffed me, I wait for her to look at me. Her lips are cracked and her eyes puffy. Her body badly beaten and weakened. Yet she’s still perfect to me.
When her sobs cease and she dares to peek up at me, I repeat the sentiment, “I would never hurt you.”
Shame seems to wash over her, but she doesn’t respond. She doesn’t tell me that she knows I wouldn’t. It’s a sharp knife to my heart realizing that she doesn’t know that truth. How could she not know?
“I thought you loved me,” I tell her and instantly feel foolish at the confession. Maybe it was something else. Pity. It’s been so long since I’ve fallen victim to that emotion. She didn’t love me, it was only pity.
“I do.” My gaze whips up from my battered hands to hers. The room is dark, the blinds and curtains still closed tight. It’s so quiet I can hear her swallow. “I do love you,” she admits, and I swear my heart pumps once, sending the warm blood where it’s meant to go, but it’s far too slow to keep the organ beating. There’s too much pain that floods the space.
“You thought I was going to hurt you,” I say, stepping back and the floorboard creaks beneath my weight. That’s when I realize I’ve never allowed anyone in here. There isn’t a soul who’s entered my home since the day I claimed it.