I’m too smart to deny that he has the upper hand, which is why I continue. “... if it felt good.”
Just saying the last part makes me feel like I'm failing myself, doing a disservice to everyone who's ever been in this situation.
But the truth of the matter is, Irememberfeeling good.
I didn't know if it was real or if it was just my brain trying to convince me that this wasn't all as bad as I felt like it was. Considering the casual routine we’ve fallen into the past few days and the fact that I can actually fall asleep knowing he’s beside me, I’m guessing it was real.
“I… made you enjoy it.” He says carefully, his eyes flitting over my face for any signs that he’s saying the wrong thing. “But sometimes, I think it was violent.”
I shudder but refuse to back down.
After everything I’ve been through, after watching my brother die and being one of the unfortunate ones chosen to be brutalized in the back of the truck, I’m not scared of a pretty boy with more money than manners.
“Can you show me?”
“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head slowly. “I really didn’t record it. I didn’t want to leave a trail of ev—” He trails off abruptly, eyes scanning my face.
I believe him.
There’s no point in recording something if you don’t need to relive it—and he had me completely at his disposal. He could relive itfor realas many times as he wanted to.
And I’m pretty sure he did.
“I didn’t mean videos.” I swallow. “I mean… like, can you…” I sink my teeth into my lip.
Fuck, Amber. You’re a strong, independent woman. Just spit it out.
I reach for the zipper that goes down the front of my dress and pull, ignoring the twisting in my stomach as the fabric parts, revealing my breasts.
I can feel my nipples are hard already, but they constrict further under his gaze.
“Show me?”
Each breath I take feels like it’s too dramatic, making my chest heave.
I’mterrified,but I don’t know why. Is it the fear of his rejection? Is it the fear of himnotrejecting me?
I’ve had sex a thousand times, with plenty of people.
I’m not scared of it anymore, so why does asking for him to show me how he fucked me make my fight-or-flight instinct rear its head?
When he finally tears his gaze from my chest, he blinks at me again, and I wonder if I’ve somehow offended him with the suggestion.
“It's just sex.” I swallow the lie, the fact that it means something to me. “It's transactional, no big deal.” I shrug, hoping I'm selling the lie.
“Transactional?” He licks his lips, and I notice the shift in him. He looks… hungry.
And yet in spite of that, he watches me like he thinks this is some sort of trap.
The reluctance on his face tells me this was a bad idea.
I shake my head, reaching quickly for the zipper that stopped just above my navel, my cheeks flaming with his rejection.
“Forget it. It was stupid. I—”
I turn to go, deciding I’ll have to go bury my nose in a book or turn the TV on to try and forget his rejection. It’s ridiculous, but it stings.
Of course I’m not good enough.
