“Fuck,” I laugh, surprised by her sudden ferocity. “Is that what you want me to do?”
“It doesn't matter what I want.” She laughs now. “My life has never been about what I want. Why would my death?”
“You're dark.” I smirk, hoping she takes it as the compliment it is. “But I'll play. What is it that you want, Little Doll?”
She stills, staring at me like I've sprouted a second head. And I don't mean the one between my thighs, which has absolutely popped up, tenting my pants as I watch the feisty energy rolling off of her.
“WhatIwant?”
“You said you don't want to go home.” I shrug. “What do you want?”
She considers me for a long moment, like she's trying to decide whether she can trust me with the answer. She opens her mouth, closes it quickly, and then straightens, her dark hair falling behind her shoulders.
“Right now? I want you to fuck me like you hate me.”
I frown, but she offers me no explanation as to why she wants that. It’s so out of left field, given that she was looking at me like I was a monster less than five minutes ago. Although, I have heard that monster fuckers are a thing.
“I don't hate you.” I tell her honestly.
“You don't love me either, but you fucked me this morning like you did.”
Her accusation takes me by surprise and makes me laugh. I didn't fuck her like I loved her.
But that seems to be the least of her concerns as she leans forward, getting into my face like she wants me to fight with her. To hurt her.
“Show me your duality, Cal, and I’ll show you all my scars.”
26
Amber
Cal thought he’d seen all my scars just because he's seen every inch of me. He doesn't have the faintest clue about what dark thoughts lie in my head. He doesn't know that by asking him to fuck me like he hates me, he wins over my mind. I can sense it the minute he throws the remains of our dinner to the ground, struts across the distance to me, and slams me down on the table. If this is his hate, then I'm as safe as my body has felt all along.
“Why do you want me to be a monster?” He growls, his lips pressing against my throat as he kisses me hard.
A monster would use his teeth to bite into my throat as he fucks me, but that's not what Cal does. He doesn't wait for me to answer, slamming my hands above my head and pinning them there under the weight of one hand. He uses his other to move the skirt of my dress over my thighs, exposing me to the cold air. It assures me that I'm wet, already soaking at the thought of him fucking me hard, taking what he wants, and using me like he hates me.
Hate is better than indifference. It's better than everything I've ever known— men who thought they cared about me but who probably haven't even wondered where I went. Men who were supposed to love me but left me to rot. Men who Iwantedto love but could never manage to feel anything for. It's why I could care less that Cal has fucked me in ways my brain can't even imagine. It should feel wrong, disgusting, but it doesn't because somehow, he's always made me feel cherished.
That's not how I want to feel now.
Now, I want to feel his pain so I don't have to think aboutmy own.
“Youarea monster.” I gasp as he slams one hand over the inside of my thigh, spreading me wider for him.
It's not for the reasons he thinks.
It's not because he bought women on the internet. It's not because he killed the woman before me. It's not because his brother slipped off a roof when he was a child and that's somehow led to him believing he was meant to be a murderer.
Cal is a monster because he's oblivious to the hell other people bring to the world. When I told him about the rats and the snakes, he listened, but he seemed more horrified by the prospect of 'murdering' his brother than he did by the actual act of murdering someone. Whatever his disconnect is, it comes from somewhere in his childhood... maybe from his apparent hatred of his sister.
“A monster who makes your cunt wet.” He growls, and it's the most unhinged I've heard him sound yet. His composure is gone, the indifference nowhere to be seen, and I've never wanted anyone so desperately. If he's a monster, then what does that make me?
He strokes my slit, without any real pressure, so I lift my hips to help guide him. There's no question about what I want... what Ineed.
“So do something about it.” I challenge him, breathless with the need that's invading every cell of my body, constricting my lungs.
He rises to the bait, sinking his fingers inside me without warning or warm-up. He's right that he makes me wet. I practically invite him deeper when I moan my relief. It's temporary, though. I need more from him.
