“Because you don’t really mean it. When you love someone, you can’t let them die.”
“You can if that’s what is best for them and for everyone else.”
He keeps breathing heavily into my hair, and then he whispers, “For someone who claims to love me, you have so little faith in me. Maybe all I need is a clean slate. A fresh start. Someone to help me stay on the right path.”
“I’m not your moral compass. I won’t sign up for that.”
“I didn’t ask you to make all the effort for me. I just asked for your help. Achance. And you’re denying me that, Baz. Just likehedid.” His tone is brimming with bitter rage.
“I. Am not. Basil.” I wrench fiercely, trying to break free. He inhales, a sharp hiss, and his hardness flexes against my backside.
A tiny moan escapes me—half desire, half betrayal. Dorian urges his hips forward a little, and his left hand releases my wrist. His fingers skate along my hip bone, searching for the waistband of my shorts. When he finds the edge, he pulls the stretchy material down a few inches, smoothing his fingertips over my skin.
I bite my lip, hating myself for wanting this right now, for craving him. A tremor ripples through my body.
“This would change nothing,” he says harshly into my ear. “Do you want me to keep going?”
I’m panting, my eyes glazing over already. Traitor—I’m a traitor to myself. A traitor to every shred of moral decency I’ve tried to preserve, because I want Dorian Gray to angry-fuck me against the door of the house where he plans to hold me prisoner.
That’s some messed-up shit.
And I want it so badly I can’t tell myself no.
“Do it,” I whisper. “Do it hard.”
With a low sound of assent, he plants one hand between my shoulder blades, and with the other, he rips down my shorts, taking the underwear with them. Grabbing my hips, he tugs my ass back, pushing down on my spine at the same time so I have to bend a little. I wait, my bare, damp skin keenly sensitive to the flow of cool air through the room.
The rasp of a zipper, then Dorian plants the head of his dick at my entrance. Shoves inside.
I splay my palms and forearms against the door while he rams into me roughly, each thrust a scintillating shock to every nerve I own. We’re alone—I don’t have to be quiet—so I cry out, frantic sounds, helpless sounds, hating myself for it, but damn, he feels like fucking heaven.
Dorian hooks one hand around front, between my legs, applying pressure in—oh god—just the right spot. Between the hard fullness of him inside me and that warm hand cupped between my legs—Shit, he’s rubbing and thrusting at the same time andfuck—
I come so violently I scream and twist, my nails dragging down the wood of the door. I’m screaming breathlessly as he steps back, pulling me with him. He bends me farther over, curving his body on top of mine, gaining more depth, pushing slowly, deeply, in and out. He’s bracing me, holding me together while I shudder and crack apart.
“Dorian,” I shriek faintly. “Dorian, I hate you for this… Dorian, I can’t… I—”
“I know, love,” he says thickly. He pulls out a little, drives in deep, and comes apart with a raw groan, flooding me with heat.
We stay there, hunched like desperate animals, shuddering, gasping, locked together. Finally he takes himself all the way out of me, dripping come on the clothes pooled around my ankles.
With quivering fingers, I drag my panties and shorts back up my legs. They’re damp from me, from him. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now, except the pounding ache in my heart.
I turn to face him as he’s zipping up his shorts. He runs a hand through his blond hair before his eyes meet mine.
“Baz.” His voice is hoarse. “I’m leaving you here tonight. It’s perfectly safe. I’ll come back tomorrow, when you’ve had a chance to think.”
I don’t try to chase him down or change his mind. I sink onto the floor while he locks me in.
Minutes later, the boat motor roars to life in the distance, and I slump over onto the floor and let the tears come.
29
Dorian
Once I’m nearly back to the marina, I stop the boat and let myself crack open, my body shuddering with great, wrenching sobs.
What have I done?
