“I'll try to suck a little more.”
“Could you?!” She sighs and leans back against the counter and wraps her arms around her waist. “What I want doesn't make sense. It’s like there's this treadmill and there's this monster chasing me and instead of facing the monster or even assessing it for weak spots, I want you to hop on the treadmill with me.”
I can feel my jaw clench. “We’re already on that treadmill together.”
“No, we’re not.”
“I think we are.”
“I'm fucking falling for you, Shep and it makes no sense. You want to know why?”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“You're made up. Tall, scruffy, brooding, you know when to admit you're wrong, I think. Surely there's something I have to hate about you,” she says. “Do you know how bad that is? Do you have any idea how afraid I am that it's going to get worse? I cannot trust myself right now. You’re exceeding my wildest coping mechanism fantasies and I know it’s too good to be true. And even if it isn’t, the clock is ticking—”
“Do you want to leave?” It’s the only thing I can think to say. “I feel like every minute you’re here I’m fucking something up or causing you pain.”
“You’re not. I’m sorry. And no. I can't. I need this week as badly as you do. I want you to fuck me again. I want to…”
“You want me to what?”
“Nothing,” she says as she shakes her head. She won't look at me.
“Claudia. You want me to what?” She still doesn't answer. I cross the room and step right into her personal space. I park my hands on the counter on either side of her perfect body. She sags closer and I can feel the heat coming off her.
“Tell me.”
She shakes her head again. “I know it's not wrong, but it's coming from the worst place. Maybe it is wrong. I don't know.”
I take a risk and go for her throat again. I slip my hand up around the front of her neck, tilt her chin up. My cock goes hard when I hear her little gasp. She looks up at me, her big hazel eyes rimmed red with tears ready to spill over.
“Tell me. Say it.”
“My brother is dead. He's not coming back.” The tears spill over. I loosen my grip and use both my thumbs to wipe her cheeks. “I know survivor’s guilt is real. But I don't know what to do with it.”
“Neither do I, but you can still tell me what you want. This can be shitty and hard and you can still tell me.”
“I want you to hurt me. I want you to degrade me. I want you to turn me into a nothing little slut and then build me back up again. I want to feel something that isn'tthisfor as long as possible. I need something to break. I need something in me to finally shatter. I couldn’t get myself there at home and everyone around me was all about me pushing forward, but you can give me this. I know you can. It still doesn’t make it okay for me to ask you to do it.”
I know this is bad for both of us. For all the reasons she stated and because I know I can't trust my own feelings for her. They’ve already climbed to unsafe levels. But I have to give her what she wants. Fuck what the better part of my brain is telling me.
“Don't move.”
I go over to my crate filled with random shit I haven’t found a specific place for, grab a bungee cord that I haven’t needed in a few months, then dig out a pair of scissors from my kitchen drawer. I walk back over to Claudia and spin her around and bind her hands behind her back with the cord. It has enough give so she can move, but not enough for her to get free. I grab the scissors.
“You wearing anything under this?”
“Just a bra.” Her voice is shaking.
“Hope you're not too attached to this sweater. Or the bra.”
“Wha—”
I grip the bottom of her sweater, pull it away from her body and start cutting from the bottom. The knit looks durable but it comes apart instantly under the blade. I pull the open side apart and reach for the center of her bra.
“Wait!”
It's too late. I pull the center of her bra forward and cut it open too.
