~ 19 ~
Quinn
My overworked body was spent. My muscles ached from Ripped’s abuse and I lay limp and exhausted in his arms, despite wanting to be anywhere but here. I didn’t have the energy to fight him right then. Besides, what would be the point?
Ripped had won.
His fingers traced lazy patterns over my hip and he kissed the side of my face.
He thought I was sleeping, and god I hoped he left me to “sleep” for a little while. If that was how he intended to exact his revenge, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it. Every touch of his was painful, despite his obvious affection. He couldn’t hide that from me, despite his anger toward me. Every caress of his was filled with more than just hate for me, and with every stroke of his thick cock, spreading me wide and plunging deep inside of me, he couldn’t hide the desire and want in his eyes. The will he tried to exact on me to make me want him back.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
Not ever.
Not now.
And not like that.
Ripped was trying to ruin me for any other man, but he didn’t realize that it was already too late for that. Battle had already ruined me for any other man.
“You sleepin’?” he said from next to me, his voice husky with desire.
When I didn’t answer I thought he would wake me, but he didn’t. Instead, he slid out of bed and pulled the bedsheet over me.
I listened to him dress. The sound of his jeans being pulled up his strong legs that I had once admired. The smell of the leather of his cut as he slid it over his shoulders—god, how I’d loved that smell once, but now it haunted me and the smell made me want to gag. The stomp of his boots as he slid his feet in them and he strode toward the door. Those steps that had once caused quivers of anticipation as he’d stalked toward me.
Hate and sickness was all I felt now.
I heard the sound of the door opening and I waited, desperate for him to leave so I could breathe properly. So I could go and wash every trace of him from my skin. So I could cry in sadness and anger.
The door clicked shut and my eyes flickered open and I looked over to the door, half expecting to find him still standing there staring at me, but thankfully he was gone. At least for the time being.
I sat up and dragged the bedsheet around me, trembling as I buried my face in my hands and cried until my body felt empty. I reached between my legs, feeling the tenderness there. I couldn’t even count how many times we’d had sex that night, but it was never enough for him. He was insatiable, and he wasn’t content with just fucking me. No, he wanted me to come. He wanted me to scream his name. He wanted my toes to curl and my body to tremble in pleasure under his touch.
It was the worst sort of punishment.
My soul felt dirty and my heart heavy as I stood up on shaking legs and looked around for my clothes. I needed to shower, to clean my body of every kiss and bite, every nip and caress that he’d given me. I’d never feel truly clean, but I had to try. But as I looked around the room I realized that my clothes were gone.
I staggered backwards and sat back down with just the sheet wrapped around me, and I cried again. I wanted to shout and throw things, but I didn’t want him to know I was awake, so I sat back down and stared around me, wondering what the hell I’d ever done to deserve this.
*
The sound of the door opening stirred me from my sleep, and I looked up drowsily, seeing Ripped standing over me, his arms crossed over his large chest. His face was expressionless, and I couldn’t decide if he was angry or sad or if he was just as empty as me.
“You took my clothes,” I mumbled.
He didn’t say anything and I rolled my eyes and started to turn my back on him when he reached down and grabbed me. I gasped as he laid me flat on the bed, the thin sheet the only thing hiding me from him. His gray eyes stared into mine and I saw something in them that wasn’t just hate, but hurt.
He was hurt—I had hurt him, and for the first time in two days I felt genuine remorse for my actions, for hurting him. I’d never meant to. I didn’t love him, but that didn’t mean he deserved the pain I’d inflicted on him.
I reached up and he flinched when I cupped his cheek in my hand. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
Ripped didn’t say anything for a long time—so long that my heart stopped its panicked beating and calmed down. He reached over and took my hand in his and brought it up to his mouth before kissing the palm of it. Tears filled my eyes and he frowned at me like I was some sort of imposter.
