Just seeing her like this does something to me.
And I’d like to believe I don’t care about her distress.
What I care about is that I want her.
I need her to stop fighting me and just give in.
To let me have what I want.
Except that’s a lie.
Because, as fucked up as it is—and as contrary to my nature as it is—I hate seeing her like this.
I don’t want her afraid.
Actually, I want to put whoever made her feel this way six feet under.
Her eyes lift to mine, and all I see is fear.
Fucking fear.
And we’re alone. No one here to witness anything.
So this panic is probably because she keeps telling me to stay away from her, yet she just let me fuck her brains out.
“You’re spiralling,” I say as I take a step closer. “Don’t.”
She shakes her head, still unable to take a full breath.
“Hunter… this was—”
I silence her before she can finish, pressing a finger lightly to her lips.
“A mistake. I know.”
I say the words before she can.
And fuck me, did those words actuallyhurt?
Me.
They hurt me.
Maybe it’s my pride because nobody has ever refused me.
But I know that’s not it.
Not really.
What hurts is her not wanting this.
Not wanting me.
Us.
I’ve never been hurt a day in my life.
I’ve never cared enough about anything to let it hurt me.
