Damn it.
Don’t think about fucking.
She’ll drown in that stupid guilt, making herself suffer. The rational part of my brain screams at the irrational part, but it refuses to listen. My hand moves farther down her body, tracing her curves. It’s been more than a month since I last had all of her, and I’m fucking famished.
Don’t touch her more. Fucking stop.
I wrench myself upright. We both drag in deep breaths of the same thick air. Her doe eyes glisten with unmistakable lust. A beautiful flush spreads across her fair cheeks.
I stroke her warm cheek, then cup her face in my palm. “What do you feel when you’re with me?” I need to make one thing clear—to her, and to myself. She wants me. Not him.
She stares at me. I rub her lower lip with my thumb. “Tell me, baby.”
“I… I…” She stops again. I lean down and press a light kiss to her lips. Her eyes prickle with tears.
“I feel at home,” she whispers. The tears spill over. I kiss her again, just to silence the fucking tears. It’s unbearable seeing her like this.
“Leave him. After a week I’ll come back, and then we’ll stay here like before.”
She nods. “Okay.”
But then, as if possessed, she shoves me away and scrambles away from me.
“What did I just do? Did I say I’d leave Salvario? How can I do that?” She starts crying, spiraling into panic. “How can I do this to him? I’m just like his uncles.” Her words come rapid and broken, tumbling over each other in a frantic, gasping rush. “I... I betrayed him.” She clutches her head, crying harder now, as if she’s mourning. “He’ll break apart when he finds out.”
I reach for her. She flinches from my touch.
She looks straight into my eyes and presses a shaking finger to her chest. “I betrayed Salvario. I betrayed the man who made me his world.”
She grips her head in her trembling hands again. “How can I do this to him? I’m so fucking disgusting.” The words come out slurred, but I hear every one of them with sickening clarity. “How can I betray Salvario?”
The worst thing she’s ever said to me was “you’re disgusting”—and it’s nothing compared to this. Once again, I want to drop to my knees and beg her, but this time I’d be begging her not to hate herself. It’s a thousand times better if she hates me.
“You’re not disgusting,” I snap. “Stop talking nonsense.”
My voice seems to pull her out of the spiral. She stares at me, blank.
“Come here,” I command.
She moves toward me in a daze, like her body is obeying a command her mind hasn’t caught up to. I gently wipe the tears from her face first, then her neck. She neither flinches nor blinks. She just keeps staring, and it shakes me to my marrow because she’s not looking at me. She’s looking through me.
My brows draw together. I don’t know the name for what’s happening to her, but I can see it—clear as day—I’m losing her to her own guilt. It’s happening right in front of me, and I can’t do a fucking thing. I can’t fight a war inside her own head.
Fuck. What if she tries to kill herself again?
What if this time she succeeds?
I cradle her face in my hands.
“Baby,” I plead.
She doesn’t respond.
“Elowen.”
Still nothing.
I hate that I’m about to try it, but I do. “Princess.”
