Page 53 of Trapped

He gripped my shoulders. “You’ve had a bottle of vodka. In two hours.”

“My body can handle it.”

The room spun, and his hands were the only thing grounding me. I tried to shrug him off, but he held fast.

“I just need some air.”

“Delilah, have you ever been to rehab?”

Been there. Done that.

Everybody thought rehab was a magical solution. That you emerged from it transformed. Fixed. Healed. It didn’t. It was the first step in a very long journey. Every time I went, it made me feel used up, tired, and sick. Maybe I couldn’t pull off sober living.

My cheeks flushed. “I won’t go to rehab.”

“I won’t let you destroy yourself.”

“And what if I want to be destroyed?”

“That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be,” I shot back.

I looked at him, my insides splintering. Santino couldn’t understand what I’d been through. My asshole ex was right. Santino lusted after the image I’d spent months perfecting, not the mess in front of him. He’d probably lost all attraction to me. He was disgusted.

He had already decided to break up with me. He just hadn’t said it yet. Maybe he wanted his dick sucked one more time, or he was searching for words that wouldn’t shatter me. Because even though he broke a dozen laws daily, he’d always been kind to me.

Do not fucking cry.Just rip off the Band-Aid.

“I think we should break up,” I blurted, my throat tightening. “This relationship has run its course.”

Santino looked like I’d tossed a match into a barrel of gasoline. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“But we were never going to work.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, principessa. I’m not some fling you can throw away.”

That sank in, mingling with the alcohol in my veins. Part of me wanted to dissolve into him. To feel the safety I’d been craving.

He leaned in, his expression filled with a yearning that swelled inside me. His lips pressed against mine, and his erection dug into my hip. He gripped my waist, pulling me closer as if he could fuse us together.

The nerves in my body ignited. I had to free myself from his grip around my heart, but every fierce stroke of his mouth let me taste the passion beneath the dominance. His tongue coaxed me to give in. My hands glided to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as I kissed him back.

He pulled away. “Don’t ever mention breaking up again.”

“But I’m not what you want,” I stammered, my lips tingling. “You want a living doll you get to fuck, but I’m…I’m a mess. I’m not the fantasy you have in your head.”

“Good. I want the real thing.”

My heart hammered. “You say that now.”

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to struggle?”

“I’m toxic. I’ll ruin you.”

He smirked. “You’re giving yourself too much credit. I’ve seen ruin. You’re not it. Besides, you owe me.”

My insides twisted. “For what?”

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