Page 98 of Souls and Sorrows

Tears sting the backs of my eyes, and I pinch them shut to keep them at bay. The absolute last thing I need is to add something for Mamma to critique.

The ring on my finger suddenly becomes suffocating rather than just painful, and I pull at it, trying to get it off. Its bands catch on my knuckle, splitting the skin like it did the first time I tried to do it. This time though, I don’t give up when I see blood bead beneath the rose gold.

I just keep yanking, ignoring the pain lancing through my finger, focused on getting it off.

“Hey. Stop.”

Cash’s hand is on me, fighting to pry me off the jewelry, and hot panic rains down my back. My body jolts, rejecting his presence as some sort of reflex, and I curl my bloody fingers into fists, launching them at him instead.

I feel him swerve, and the car stops suddenly. He overpowers me easily, half-climbing into the seat to pin my arms down. We’re parked on the side of the highway, the BMW jolting each time a car zooms past.

“What the hell has gotten into you?”

But I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know how to explain that it feels like if he doesn’t do something drastic right now, I’ll never stop thinking he’s mad at me.

I don’t know how to tell him that I thought I was doing better. Thought the revenge I’ve been getting on the people who hurt me or made me feel inferior was enough to make all the bad shit go away, but he stopped touching me for asecond, and all the insecurity and self-loathing returned.

I’m afraid I’m broken, and there’s no repairing it.

So, instead of saying any of that, I push up off the seat and kiss him.

Because that’s where I feel safe.

He lets out a groan when my tongue lashes against his, and my hips lift, brushing the belt of his pants. I can already feel the hard length of him behind the zipper, and when one of my hands breaks free of his grip, I slide my palm up over it, then past the waistband, wrapping my fingers around him.

“Ariana,” he grunts. “I think you just had a panic attack. Maybe we should—”

“Shut up and fuck me, or I’ll get out and flag someone down who can.”

A heavy, long sigh sweeps over me, and he reaches down between the seat and the door, hitting a lever that almost throws me horizontal. I gasp, and then he’s bracing his knee beside my thighs and sliding the other between them, forcing me to spread so he can press against my pussy.

The underwear I have on is satin, so when he goes to tear it off of me, the fabric doesn’t rip as easily; it digs into my skin, and when the elastic finally snaps, it whips against me, making me cry out.

He pushes two fingers into me, and it’s not until then that I realize that I’m not fully prepared for entry. As if seeming to notice the same thing, he raises his hand back up and prods the seam of my mouth.

Anger and lust form a chemical cloud of emotion in his eyes, and I open obediently, glad that, for once, he’s giving in with little coaxing.

Shoving his fingers in, he swirls them around my tongue, then presses down on the very back, making me gag at the sudden intrusion. My eyes widen around a new wave of tears, and his jaw clenches as his hand returns between my legs.

He teases my clit first, spreading my saliva there and making me shiver with a brief wave of pleasure. Then, he’s pushing in again, and it’s slightly more bearable, though something still feels off.

His breathing grows labored as he works in and out of me, and I try to shift to maximize comfort, hiking my skirt higher and pushing my thighs more to accommodate the girth of his fingers. Cursing under his breath, Cash removes himself from me again, pushing back into my mouth, except this time, he holds my jaw open with his thumb.

When his spit splatters across my face, I let out a shrill cry, an odd sensation washing over me.

“Needed more lube,” he says, a devilish glint in his eyes.

Mine narrow, and I move my head down, capturing his hand between my teeth.

“Jesus Christ, Little Nightmare. What the fuck is your problem?”

I don’t answer, whipping my free arm up instead, bringing the flat of my palm across his chiseled cheek. The same version of shock and excitement that flashed in his eyes the night in the limousine ignites in those mahogany irises again, and he peels his finger from my teeth, wrapping his palm around my neck instead.

“Someone must not want to come that badly,” he growls, the idea of denial wringing my muscles tight. “I’m not even going to touch your clit, sweet girl. Just gonna shove right into this tight pussy and use her until I get off, like you’re a dirty little cock sleeve, tailored just for me.”

The cruel words make my skin burn hot, equal parts shame and utter intoxication. He releases my other hand and hooks his under my knee, wrenching it up so it’s pressed almost into the back of the seat, and then he undoes his pants, and he’s there at my entrance.

My mouth opens to question something, but his grip on my throat tightens, sending sparks of kinetic arousal through me, and I forget what I was going to say.

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