Page 615 of Flirting with Darkness

That time, seeing the pain reflected there, he lost it for real.

Picking up speed, he fucked her, hard… deep… not quite slow, but with a deliberateness unlike anything he could remember doing before, even with girls he’d liked. He could feel the part of him that wanted to imprint himself on her. He felt himself trying to claim her in some way that made his heart hurt, that felt desperate, almost unbearably lonely.

He felt her watching him, her eyes on his face.

“Laz,” she murmured. “God, Laz, what’s going on with you?”

He arched into her harder, fighting to throw more of himself into her.

She gripped his hair.

“You’re so beautiful,” she told him. “You look so fucking beautiful right now… but so sad. Tell me what it is, baby. Please. Tell me what’s wrong…”

He groaned, pinning her to the bench and fucking her harder.

When she climaxed, it caught him completely off guard.

He groaned again, louder that time, feeling her cunt clench around his cock.

He climaxed a few seconds into it, his hand wrapped around her neck, holding her down as she gasped against his arm.

He lost time somewhere in that.

He didn’t know where he was.

He forgot who he was, forgot everything that brought him here.

When he came back, he was sweating, panting, still wearing all of his clothes as he hung over her. His arms trembled, but it wasn’t from exertion. He continued to grind into her even now, moving compulsively, unable to believe how goddamned good it felt. He wasn’t finished climaxing and already he felt the part of him that longed to do it again.

When she spoke, it broke through his fugue.

It brought him back to her, back to where he was, what he was doing.

“I love you,” she murmured, caressing his jaw. “God, I love you so much, Laz… I love you… I missed you so much…” She kissed his face as she spoke, pressing her face to his, wrapping her arms around his neck.

That time, the words felt like a dagger to his soul.

Pain accompanied them.

Briefly, he couldn’t breathe through it.

It hit him, truly hit him, what he’d done.

In those same few seconds, he hated himself.

He loathed himself so deeply, he felt sick.

It felt unlike any kind of shame he’d ever felt, any guilt he’d ever experienced.

He’d stolen things his entire life.

He’d stolen since he was four years old.

Yet he’d never before taken anything that trulymattered.

Not to him. Not to his way of seeing the world.

He’d certainly never taken anything from someone he cared about.

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