Page 115 of Manhattan Secret

I didn’t know my eyes filled until he growls in my face.

“Hurt me deep, Lachlan. You know you can.”

“Don’t you shed one fucking tear, Delaney,” at least I’m Delaney, again, “don’t you do it, you don’t get to come in here and cry your sad tears. You broke me open until I’m empty. You have to live with that, not pour out your little girl emotion now.”

I let the tears fall down my cheeks.

Loving him. And hating myself.

He sucks in a breath, growling, he increases his fingers speed and the wet noises fill my ears. “This is what you came for. No one fucks you like I do, isn’t that right, Miss Sloan?”

My eyes burn. I touch the wrist that’s buried between us. “No one.”

My words stutter around the need to come. He isn’t giving me a choice and truth be told, I like when he takes the decision from me. Always have. Lachlan has an overpowering personality. How else do I justify hooking up with my student?

We played house for weeks. That never would have happened had he not chased me with the tenacity of a Pitbull. I certainly wouldn’t have gone after the eighteen-year-old boy I fell for instantly.

Fear held me back.

Lachlan was blessedly brave in that respect.

And as his hand fucks me, tearing through my resolve to talk to him, to explain my actions and beg for forgiveness, he plies enough pressure to my pussy that I fall apart.

His hand moves around my throat. The thumb stroking my jaw and wet fingers slamming into me, I cry out not caring if the rest of his party hears me.

When his hand comes out of my jeans, I feel empty, achy, grieving the loss of his touch. I raise heavy limbs to my eyes, panting while I try to regain my composure and I hear the distinct sucking noise of him cleaning his fingers.

My eyes ping open in time to watch Lachie licking his lips.

“You always did taste forbidden,” he smirks darkly, “now you can leave.”

I have to remind myself that I knew this wouldn’t be easy.

He’s not a forgiving guy, and I hurt him.

I’m seeing up close just how badly, by the way he’s acting.

It doesn’t mean it hurts me any less.

His dismissal feels like he’s stabbing me with knives.

“So, you can get back to those girls?” I say, rebuttoning my jeans, chin up, “you didn’t look very broken out there, Lachie.”

“What do you care what I was doing with who?So, fucking what, Delaney. They’re rebuilding the ego you fucking crushed to dust. Just go. There’s nothing here for you.”

His glare is glass. I can see right through to the other side of it and what I see makes me stop breathing.

He truly means it.

I expected anger.

I knew it would take work for his forgiveness, to get him to listen to me and hopefully rebuild us. What I didn’t prepare for is utter blankness.

He punished me by making me come, to prove he still can?

To show how weak I am?

I would be as weak as he needs, if only he shows an ounce of still caring.

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