Page 38 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
Her pulse thudded dully in her head.
She didn’t move. Shecouldn’t.
Cressida couldn’t breathe. She feared if she let so much as a single thought free in her mind, she’d break down, collapse, and never recover.
“He doesn’t know me,”she whispered.
Which meant he’d purchased Cressida, and he’d done so because he’d taken her for an actual whore.
Her mind filled with all the words he’d uttered while they made love.
“…It will work because your body was made for my cock. It craves it. You crave it…”
From the moment Benedict entered these wicked rooms, everything he’d said had been part of an act.
“Does my innocent girl want to feel my mouth on her?”
His reassurances.“…Don’t be afraid, little love…”
His very praise.“You are so beautiful, sweet…”
His every utterance—now that she had a clear head and shattered heart—made all too much sense.
“…Tell me you want to come, love. Tell me it’s my cock and fingers you want stroking your quim…”
…“I’m still going to fuck you the entire night through…”
His every endearment.
“…little love…”
“…sweetheart…”
“…ma petite siren…”
All of it.
A sharp ache settled behind her ribs.
He’d believed her to be a skilled courtesan merely pretending she was a virgin.
She’d suffered all manner of hurt in her life, but realizing the gentleman whom she admired, respected, and loved nearly forever, and who’d made love to her in both gentle and mind-shattering ways, had no clue as to her identity, and still didn’t, was a new pain unlike any other.
An uncontrollable tremor overtook her body, so violent her teeth chattered.
To Benedict, Cressida might as well have been any other lover, or any other whore.
Cressida made the mistake of letting herself inhale too deeply through her nose and instantly regretted it because then she couldn’t bring herself to stop.
Her breaths came harder, faster, in a too-prompt succession, each one a painful, ragged gasp.
Exhaling proved an even more excruciating chore. Her body shook with the force it took to expel air from her tightly constricted lungs.
Anguish brought her crumpling to her knees, leaving her face to face with the bed in the same way she had done as a girl when reciting her nightly prayers and sending her requests skyward to God.
Only, as a grown woman who’d been emotionally decimated, Cressida now knew with absolute surety—there was no God.
A sob tore from her chest, and she caught the end of that misery in her fist, fighting her tears with everything she had. If she gave in and allowed herself to cry as she wanted, she’d never be able to stop. And if she couldn’t stop, she’d be trapped in this hellish place and in an even more hellish nightmare.
