Page 128 of Eldritch
Keeping on with the torment, he screwed his eyes tighter, lost in his own silent agony, and released a guttural grunt. The trembles wracking his body vibrated through me, an echo of his pain moving through me like whispers from a grave.
“Look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“Please look at me.” Still, he refused to open his eyes, and with my hand still wrapped around him, I leaned closer and gripped the back of his head, pressing my forehead to his. “I’mhere with you. Not the one who hurt you.Me.”
His body jerked and contracted. A sharp stream of white, warm fluid shot up from the water between us with such force, it breached the surface.
A deep rumble vibrated in his chest, a primal sound that shook my nerves, weighted equally by pleasure and misery. His body twitched and convulsed, each violent spasm sending a powerful swell of liquid shooting upward, his muscles rippling beneath my palm as I clutched his shoulder.
I finally released him, looking down to see the water had darkened even more than before, where it had filled with fresh blood. A sob clamored in my chest, begging to cut loose, but I held it back, shaking as I watched his blood absorb into the white cotton shift I wore. The evidence of what I’d done to him, clinging to me. A shaky breath escaped me, the urge to cry rising to my throat.
His brows came together in an expression of utter relief, until he tipped his head forward, opening his eyes on me.
I only imagined the look on my face must’ve been a cross between horror and confusion, the way he lowered his gaze and pushed my hand away. “Forgive me,” he said, coldly. As he pushed up to exit the bath, a bolt of rage tore through me.
“No.” I took hold of his arm and gave a hard yank, which did little to move him. “You will not…let me hurt you, and then proceed to push me away.”
Shame burned in his eyes, and he rubbed a hand down his face. “I should not have asked you to do that. Gods damn my soul, what have I done?”
My mind spun in chaos, as my head tried to reconcile what had just happened between us. It hadn’t been beautiful, or loving— nor gentle, or kind. A cruel darkness had slithered between us and eroded whatever I’d dared to imagine of intimacy between him and me. Not that I had imagined much, having come from aplace where women were treated as nothing more than property. Or pets.
And yet, in spite of my discomfort, he’d done exactly as I’d asked.
He’d shown me exactly what lived inside of him. What coursed through his veins like poison. What tormented him so profoundly, only the edge of a blade could bring him comfort.
It didn’t matter that I felt like a monster, no better than the abuser who’d hurt him long ago. He’d shown me the truth burrowed deeply in his bones.
Who was I to judge him for it?
“You didn’t ask. I offered.”
“I manipulated you. Took advantage of your innocence.”
“Enough, Zevander!” That he insisted on shouldering it all himself, insisted on guarding my virtue even then, grated on my already reeling nerves. “I am a grown woman. I make my own decisions. You didn’t force my hand, I willingly put it there. And I will not allow you to carry this guilt like an iron anvil chained around your neck. But now I need something in return.” I cursed the tears burning in my eyes when the emotions inside of me screamed like a hot kettle.
“Of course.” He surged forward, urging my body back against the edge of the tub, and his lips found the curve of my neck, while his hand slipped up the clinging hem of my sopping wet shift, between my thighs.
I jerked backward and gripped his arm before he could reach the flesh he sought. “Not this. This is not what I need from you.”
He wore a look of confusion as he sat back on his heels, his massive, wounded body an impenetrable wall of suffering. “What is it, then? What do you want? Tell me, and I will give it to you.”
It was clear to me that he didn’t associate affection, or intimacy, with what we’d done. For him, it was nothing more than an exchange of services. Favors. Pain for pleasure.
I lifted my gaze to his, pushed up onto my knees, and pressed against his abdomen, urginghimback down into the water. Once he settled himself again, I crawled onto his lap, avoiding his new cuts, and wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. “This. This is what I want. This is all I ask in exchange. I want you to know that what I did to you was not out of malice, or hate.”
For a moment, he sat frozen, muscles locked and rigid, scarcely breathing. Then strong arms enveloped my body, and I felt him shudder around me. Weeping? He made no sound to confirm.
Tears sprang to my eyes at the realization that he must’ve grown accustomed to weeping silently, alone. Or worse: That he’d been given little opportunity to acknowledge the trauma he’d suffered, forced to reciprocate for his abuser. The thought of such a thing brought more tears to my eyes, and I held him tighter.
“If pain is what you crave, then I will give it to you,” I whispered.
“Your first experiences should be beautiful and gentle, Maevyth. Not this.”
“And what of yours?” I pushed up from him, looking him in the eyes. “Was yours beautiful and gentle?”
The way his brows tightened stirred a violent anger in my ribs. I wanted to tear through the past and throttle the wretched soul who’d stolen that from him.
