Page 50 of Monsters
“Yes,” I whisper, moving closer, wanting his mouth back on me. “Yes, to everything.” I reach up and cup his cheek. “You’re not some random guy, Benedict. You are the reason I’m here—the reason I’m alive. You have proved yourself, over and over and over. I trust you with my body, my heart, my soul,” I finish, whispering. My chest is heaving up and down.
So is his.
“Good,” he murmurs, taking a step back and gently plucks the crown up from its resting place on one of the many shelves. “Put this on.”
I open my mouth to tell him absolutely not, but he takes a step forward, brushing the hair away from my neck with his free hand. My skin erupts in goosebumps, my breathe catches, and every atom in the air lights up before me. He steps behind me, and the weight of the crown sinks onto my head, the heaviness laying against my skull.
It fits—perfectly.
“Éclatant,” he says, his voice low, his eyes roving over me with slow appreciation.
Glorious.
He’s never looked at me like this before—with pure reverence—or maybe I never noticed until today. Slowly, his eyes appraise me, his thumb grazing his lower lip as he casually circles me.
Watching me.
Surveying me.
Revering me.
“A crown fit for a queen,” he says, a small smile playing at his lips.
“I’m not a queen,” I answer, laughing, but his smile disappears as he drops to his knees slowly.
“To me, you are,” he replies, pulling my hips to his face. I gasp, gripping his shoulders for balance. In one swift motion, he unbuttons my jeans, pulling them down, his finger dipping to my underwear and sliding them lower. I drop my head back as a low grumble leaves my throat. Just his touch, the slightest graze of his rough fingers, causes me to buck my hips. He continues pulling my pants lower, ever so slowly, his eyes concentrating on whatever he’s looking at. His index finger slides between the lace and my sensitized skin, and he pulls on the fabric before he kisses the tender skin below my panty line. I bite my lower lip, my hands shaking.
The skin that hasn’t been touched in nearly four years.
The realization awakens me from my stupor, and I tremble. It feels so good, so right—but at the same time, it’s sacred now. I push away the thoughts of the last time sometime touched me this intimately. The sad thing is, I can’t remember a face. Just a body. A hand that slapped me a little too hard, grabbed me a little too roughly. A hand that pushed me out of his room the second he was done. I was so numb by then that I didn’t care. I wanted to go back to the place that had become home. I’d gone so far into my survival shell, that even that malevolent, rotting place was home to me.
I ball my fists and close my eyes as Benedict stops. He must sense my tension, because I hear him stand up.
“Keep going,” I whisper.
Keep going. Push past the fear. Put on a brave face. Know this man isn’t hurting you.
My eyes fly open, and he’s watching me from a few feet away. I scan his face for disappointment, any trace of anger, but there is only understanding and concern. He pulls my pants up gently and places his hands on either side of my face, giving me a determined look.
“You’re trembling, Evelyn.”
I stand up straighter, more resolute. “I’m fine,” I growl, but my voice is strangled.
“And so am I, doing this.” He bends down and kisses me lightly on the lips. Before pulling away, he brushes my cheek with his thumb.
I study his face, wondering how someone can pull away like that. In the heat of the moment. He just... stopped. He said he wouldn’t be able to, but he did.
They’re not all monsters.
“You control the narrative, Evelyn,” he murmurs. “I’ve waited four years. I can wait longer if I have to. Decades.” He takes a step closer, pressing his body against mine. “When you’re ready.” I open my mouth to argue, but he places a finger on my lips. “Whenyou’re ready.”
I nod, swallowing. “I feel broken,” I whisper, and a tear slips down my cheek. Suddenly, it’s like a hammer cleaves through the ice—cleaves through the front I’ve clung to for nearly four years. Shatters the glass around my heart, around my body. And I sob. I cry against Benedict’s chest, wave after wave of emotion running through me.
The train tracks.
The bridges.
The men I humiliated.
