Page 45 of Wristlocked
“Right. Pain. You wanted me to actually hurt you? Make you bleed?” He shakes his head. “I’ve seen the marks, Gia. Is that what he’s doing? More than rough sex?”
I choose the safest answer.
“I didn’t know what I wanted.”Lies.
“Liar.” He pins me with a glare. “You always know. You just didn’t want it from me.”
“It’s not only the violence, Lyot. It’s that hewantsit as badly as I do. And the hurt and the guilt and the anger get all wrapped up together into something…exquisite.” The last word is a bare whisper, and I force myself to meet his ravaged eyes. “You named her Shadow, Lyot, but that’s what she was—a shadow of the real monster inside me.”
“And you were afraid to show her to me? You thought I couldn’t handle it?” He shakes his head again, disgusted. “You never even gave me the chance to try.”
“Because I knew you couldn’t do it,” I cry. I’m falling, unraveling. “Look at me, Lyot. Tell me you could break me if I asked you to.”
He can’t meet my eyes.
“It’s not who you are. And I couldn’t take that away from you. Iloveyou.”
“No you don’t. You can’t love someone and do what you did to me.”
“What did I do?” I hold his gaze, knowing the answer but offering up my guilt to see what he will do with it. The air between us stretches tight like the lightning in his eyes.
“You betrayed our safeword,” he grits out. “You fucking used me to get what you wanted and then walked away without a backward glance, straight into his fucking bed.”
“Youwalked away,” I shoot back. “You fuckingdisappeared.”
“Youbrokeus.”
“Ineededhim.”
It’s too far. The words tear from my throat and fracture the charged space between us, and I watch him fucking shatter.
“Lyot…” I scramble for an apology, but he cuts me off.
“No. Shut the fuck up, Gia.”
“Please—”
“Shut your fucking mouth.” The words are ice, but the look in his eyes is molten, and I reach for him without thought.
He snatches my wrist out of the air, painfully tight, and we both freeze. Slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, he grabs my other wrist and pins them both behind me, pulling me roughly against his body. The hard length of his erection presses into my stomach, and a moan escapes me.
His eyes are nothing but a void to fall into, my breath coming in desperate pants as he wrenches my trapped wrists up between my shoulder blades, arching my breasts into his chest and sending a flare of liquid pain straight to my core. His free hand slides between us, flicking open the buttons on his jeans one by one. With each jerk of his fingers, his knuckles graze my clit, eliciting jolts of pleasure as he presses me back across the room. My hips hit the dresser, hard, and a whimper escapes me. The sound only ignites him further, no trace of mercy in his eyes as his hand whips up to clasp my jaw. He leans in, and I part my lips, greedy and riotous against the gorgeous bite of his fingers. His mouth descends on mine, a collision of teeth and tongue and breath.
It’s not a kiss; it’s an annihilation.
I press into him, opening everywhere. He sucks at my tongue and bruises my lips with his teeth, pulling a low growl from my throat.
“Fuck.” He wrenches free, leaving me gasping, and flips me around to shove me roughly down on the dresser’s wooden surface. Hair ties and miscellaneous knickknacks scatter, andsomething small and hard—maybe an earring?—presses into my cheek.
I don’t fight him. My limbs have gone languid, heat spooling out from my center where my monster stretches her sharp, eager claws. He yanks my shorts and panties down, eliciting a small, desperate whimper that’s lost to the roaring in my ears and the ragged beat of his breath as he kicks my legs apart.
“Lyot.” It’s a warning and a plea wrapped in a world of wanting. His body radiates volatile heat, scorching through the space between us as he leans in to put his lips against my ear.
“Is this what you want?” His voice is empty, a starless sky, and the first tear slips from the corner of my eye. He slides a finger down the crack of my ass to the wet heat between my thighs, teasing my opening with the rough tip. “Is this what makes you wet?”
“You always make me wet.” I gasp, knowing it’s not what he wants to hear right now. But I can’t hide the truth of it, slick and wicked, as I squirm against him. He pulls his hand away, jerking my bound wrists further up my back, and I bow into the fresh pain.
“Does. This. Make. You. Wet? Say it.”
