Page 49 of Tell Me Why
Then it happens—that ball of energy that’s been building inside me suddenly bursts. The air is violently torn from my lungs, and my mouth falls open, and I scream as wave after wave of liquid bliss is pumped through my veins.
Still, he doesn’t take a beat, doesn’t offer me mercy. He continues to pound into me with tight, shallow thrusts that keep the pressure on my clit.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, his hot mouth smashed against my face, wetting my cheek. “Give it to me. It’s mine.”
This is the true punishment. Christian taking command of my body, ripping the orgasm out of me like it’s some kind of sick trophy. But whether I want it or not, my body yields to him, just like everything else in this fucking town.
My channel is still pulsing when he drives in deep with one final, forceful thrust that makes me gasp sharply. The muscles in his shoulders flex and twitch as he pins me to the table, hips rolling, pumping wave after wave of cum into my limp, exhausted body...
“Fuck,” he whispers harshly, his tongue snaking up my cheek, his cock still throbbing inside me. “You’re so beautiful when you cry.”
It’s only then that I realize I’m crying. Silent tears slide down my face, and he’s lapping them up like they belong to him.
And I don’t know. Maybe they do…
CHAPTERTWENTY
Eve
I’m only vaguelyaware of Christian removing himself from my body, adjusting and zipping his fly. I’m lying on the pool table, staring up at the chandelier as shame slowly creeps in and hot tears stream down my face.
I gave myself to the devil. Willingly.
In fact, I practically fucking begged for it.
Christian tugs my skirt down and pulls me up off the pool table. Someone has turned the music back on, but everyone is looking at us—atme—silently judging as Christian leads me out of the room.
We’re in his bedroom when he starts tugging at my clothes, undressing me. I’m dazed, my mind churning with self-loathing as tears silently stream down my cheeks. I don’t resist, because why bother? He knows exactly how to manipulate me into getting what he wants anyway.
Is he going to fuck me again?
Does it matter?
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask me what’s wrong—maybe he doesn’t care—as he silently strips my clothes off, then disappears into the bathroom. Minutes later, I hear the bath running, and I’m sinking into the tub, hot water swirling around me.
Christian drops to his knees beside the tub, soaps up a washcloth, and uses it to wash between my legs. When he brings the washcloth back up, bright red blood stains the crisp white terry cloth.
It’s too early for my period. That blood is from him forcing his way into my body. He said he wanted to punish me for lying to him, and he did—just not in the way he thinks. The pain, the blood, I can handle all that. What I can’t handle is the knowledge that I broke. I allowed him to use my body—and what’s worse, I enjoyed it.
I’m so fucking weak.
Christian says nothing, expression blank as he wrings the washcloth out, soaps it up again, and drags it over the rest of my body. Little tingles prickle my skin in the wake of the washcloth, which just proves how powerless I am against Christian West.
“Why are you being so gentle?” I ask, blinking back the tears. This Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing has to be just another one of his games—cruelty chased by kindness to keep me from rebelling.
His eyes meet mine. “Would you prefer I wasn’t?”
“No,” I say, trying to reconcile this version of him with the guy who’d claimed me so brutally downstairs. “...I just didn’t think you could be.”
He’s always had such a hard edge to him that it’s odd to see him so…normal.
A few awkward seconds of silence stretch between us until he finally says, “Neither did I.”
That softly spoken comment gives me pause. Is he serious?
“When was the last time you were gentle with anyone?” I ask.
He continues to wash me, and I struggle to ignore the effect it has on my exhausted body. “I don’t remember,” he says.
