Page 44 of Unorthodox
“Look at me, love.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat, do as he asks.
“Clean up your mess, and I’ll reward you for it. We all lose our tempers every now and then.”
I press my shaking hand to my chest, trying to still my heart.Reward me.I think of him in my bed every night after Ben. I wonder what kind of “reward” he has in mind.
Whatever it is, I get the feeling I won’t be able to opt out.
I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears, but otherwise, the room is quiet. He just waits. And I know he’ll keep waiting until he snaps, and I’m scared to know what kind of brutality Max could unleash if I pushed him too far. I’m scared to go back into that fucking room he chained me in.
Bowing my head, my eyes burning, I let go of the toilet seat, put both hands on the clean tile.
“Crawl to me,” he says softly, “and do as I asked. That’s all I need from you, love.”
Tremors course through my body, my arms shaking as I move one hand, then the other, my knees following.
Staring at the small puddle of my spit on his shoe, I lean my head down, tears streaming down my face.
I hate him.
The taste of leather mingled with the sharp bitterness of the bile from my saliva makes me wince, my stomach convulsing as I feel sick all over again.
It feels as if my ribs are too tight in my chest, my skin crawling as I drag my tongue along the last bit of the “mess I made.”
“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, and my face burns.
When I’m done, I make to lean back on my heels, but his hand comes to my head, fingers threading through my hair, and he holds my face down, shoving me against his shoe.
I gasp, try to push up and away, but he’s stronger, his grip firm.
“Don’t fight me, and I won’t make it worse,” he says softly, even as he pushes harder, my nose crushed against the leather of his shoe.
My scalp burns where my hair is tangled around his fingers and tears well up behind my eyes, but I don’t move.
He loosens his grip marginally, letting me breathe.
“Don’t act like a fucking dog,” he whispers against my ear, “and I won’t be forced to treat you like one, Addison.” Shoving my head away, knocking my face against him again, he lets me go.
Tears stream down my cheeks, but I don’t make a sound. I don’t pick my head up.
“Sit up and look at me,” he commands me, his voice quiet but tone harsh.
It’s the last thing I want to do, and I hate myself as I do it anyway, meeting his gaze as my face grows hotter, the tears warm against my cheeks.
“Give me your hand, Addison,” he says quietly, offering his once more. “Give me your hand and I’ll make you forget all of this. Just for tonight.”
My heart skips a beat, my thoughts shattering at his words.
He sighs. “Do you want me to force you?”
Self-loathing washes over me as I shake my head, feeling as if I’m betraying myself.
“Then take my hand.”
I glance at the scars along the back of his, and with a trembling hand, I do as he asked, forcing myself not to sob audibly.
He pulls me swiftly to my feet and the world seems to spin around me. But he wraps an arm around my waist to steady me. His other hand comes to my face, and I flinch.
