Page 28 of Bed of Thorns

He pulled away, staring down at me, his expression empty. Empty. How could he be full of such passion then fade into blackness? To say I was disheartened wasn’t adequate. My stomach was in knots, my heart thudding louder and harder than before. Echoes pounded in my ears as I tried to catch my breath.

Very slowly he pointed to the kitchen table, keeping his arm stretched out, his hand fisted, only his index finger remaining extended.

I glanced over my shoulder, fighting the hurt and trickles of fear, still trembling from the intense round of passion. “What are you going to do?”

I already knew the answer, but as he reached down, grabbing his jeans and removing his belt with such precision, I shuddered audibly.

And he said nothing else. Nothing.

The silence was more punishing than any pain he could provide with a thick leather strap. Backing away, I was stiff as I followed his orders, walking slowly toward the table.

Orders. He’d never ordered me around before, although his method of coercion had been effective. He’d done so with a wicked smile, one so large the expression had highlighted his dimples.

Not today.

There was no smile, no sense that anything human remained.

Yet somewhere deep inside, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me to the point I couldn’t recover. He wasn’t that man. He just… wasn’t.

I spread my body across the table, sliding my arms across the surface and toying with knocking the mail and bowl of fruit that was a constant onto the floor. Crazy thoughts raced through my mind. I’d purchased the table at a cheap secondhand venue, delighted that I’d found a table and four chairs that had been in good condition and affordable. Then I thought about all the boxes I’d yet to dig into and find a place for the few pictures I’d collected over the years, mementos of seemingly happy times, books that I’d owned for years, some of them read at least three or four times, all dogeared instead of a bookmark used.

The items seemed foreign to me, no longer mattering. Maybe nothing had been remarkable in my life to keep memories of.

Except the single photograph I had of Edmond and me on a bright, sunny day. We’d both seemed happy, carefree, neither one of us knowing that in only a few days, both our worlds would be rocked off their foundation.

As several emotions rolled through me, some burrowing deep into my psyche, I couldn’t seem to stop shaking. I’d spent far too many years denying the nagging voice inside my head, believing in the system. Now I knew humanity had failed him just like justice had. He was here in this small town with vengeance in mind.

I closed my eyes, pressing my face against the cool surface, still fighting to catch my breath. There was an ominous quiet in the room, a vacuum absorbing the noise as well as most of the air. A part of me felt like I was suffocating, claws digging into my throat. Another felt alive, my skin still prickling from the round of sizzling fucking.

But that’s all it was, two people fulfilling carnal needs, trying to shift fantasy into reality. Was that even possible?

I finally heard his approach, but it was more of a feeling pooling in my stomach, vibrations dancing over every inch of my naked skin. I dared not try to look at him for fear of losing it, tears forming then never stopping.

The first light touch of his fingers sliding across my buttocks was exhilarating. I was so aware of every sensation that I was able to feel the roughness on his fingertips. A hard-working man. At least that’s what I wanted to tell myself. Not the fact he’d probably developed tough skin from fighting his way through the nightmare, trying to stay alive in a sea of murderers and rapists. I knew the reputation of the prison and their treatment of prisoners was deplorable.

“You are everything,” he muttered.

The three little words ignited the fire once again, the flames licking at my inner core. Panting, I dug my fingers into the hard wood, trying to remind myself this was necessary. Or maybe I was trying far too hard to convince myself.

When he sliced the belt through the air, I heard every sound. The way the strap cut through the dense air. The snap of his wrist. His scattered breathing.

Then I felt an explosion of pain.

Nothing could have prepared me for the aftermath of the belt slamming into me. Or the anguish tearing a hole through me or the tears that immediately formed in my eyes. And certainly not the level of guilt rising to the surface.

Edmond brought the strap down again, one, two, and three times.

“Oh…” The single moan sounded like a mournful wail lost in turbulent waters. Haunting. Disheartening.

Then I heard his angry bellow as he caressed my bottom, the touch so gentle and loving that I thought I’d been given a reprieve.

He said nothing, but I was could see the intensity of his pain crossing his face.

I shifted, trying to control my breathing, my mind still one huge blur. Then he smacked me four more times, each one harder than the one before. I lost it, jerking up from the table, no longer feeling my legs. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry for what? For not fighting to have him freed? For coming back to this godawful place? It didn’t really matter any longer.

Whether or not he heard me I wasn’t certain. I sensed his concentration, a fight to continue with what he’d had planned the minute he’d broken into my house. I could almost hear his thoughts. And I could feel his pain.

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