Page 60 of Touch of Hate
Only one word comes to mind, the only word I know right now. “Yes!” I nearly shriek—a sound that ends on a sob when I hear him chuckling as he exits the room, leaving me to my helpless misery.
16
REN
“Ren... Ren, please...”
I close my eyes, my back to the wall outside the doorway. On the one hand, the sound of her pitiful pleas is music to my ears. How long have I been starved for the sound of her voice, much less the sound of it when it’s raised in helpless abandon?
On the other hand, I don’t dare look at her. Those moans are enough to start me twitching and lengthening mere minutes after I came. Already, I’m prepared for more action.
That’s the effect she has on me. That’s the power of my need for her. My hands ache for the feel of her under them, and my dick longs to test the tight heat of her dripping pussy. Just the thought of it leaves me shuddering, now using the wall to keep myself upright.
“Oh my god!” She’s stuck on the edge, straining for that extra bit of sensation that will push her over and into relief.
Do it. Give that to her.
Not while I’m like this, with my hunger as strong as ever. I would only end up hurting her. I haven’t left her—both of us—waiting this long for it to turn out that way.
Besides, it would mean giving her what she wants. Setting the precedent that all she has to do is beg long enough, and everything she desires is hers. I’m not doing that. She’s not the one who calls the shots.
Which means I’m stuck with my body on fire, my every impulse and heartbeat devoted to her. Squeezing my eyes closed as tightly as I can, I will away the tempting mental images stirred to life by her constant, guttural moans.
This is not going to work.
There’s only one solution that’s ever come close to doing the trick. All the long, lonely nights where even jerking off to the memory of her wasn’t enough. When the idea of breaking into her apartment and taking her all at once seemed like a logical solution to my constant state of arousal.
Closing the bathroom door at least muffles the worst sounds still coming from the bedroom. Turning on the shower helps, too. I can almost pretend she isn’t mere feet from me, that she didn’t beg me to fuck her minutes ago. She has always been my greatest weakness, but never more so than now when she’s here, at my mercy, with nothing and no one standing in my way.
I strip down quickly, in a hurry to get this over with. I’m well acquainted with the unpleasant sting of what feels like countless needles drilling into my skin—I would only do this for her. Stepping into the shower, I have to grit my teeth, letting out a growl of pure agony at the first touch of icy water against my overheated flesh. It leaves my heart racing, my entire body reacting to the sudden shock. Everything in me tells me to jump out of the tub, but I force myself to stay where I am, controlling my breathing, focusing on getting through it until the sting lessens, and I begin to adjust to the sensation.
It works like a charm. I’ve never been less interested in the thought of pussy than I am right now. But that isn’t going to last, and I can’t stay in the shower forever. I’m going to want her again and again.
She has no idea of the control she has over me. Just like she has no understanding of what I could be sacrificing. Of course, I would never go along with River’s decision against bringing her here. That was a no-brainer.
But it does mean causing a rift that’s been steadily growing with every mention of her.
She has the power to make me forget what used to be so clear. How the bastards who destroyed our lives deserve to suffer… endlessly.
And if she can make me forget that, however briefly, what hope do I have of staying strong in the face of lust?
No. I will not hurt her.
The thought of ever causing her pain strengthens me and leaves me washing up quickly and turning off the shower. When I reframe this situation that way, looking at it through the eyes of a man who doesn’t want to hurt the woman he loves, it’s all clear again. I’m not an animal, even if she makes me feel like one. I can control my desires.
Or so I tell myself a split second before she moans my name. Drawing it out, promising fulfillment beyond my wildest dreams.
The sound leaves me closing my eyes again, touching my forehead to the wood of the bathroom door. It would hurt her. You can’t hurt her.
If I could only get that through her head.
My jaw is clenched almost as tightly as my fists as I approach the room in which Scarlet is losing her mind, thanks to what that powerful little bullet is doing to her. She’s sweating in earnest now, hair stuck to her forehead and along her temple, her body rolling from side to side while she rubs her thighs together like a demented cricket.
When her gaze lands on me, standing in the doorway with nothing but a towel around my waist, her guttural cry threatens to break the very thin thread of resolve I’m still clutching with all my might.
“Please, make it stop,” she begs, the bed creaking in time with her frenzied movements.
Fuck. How am I supposed to refuse her, deny her the pleasure she so badly seeks.