Page 61 of Touch of Hate
“How would you like me to do it?”
“Touch me. Please, let me come,” she sobs, tears cutting tracks down her cheeks.
I am her god at this moment. Only I can give her what she needs most.
It’s that thought—and the way she sobs, how broken she sounds—that has me taking pity on her. Without a word, I cross the space between us and take the cord to the vibrator in my hand. Giving it a firm tug, I pull it free and watch as her arousal leaks out onto the sheets.
Fuck me. I want to lick the sheets where she lies, devour her from the inside out until she is pleading with me to stop. There’s just one thing in my way. My ironclad willpower to make things good for her and be the man she needs.
She gasps, hips lifting, before another broken cry fills the room. “I’m so close. Oh my god, please...Ren.”
I can’t tease her anymore. Not when I understand all too well the agony she’s going through. “Just relax, angel,” I whisper before touching the vibrator to the tip of her engorged clit.
Her shriek leaves me trembling. “Oh! Oh, yes! More!” Her thighs are spread wide open—I should get this over with quickly, or I might forget my principles—with her shining, inviting pussy just begging to be filled.
Because I can’t shove my cock into her, I press the bullet against her flesh, holding it in place, watching intently as a look of pure, radiant relief washes over her, transforming agony into ecstasy. “Yes! Yes, oh god! I’m coming!”
Then anything else she wanted to say is lost as she rides out wave after wave of tremors, her thighs clamping shut, squeezing my forearm between them. I watch as the flush takes hold, making her skin glow, her juices drenching my fingers.
For her sake and for mine, I pull the bullet away as soon as she relaxes, then turn it off. She’s panting like an athlete at the end of a marathon, which in a way, I suppose she is. I’ve really put her through it tonight.
And she took it. She took it all. Being proud of her now doesn’t feel right, but I am just the same.
By the time her breathing takes on a more regular rhythm, I’m dressed again and untying her wrists. Her arms fall to the mattress, and instantly, I regret the welts left by the belt.
“Does it hurt?” I whisper, rubbing them as gently as I can.
“No,” she assures me, her voice cracking after all that screaming.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
She nods, her eyes closing again, limp with exhaustion. My sweet, exhausted angel wasted from what the man holding her heart and body hostage put her through.
“You just rest.” This is a pleasure being able to take care of her. I’ve been alone for so long; the prospect of fixing a sandwich for someone else is a joy. Especially when that someone else is her.
It’s not anything gourmet, but I have the feeling that after what she’s been through, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich will taste just as good as the lavish meals her family puts together during holiday parties.
Strange how even the briefest thought of them sets my teeth on edge. Those are happy memories, or they should be. And they were back when I could think of Xander without resentment flaring to life.
I make sure to include a glass of water before taking the simple meal to the bedroom. She’s still limp, recovering.
“Too intense?” I ask as I take a seat on the bed.
She chuckles as she opens her eyes. “Just a little. I literally thought I was dying.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen.” I offer her half of the sandwich, guiding it to her lips, glad when she takes a big bite. Because it seems she’s too worn out to do it herself, I lift her head with one hand and hold the water to her lips with the other. She drinks deep, then sighs happily once I remove the glass.
With her appetite as it is, it takes no time before she’s polishing off the last bite. I’m content to sit in silence rather than fill it with small talk. We don’t need to do that. We’re not strangers. There doesn’t need to be any awkwardness between us. Having her here is enough.
The knowing look in her eyes when they meet mine confirms this. There’s a deeper sort of understanding there now. A familiarity that didn’t exist before. There I go, taking another one of her firsts when it isn’t even her birthday.
“What do you need?” I ask once she’s drained the glass and looking more like herself.
“I think I could use a shower…” She looks down at herself and frowns. “If that’s okay.”
I have to ignore the telltale twitch in my shorts while I nod in agreement. “Sure. I haven’t shown you the rest of the cabin, either. Not that there’s much to show.”
Now I wish I had cleaned the place up somewhat before taking her, but I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, either. Too busy obsessing, watching her from afar, out of my mind with want. I would come back here to change clothes or shower, but that was about it. Everything that did not involve having my eyes on her became secondary.