Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 62679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“Sebastian?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“He left. A few hours after.”
“What happened?”
He’s looking off in the distance, and he’s got his hand covering his mouth, then his throat.
“He closed his hand over the brand.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Fuck. Helena, he...”
I go to him, wrap my arms around him, hug him to me.
“I gave him every chance to stop it, but he refused. And when I was holding the iron just inches from you, he reached out and grabbed it.”
“He burnt himself on purpose?”
Sebastian nods. “He didn’t have to. If he wanted it stopped, all he had to do was say the word.”
“Jesus.”
“What did I do?” He’s got his face in his hands. “How in hell did we get to this place?”
I peel his hands away, cup mine on either cheek to make him look at me.
“You didn’t do anything,” I say. “He did this. He wanted it. He chose it. He did this. This isn’t your fault.”
He studies me, leans his head back against the wall.
“I didn’t know him.” He stands up, goes to the sink and runs the water, splashes some on his face, then turns off the taps and looks at his reflection. “Not at all,” he says.
I get to my feet, go to him, put my hand on his shoulder.
But he shoves me away and in the next instant, smashes his fist into the mirror, shattering it, swearing, cursing God and his family and mine.
I jump backward, sharp pieces of the mirror falling almost in slow motion around my bare feet, the sound almost musical as slivers cut into my legs.
Sebastian’s hand is bleeding when I go to him, stepping over shards like knives. I take his hand in both of mine, pull out the pieces.
I feel his other hand close around the back of my head, caress my hair.
“It’s not your fault,” I say to him as I clean his hand.
When I look up at him, he’s watching me, and his face, he just looks like a little boy. Like Gregory sometimes did.
Lost.
He cups the back of my head, pulls me to him, kisses me hard. It’s not erotic, it’s something wholly different and he doesn’t stop as he lifts me up and carries me into the bedroom.
He pulls off his shirt as he climbs on the bed. The cuts from his hand leave smears of blood on my skin. He kisses me again, and this, what we’re doing, it’s not sensual or lustful or any of those things. It’s need. Pure need.
Sebastian’s full weight on me makes it hard to breathe. He shifts onto one elbow, still kissing me, still watching me as he reaches to undo his jeans and push my legs wider. I cling to him and I’m not ready when he pushes into me but he doesn’t care and neither do I and once he’s fully inside me, he cups the top of my head and thrusts and never takes his eyes off me.
He doesn’t kiss me again. He doesn’t say a word. He just fucks me hard and deep and maybe this is him reclaiming me. Or claiming me fully for the first time. Making me his. Only his. More so than any brand would have done.
I don’t come, and I know that’s not the point. But I take him, take his painful thrusts, his weight, his bloodied hand gripping my hair, nails digging into my scalp. I take him and I feel him come, I hear his release and I feel him fill me up and all I can think is I want all of him, all of him. I want to keep him inside me, always. As twisted and wrong as this is, as it’s been from day one, I want him.
When he’s finished and slides out of me, I feel the warmth of cum on my thigh.
He doesn’t move though. He stays on top of me, petting my hair, expression as intense as ever.
“It’s done,” he says. “It’s over. But he deserved better than he got.”
He sits up, looks me over once. I sit up too, draw my knees in and hug them.
His gaze settles at my hand and his eyes narrow.
I know what he’s looking at.
“Time to bury that, Helena.”
I look at the skull ring and he’s right. It’s past time to bury it. I can’t stand having it on my finger anymore. I can’t stand the feel of it and I want it off. I need it off.
Sebastian takes my hand and tugs it off and I think I want to scour my skin, scrub away any traces of it, like that will scrub clean the past. Like it will purify it.
Purify us.
He walks out of the room without a word. I watch him go and lay my head against the headboard and think about Gregory, about what he did. And I think I hate myself a little for it.