Page 91 of Does It Hurt?

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His eyes trace the top of the towel where I clutch it tightly against my chest, down the middle, and to the bottom where it barely covers me. The towel doesn’t even fall past my ass entirely, but I guess I can’t be surprised Sylvester doesn’t own Egyptian cotton extra-large towels.

Shivering beneath his probing stare, I clench my thighs tighter, hoping to conceal myself further and abate the incessant need pulsating in my clit.

It only draws his attention.

“I mean,” he starts slowly. “If I knew exactly when you were lying every time you did it, do you think you would continue to do it?”

I shrug, but I instantly regret it. It only served to lift the baby napkin around my body higher. Again, his attention is ensnared on my clenched thighs.

“I’m not very brave,” I confess, and with great hesitation, he lifts his eyes to mine once more.

“I’m a coward,” I tell him, my chest tightening from the truth of it. “Running and hiding is easier. Sometimes, I will say and do anything to get someone to turn their attention away from me. It feels safer that way. Confrontation… it’s never led to anything good.”

He doesn’t respond, but he does seem to be listening.

“Shut the door, and come here,” he says finally. And just like any other time he orders me around like a warlord, my body listens despite my head screaming otherwise.

The door creaks shut, the click feeling like a bomb. Then, I approach him as one would a sleeping bear, my knees trembling as I near. When I’m only a foot away, I stop, attempting to keep my breathing even but failing miserably. My chest is moving too fast to be natural, but fuck, I can’t breathe.

I open my mouth, attempting to ask what he wants with me, but I can’t get the damn words out. Keeping silent, he lifts one hand and gently brushes his fingers along my outer thigh as if curious about how smooth it is. Admittedly, I could’ve cried when I found a pack of disposable razors stuffed in the back of the sink cupboard a few days ago, and I’ve been treating them like rare jewels ever since.

My skin tingles beneath his touch, and my flight instincts are kicking in.

“Tell me a lie,” he says quietly.

“You’re the kindest man I’ve ever encountered,” I respond automatically. His fingers pause, and he glances up at me beneath impossibly long lashes. That look is like a snake bite directly to the heart, the venom paralyzing the muscle and rendering it entirely useless.

“Now tell me a truth,” he directs. I don’t understand what he’s doing, but I’m not entirely sure I like it. This feels more intimate than sex.

“What a fun game this is,” I deflect.

“Sawyer,” he prompts sternly, voice as sharp as a whip. I jump, startled by the severity of his tone.

Jesus.

“I want to run,” I say unevenly, a slight tremor to my words.

“Brava ragazza,” he whispers, his accent deepening while he drops his gaze, resuming to draw little circles on my skin. Goosebumps break out across my entire body, and that’s honestly embarrassing.

“What does that mean?” I whisper.

His eyes flit to mine, and that brief moment is heart-stopping.

“Good girl,” he translates, causing a shiver to roll down my spine.I shift on my feet, the need to run deepening until it’s all I can think about.

“Another lie?”

“Huh?” I mumble, peeking over my shoulder to gauge the distance between myself and the door. It’s only when his touch drifts toward the apex of my thighs that my attention snaps back to him, a rock forming in my throat.

“A lie,” he prompts, lifting his stare again. “Tell me another.”

“Uh,” I breathe shakily. “I’m very calm.”

I swear to God, the corner of his lip twitches, hinting at a dimple. Zeroing in on his mouth, I hardly notice how he’s picking apart my face. Which also makes me wholly unprepared when he suddenly grabs my hips, pulls me forward, and twists us while I fall back onto the bed, air knocked from my lungs as he crawls over me.

The towel falls apart, and I freeze as he positions himself between my legs, his eyes eating up every inch of exposed skin. My nipples tighten painfully, and those hazel ice chips in his skull liquefy, turning into a pool of golden brown and green with that odd splotch of black in his right eye.

The way he’s looking at me now, there’s no stone fortress built around him. He’s entirely exposed, and it’s one of the most heart-wrenching sights I’ve ever seen.


Tags: H.D. Carlton Romance