Page 139 of His To Erase

Fuck, I was ready to let him wreck me, if that’s what it would take to get him out of my head. I would’ve let him nail me into the mattress and erase every thought I’ve been trying not to have. Just so I could say I survived it.

But now he’s just… offering guest services like this is a fucking Airbnb.

How he can whisper filth into my ear while I moan into his throat like a goddamn whore, then toss me a throwaway line like I’m one of a dozen girls who’ve been here before—it’s infuriating. And humiliating.

I swallow hard. “I won’t need anything.” Then shove the door shut—loud—and right in his smug, perfect face.

I stand there, unmoving with my jaw clenched and my chest heaving. Then lock it for good measure because the real danger clearly isn’t him.

It’s me.

Which—now that I think about it—is fucking pointless. If he wanted to get in here, he obviously could. Since it’s his house and all.

The room hasn’t changed since the last time I stayed here. Same clean sheets. Same worn book on the nightstand I never touched. Same walls I stared at while he slept in the other room,like some phantom who only ever shows up just to disappear again.

I peel off my leggings, flinging them across the room, and climb into bed in nothing but my cropped tee and underwear. I yank the blanket up like it might smother everything I’m feeling.It doesn’t, unfortunately, but a girl can dream.

My body still feels him. My hand drifts up to my throat, where his was, and I shift under the blanket, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping that’ll help.

Spoiler alert— it doesn’t. I’m still throbbing and instantly wet. Again.

All just from remembering how his cock was grinding into me—how hard he was, how close, how goddamn smug. Fuck, I’m in trouble.

Awesome. Love that for me.

I’d take care of it myself, but he’s in the other room—and I’m not about to rub one out over a man who devoured me like he wanted to ruin my life and then told me to“let him know if I needed anything.”Yeah. I need dick. But sure, I’ll settle for your throw blanket.

I might as well tattoo deeply unwell across my forehead and call it a fucking day.

Sleep doesn’t come, just the past 24 hours, banging around in my head, along with the memories I keep having.

“It’s already done. She’s his now.”

My stomach knots so hard it starts to hurt. I press the heel of my palm to my chest like I can hold the crack together. I bet if I just apply enough pressure, I’ll forget all about it and fall asleep.

But the memories don’t stop. Everything comes in flashes. Pressure across my ribs. A laugh that didn’t sound like laughter.

I flip over, shoving the blanket off. The sheets are too hot and they’re clinging to my skin like static. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit there with my elbows digging into myknees. I put my head in my hands like I’m trying to physically hold it all in place. I can’t fall apart. Not here.

I blink—just once—and I’m not in the room anymore.

I’m back on cold tile with my cheek pressed against linoleum. My ribs are screaming, and I can feel my fingers sliding in something wet.

“Get her in the car.”

Something crashes. Glass? Metal? I can’t tell. A door opens and all I remember are the boots, then the hands. There were so many hands. One squeezing too hard on my thigh, and another grabbing my ass. My mouth opens to scream but—nothing comes out. Just silence thick enough to choke on.

I’m upright and off the mattress so fast it’s like I’m trying to outrun my own skin. My knees almost buckle, but I catch the wall just in time.

Breathe.

If I stay vertical long enough, the rest of me will catch up I’m sure of it.

“Great,” I mutter to no one, “love a good midnight PTSD sprint.”

I stumble into the bathroom and flick the light on looking like I haven’t slept all year. Dark circles, dead eyes, and secrets lining every bone.

I grip the sink, knuckles white. My vision flickers and suddenly the lights feel too bright. My hair’s stuck to my face and there’s blood dried under my nails, but I don’t remember bleeding. There’s a duffel bag on a bed that I don’t remember packing.