Page 22 of Penance
His response is a low growl, a sound so primal it sends shivers down my spine. It’s the roar of a monster in the night, stalking me, intent on ripping out my heart.
“Shh, Mercy,” he hushes me. “You came to me, remember? You want this.”
God, he’s right.
I want him.
I hate myself for it, but it’s true and I can’t deny it anymore.
I want all of him.
He tugs at my panties, the fabric digging into my skin for a moment before giving way with a sharp tear. He pulls them away, and I can’t see what he does with them.
It doesn’t matter.
His hands return to my hips, holding me in place. I can feel his breath, hot against my most forbidden area. I’m trembling. I’m shaking like I’m cold, but I’m not. I can feel the sweat standing out on my forehead.
This is wrong.
So wrong.
But it feels…
Oh, Lord help me, it feels so right.
His grip tightens, his nails digging into the flesh of my backside, pulling me down.
I can see the intent in his eyes.
I know what he wants me to do, and I want to. I want to so badly it hurts. But I can’t.
I’m a good girl.
Aren’t I?
No, a voice sneers inside my head. You’re a whore. You were a whore for him last night, and now you’re a whore for him again.
“Sit, Mercy.”
“Draco, I…”
His fingers dig deeper, and I can feel the bruises blooming like roses beneath his touch.
I’m a good girl.
I go to church.
What if I run?
If I pull away from him and run, will he chase me?
He will.
I know he will.
And he will catch me.
His tongue flicks out, lapping against me in one long, languid stroke that sends a jolt of electricity through me.
A taste, a promise.
I gasp, my body jerking in response.
How does he do that?
“Draco, please,” I gasp.
Please… what?
Please stop?
Please keep going?
His tongue passes over me again, harder this time.
“Come on, Mercy,” he says, but it’s not asking.
He’s telling.
“I said sit!”
Hands on my hips rip me down, and I can’t fight him. He forces me down, and I blush hard as I feel his mouth meet the apex of my thighs. His tongue plunges into me, and I’m lost—lost in the sensation, lost in the sin, lost in Draco.
My body responds. My hips move of their own free will, grinding down on him. His grip on my hips loosens, his hands sliding down to cup my thighs, supporting me, guiding me. His tongue explores me, down, and back up, and then he finds that aching bud and suddenly I can’t breathe.
I’m not a good church girl.
Not anymore.
I’m Draco’s.
He owns me, and we both know it.
My body convulses.
My hands go to the wall, desperate to find something to cling on to. I’m a shuddering mess, every nerve ending alight with a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. My hips jerk against his mouth, grinding harder, and a thought crosses my mind.
What if I hurt him?
No, no, I can’t think about that.
Draco’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.
“Oh, God,” I gasp, my voice a ragged whisper. “Oh…God, Draco.”
Is this what surrender feels like?
Draco’s grip on my thighs tightens, his fingers digging into my flesh like brands. His tongue is relentless, drawing out every last shiver and spasm until I’m a trembling wreck, barely able to hold myself upright.
I look down at him, and instantly, I groan.
That was a mistake.
Those damn eyes watch my every movement, drink in my every reaction.
Why do I like it so much when he looks at me like that?
I can feel every line and angle of his tongue. I can feel the scorch of hellflame rising within me, racing down every limb and congregating behind my pelvic bone.
I’m on fire.
I’m burning.
I’m gonna go to hell.
“Draco! Draco, I’m gonna—”
He pulls away from me, and I whine at the loss of contact.
“Good girl,” he growls, and I feel the vibration right in my core. “Good girl, Mercy. Get loud for me. Come on.”
I feel the probe of his fingers spreading me, and then plunging inside, and there’s so much pressure.
He latches onto me again, and his tongue is a whirlwind, a tornado, and I’m spiraling.
“Draco! No! No, I’m gonna—”
My scream obliterates the rest of what I was about to say.
My voice tears from my throat, ricochets around the room, and then comes back to slap me in the face.
Every muscle is tight, and something inside me is exploding.
Something inside me has let go, and I feel like maybe I’m breaking.
I’m on a roller coaster, and my car is perched right on the top of the hill, and when I finally come back down, it’s a free fall.
As the last of the tremors subside, I’m panting, my body slick with sweat.
I’m shaking.
My thighs are vibrating.
Draco slides out from under me like a fluid shadow.
I’m left straddling empty air, my body suddenly cold and my mind confused.
I shiver, my skin peppered with goosebumps, my body aching with a need that’s far from sated.
Draco stands beside the couch, and I look up at him, and I can see my sin dripping down his chin.
I blush and look away.
That’s so… bad.
When I look back, he lifts a hand and wipes it away, and he just keeps… staring at me.
He’s not doing anything.
I want him to touch me more.
To make love to me.
He’s not moving.
Maybe he wants me to…
“Draco,” I whisper. “Please?”
He stands there, silent and still, his eyes never leaving mine.
His chest rises and falls steadily, his breaths calm and measured, so different from the way I pant and gasp.
He doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t pull me into his arms like I so desperately want him to.
He just stands there, staring at me with that dark, unreadable gaze.
“Please what, Mercy?” he asks. His eyes narrow, his gaze sharpening like a serrated blade. “What do you want? Tell me.”
I want him to hold me, to tell me that this is all right, that I’m not damned for all eternity. I want him to take me, to claim me, to make me his in every sense of the word. I want to feel every inch of him, even if it hurts.
No.
Especially if it hurts.
I want him to cleanse me with pain.
I. Want. Him.
But the words won’t come. They’re stuck in my throat, choking me.
“I… I don’t know,” I stammer.
His eyes flash, and I can see the disappointment in them, the anger.
He’s mad.
Why?
What did I do wrong?
“Go to bed, Mercy,” he says, his voice cold and distant. “It’s late.”
Looking down, I can still see the outline of him tented against the front of his sweatpants.
It’s there. He wants me, but he won’t do it.
Why not? What did I do wrong?
I can feel the heat of his gaze. He has pulled me apart at the seams, only to leave me dangling like bait on a hook.
Doesn’t he want me?
After everything, after all the lines we’ve crossed, the sins we’ve committed, how can he just stand there?
Maybe I’m disgusting.
Maybe that’s why.
Am I?
“Draco, please?” I try again.
I need him to say something, anything. To explain why he won’t take me. His eyes narrow, a flash of something dark and dangerous crossing his face. I shrink back, my heart pounding. Maybe I’ve pushed too far, maybe I’ve finally crossed that invisible line of his.
There’s something so cold behind his eyes, and it scares me.
“You think you want this, Mercy?” he asks, his voice so calm that it’s chilling. “You think you want me?”
I do.
I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but now I can’t deny it.
I need him.
I need him like I need air to breathe, like I need my heart to beat.
I need him to want me, and I need it so badly it’s tearing me apart.
It hurts, like a physical ache that I haven’t felt before.
Say it, Mercy , a voice in my head pleads.
Say it!
Say it!
Say. IT!
I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, but the words won’t come out.
“I… I don’t know,” I stutter. “I… Yes? I do. I want—
His eyes flash, and I shrink away.
Why is he so mad?
I don’t understand.
“Go to bed,” he says again. “Now.”
His words are like a slap in the face. I stare at him.
Go to bed?
After everything, that’s all he has to say?
I want to scream, to slap him. I want to demand answers. But all I can do is exactly what he said. I slide down off the couch and wobble my way across the room, into the hallway.
The tears begin to fall the minute I step into the hallway, and by the time I step into the bedroom and push the door closed, I’m almost hysterical.
He doesn’t want me.
Why doesn’t he want me?