Page 39 of Sin of Love
18
SIXTEEN YEARS OLD
“Is this real?”
Nate shudders in my arms. Despite the wounds on his back and legs, I tighten my grip. He hisses but doesn’t flinch or ask me to let go.
Our need for loving touch often supersedes our pain.
“Yes,” I answer, because I won’t lie to him.
He sobs. “I hate it, Dee. I hate it so much. It hurts, and he does these things—and I… I can’t help—”
“Shh. I know. It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
What’s wrong is the man who forces us to feel pleasure with pain. Who makes us feel so dirty, so wrong, and question everything we believe about ourselves: that we’re good, that we deserve love and peace like anyone else.
Another heaving sob. “I can’t do it again. I can’t. God, I want to die. Please.”
“Nate, listen to me.” I lift his tear-stained face, dropping my forehead against his. “I won’t let him touch you again. Do you hear me? Never again.”
“You can’t promise that,” he whispers.
“Yes, I can.”
Kissing Nate’s cheek to seal my words, I swear I can see Julep’s satisfied smile. He’ll finally have what he’s wanted for months—my undivided devotion and total submission.
I will be his perfect doll.
And then I’ll kill him.
