Page 91 of His to Seduce
He scowled, fingers digging into my flesh like a warning. “You mean good night.”
I didn’t. I’d seen this moment before. I’d lived it before, yet it hadn’t caused the intense pain that went straight into my ribs when it happened before. It didn’t matter. This was the beginning of the end.
When I didn’t answer, his hands went to the back of his head and he groaned. “Wow. I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
Tears burned the backs of my eyes and filled them, making it difficult to see him, but I’d gone too far to go back now.
I should have known. All my bullshit ideas about moving on stalled with a simple question.
With my head bowed to hide my tears, I scurried past him and to the bedroom, where I’d left my clothes and purse. I quickly gathered everything, tossing the clothes into the bag I’d brought for the weekend. A weekend that had been perfect and beautiful and full of sex and freedom and laughter and the hope of a future I’d always wanted but was never brave enough to reach for.
David had given me all of that, though. Every single moment, and then he’d crushed it with three little words and the realization of my own inadequacies.
I zipped my bag and turned to leave, only to immediately freeze in my tracks when David was at the doorway, blocking my exit.
God.Why wouldn’t he let me go? Why did he keep trying to fight a losing battle?
His hands gripped the edges of the doorframe, white-knuckling the wood like he was resisting the urge to pummel something.
Or someone.
Who could blame him? He’d bared his soul and I’d slammed down a wall.
“Please let me leave,” I said, still frozen to my spot.
“Tell me what happened. Tell me why you don’t want to talk about it. Tell me somethingreal,Camden. Then I’ll let you leave.”
“I’ve told you real.”
“You’ve told me half-truths and avoided anything that’s trulyreal,that deep, burning-feeling-in-your-gut kind of real. You hide it from everyone. You close yourself off, and yet you let me in. I want to know: why me? And why are you shutting me out now?”
I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder and forced my feet to push me forward. “Let me go.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
He jerked back. His hold on the door, unyielding, snapped him back. “No?”
“I can’t.”
“You don’t want to. You’ve buried so much truth for so long you don’t know how to begin, but you can give it to me. You can trust me with it.”
“Why are you pushing this?”
“I’ve told you. Because I love you and I want you to be free from whatever clings to you. That’s what people do for the people they love—they help them live free.”
My skin itched. Blood surged through my veins in indignation. My teeth ground together so hard I thought I might snap them all.
“Move.”
“Talk to me.”
“No!”I shouted so loudly it rang in my ears. God, I was dying. He was killing me and he was unrelenting. Why did he waste so much time on me?
He leaned forward and bellowed, “Tell me!”
“I was almost raped!” The words flew from my throat, scratchy and rough and in a voice so unrecognizable, I snapped my head around, searching for who had shouted my truth for me.
