Connor didn't stop even out of consideration of her present condition, pushing her further even as he dragged her under him. Knowing that she was at his mercy, but still unable to stop himself from driving the point home. He'd let her throw her tantrum, let her rail against her own fear, and now she'd gone and hurt herself. It was time to remind her who was in charge. Who held the cards. Soon, she'd hold her own against him. He'd let it go too far. Now was not that time. "I'm curious. Do you imagine you'll march outside and catch a cab, then? Remain indoors and make desperate phone calls? Fling yourself from a window in an effort to get news coverage?" His thighs tightened around her hips. "No. You will stay here, with me, where I can keep you safe." He almost said 'fucking safe'. Almost. The strands of concern for her bled with irritation, and he had the feeling swearing at her to that degree wouldn't help. "I know you don't believe me. And I don't care."
His expression turned grim. "I also know you want your family safe, Piper. I think you'd like me to die--and I hate to disappoint you on that score, but I do what I must. I think you want everyone who touched you since you were taken to die--there I can oblige a little. Have. But your family? Strangers you speak to on the street? No, Piper. Your freedom, the guilt, it would eat you alive." She was splayed underneath him. Livid, but at his mercy. And God help him, but his cock liked her there. Carefully, gently, he brushed the bright locks from around her face. "You want to make a different choice."
"So damn sure of it, in fact, I'll offer you another one." He reached back for the tube of gel then suspended it over her nose. "For the bruises. Stop fighting me and put the cream on yourself, or I do it for you."
Except when she capitulated and whispered so brokenly to him, he couldn't help feeling every inch the sick fuck she'd proclaimed him to be. Connor was more than half-hard in this position and she couldn't possibly miss it. The loaned clothes were too thin, the blood too raw, for him to control himself. Concern for her tangled with frustration, rage at his father and the Pit, a sense of helplessness that she was trapped in this at all that had been twisted up with anger.
Connor dropped the tube beside her hands and gripped her wrists. Eyelids shuttered over emerald and he breathed through his nose. Without opening his eyes, he said, "Sweetling, you're bleeding. I can't stand you like this. No," he corrected, his eyes snapping open and focusing solely on hers, "that came out wrong, because it's not you at all. I can't stand that you're in this mess. I know you think I'm sick, that I'm a monster, and an asshole. But I need to help you, Piper. Let me. Please."
He shook his head. "I'm trying to..." His thumbs began moving in circles along the outsides of her wrists as his eyes started a slow rove down her front, button by button, scanning for more blood. "I'm going to need to tend to your wounds. I'm not asking."
If only to keep himself sane, so he wasn't watching the torn skin continue to seep, each bloody spot, each bruise that marred what should have been damn near porcelain perfection reminding him of what she'd been through at the hands of his own accursed family.
"I need more supplies. Bandages." His fingers danced over her forehead as if he couldn't stop touching her, now that he had her here, nearly at his mercy. Connor leaned back suddenly, narrowing his eyes. "Can I trust you to be here when I get back?"
His expression turned grim. "I also know you want your family safe, Piper. I think you'd like me to die--and I hate to disappoint you on that score, but I do what I must. I think you want everyone who touched you since you were taken to die--there I can oblige a little. Have. But your family? Strangers you speak to on the street? No, Piper. Your freedom, the guilt, it would eat you alive." She was splayed underneath him. Livid, but at his mercy. And God help him, but his cock liked her there. Carefully, gently, he brushed the bright locks from around her face. "You want to make a different choice."
"So damn sure of it, in fact, I'll offer you another one." He reached back for the tube of gel then suspended it over her nose. "For the bruises. Stop fighting me and put the cream on yourself, or I do it for you."
Except when she capitulated and whispered so brokenly to him, he couldn't help feeling every inch the sick fuck she'd proclaimed him to be. Connor was more than half-hard in this position and she couldn't possibly miss it. The loaned clothes were too thin, the blood too raw, for him to control himself. Concern for her tangled with frustration, rage at his father and the Pit, a sense of helplessness that she was trapped in this at all that had been twisted up with anger.
Connor dropped the tube beside her hands and gripped her wrists. Eyelids shuttered over emerald and he breathed through his nose. Without opening his eyes, he said, "Sweetling, you're bleeding. I can't stand you like this. No," he corrected, his eyes snapping open and focusing solely on hers, "that came out wrong, because it's not you at all. I can't stand that you're in this mess. I know you think I'm sick, that I'm a monster, and an asshole. But I need to help you, Piper. Let me. Please."
He shook his head. "I'm trying to..." His thumbs began moving in circles along the outsides of her wrists as his eyes started a slow rove down her front, button by button, scanning for more blood. "I'm going to need to tend to your wounds. I'm not asking."
If only to keep himself sane, so he wasn't watching the torn skin continue to seep, each bloody spot, each bruise that marred what should have been damn near porcelain perfection reminding him of what she'd been through at the hands of his own accursed family.
"I need more supplies. Bandages." His fingers danced over her forehead as if he couldn't stop touching her, now that he had her here, nearly at his mercy. Connor leaned back suddenly, narrowing his eyes. "Can I trust you to be here when I get back?"
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
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