Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
She makes a soft sound.
“Your ass is going to feel that punishment. Your cunt. Your mouth. I’m going to claim every inch of you until there isn’t a single thought in that pretty little head of yours other than that you belong to me.”
With a hand over hers and the other on the small of her back, I lead her to the bed, gently but demanding. “Under the covers,” I tell her, pulling back the sheets.
She doesn’t hesitate to get into bed, but she doesn’t lie down. Instead she pulls the sheet to her chest and peers up at me with wide eyes brimming with emotion. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”
“The fact that you asked me that tells me I haven’t done the job I need to.” I didn’t think it was possible to feel such a drift from her. She’s pulled away, but I’ll pull her right back and hold on to her forever.
Pulling my shirt over my head, I tell her to lie down. I kick off my shoes and strip down to my boxers before climbing into bed, pulling her back into my chest and kissing her hair. It only takes a few minutes before her shoulders tremble and I know she’s crying.
I soothe her and hold her, rubbing her back and kissing her over and over.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers and I tell her it’s all right. She has nothing to be sorry for. I do, though. I’m sorrier than she could ever imagine.
ELLA
Everything is different this morning. It’s like the fog has cleared and now each destructive thought and the resulting consequences are highly visible. It’s hard to describe this unsettled feeling, but the way I’d put it is that if the barred door to my gilded cage were wide open, I wouldn’t move an inch from where I sit. Not because I don’t crave freedom, but because I’m terrified of what I’d do with it.
The wind carries a slight chill that whisks across my arms and I’m quick to pull the gray crocheted throw blanket up around myself more. I breathe in the brisk woodsy air and sink back into the porch chair.
I wouldn’t move an inch and I don’t have to. It’s something Kam has always reassured me of. I’m okay here and I can stay safely inside for however long I want; the door is always open and he’ll be there to hold my hand if needed. Inside or outside.
He was there for me before. And then there was James.
The thought tightens a vise that’s soldered to my heart. Zander is only feet away inside the house, more than likely watching the session. And yet here I am, reminded of what once was. The past that he’ll never fully know because I’m incapable of speaking of it.
“Your voice sounds much better than it did only weeks ago,” Damon comments. His teacup is empty but he keeps picking it up as if he’s going to take a sip from it.
Absently, the tips of my fingers graze my throat as I watch him. I wonder if it’s a sign of anxiousness on Damon’s part. I’ve never seen him fidget like that before, repeatedly lifting the empty cup and setting it down.
Even through the heavier conversations, he’s usually still or taking notes. Today has been relatively quiet so far and as the teacup clinks against the saucer, I imagine he has something he’d like to discuss but doesn’t know how to start.
“My throat feels better,” I comment idly. “It feels a lot better actually.” Everything is better, depending on how you look at it.
My gaze shifts to my left, peeking over my shoulder to the living room where Zander may be sitting. The thick curtains are mostly drawn shut and looking through the tiny slit in the middle I can tell Zander’s not there. The leather chair is empty.
Nervousness pricks through me.
“Is there anything you’d like to discuss today, Ella?” Damon presses as he lifts one ankle over his knee and sits back in his chair as if it’s a casual conversation.
He knows what happened. That I drank too much, I made a fool of myself … I had a moment.
Dread comes over me. I don’t want to talk about it.
James and Zander compete in the back of my mind but they both tell me I have to talk about it. The knowledge chills me as if James is here, as if he wants Z to command me to say the words out loud. I have to get everything out of me or it will kill me.
That’s one thing I imagine they’d both agree on. It’s going to eat me alive.
“Can we talk about James?” Damon says, moving the conversation forward and all I do is nod, staring off into the distance.
“I didn’t know love until James.” My statement is a murmur, but Damon hears it. His pen clicks and I glance to see his pad open.