Chapter Thirteen #2
I shudder out a breath, shoulders curling in as silent tears spill hot and unchecked down my face.
“He said my dad was the only reason he was with me.” My voice feels scraped raw.
“I tried to fight. Even got a good kick in, but it just pissed him off more. He hit me with something, and everything went black. I woke up bruised and bleeding and somehow managed to drag myself to the hospital.” I pause, sucking in a few steady breaths because the next words taste like glass.
“The funny thing is, the reason I said no, the reason I didn’t feel good, was because I was pregnant.
I lost the baby. The hospital kept me for a few days to make sure I didn’t get an infection.
The second I was discharged, I went straight to my dad, thinking he’d help.
That he’d finally protect me for once.” A humorless laugh escapes.
“I was so wrong. He laughed. Told me he’d set the whole relationship up.
He said that once I turned twenty, he told Asher that he could do whatever he wanted with me. ”
Sterling's jaw is clenching so tightly, I’m not sure how he hasn’t shattered his teeth.
He still doesn’t say a word. I whisper, “I’ve been broken for so long; I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay.
Which is why whatever this is between us can never be anything more.
” I huff out a hollow laugh. “Who wants a broken toy? Maybe in another life, we could have been.”
Before I can even process what’s happening, Sterling is on me, caging my face with his hands.
“You may be broken,” he growls, “but that doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of more than what was given to you.
” His forehead presses to mine, his voice dropping lower.
“I will spend every damn day proving that to you if I have to. First, tonight, by erasing every place he touched you.” His thumbs stroke my cheeks, oddly gentle for the promise in his tone.
“Second, I’m going to make sure he feels every bit of pain he put you through—and then some.
” Tears burn their way back into my eyes.
He’s furious, but it isn’t aimed at me. I give a small nod, a silent permission for whatever he’s about to do.
“Just…no more handcuffs,” I whisper, my voice rough. “I can’t deal with that tonight.”
Sterling presses a soft kiss to my forehead.
“I won’t,” he agrees. “You have the power. You’ve always had it with us.
You just have to find your voice.” His mouth finds mine, gentle at first, slow and coaxing, but my body is greedy now, leaning into him like he’s the first clean lungful of air after drowning. “Do your worst, Thorn.”
Whatever restraint we have left snaps. My fingers catch the hem of his shirt and drag it up, baring warm, toned skin and the ink over his chest—a black void where his heart should be, fractures spiderwebbing out like something was ripped from.
I make a mental note to ask later, then lower my mouth to his neck, kissing down the column of his throat and nipping at his collarbone.
I pause over the tattoo, pressing a careful kiss to the center of the darkness as my hands trail down his chest to his belt.
He watches me as I work on the buckle open and shove his jeans and boxers down his hips, freeing his length.
I curl my fingers around him, a flicker of surprise sparking through me at just how hard he is.
I lean in, tongue darting out toward the flushed-up tip, when his hand fists gently in my hair and tugs my head back.
“Not tonight,” he says, eyes locked on mine.
“Tonight is about reclaiming a piece of yourself.”
Sterling eases me back onto the mattress, his mouth trailing down my neck in slow, deliberate kisses before he settles between my thighs.
He presses soft kisses to the sensitive skin on either side, teasing me, and then his tongue finally finds the spot aching for him.
He traces a pattern over my clit that sends hot sparks racing through my veins.
“Fuckkk,” I moan, any hope of control obliterated when it comes to this man.
I feel the curve of his grin against me a second before he slides a finger inside, curling it just right to press against my sweet spot.
His tongue and fingers fall into a matched rhythm, relentless and devastating.
He slips in a second finger, stretching me wider, and I can feel myself unraveling, heat coiling tighter and tighter until it’s almost painful.
He hums something low I can’t quite catch, and the vibration tips me over the edge.
My vision blurs as my orgasm slams into me full force, pleasure flooding every nerve while my release drenches his face.
Sterling sits back on his heels with a huge, satisfied smile stretching across his face, the moonlight painting his features in silver and shadow, making him look like some kind of God.
A deadly god, but a god, nonetheless. He leans down to kiss me, slowly and deeply.
“Taste how sweet you are, Thorn,” he whispers against my lips.
“Sometimes even thorns are attached to sweet, beautiful things.” His hand slips between us, fingers sliding through my slick before he wraps them around his cock, stroking himself and smearing my release over his length.
I barely get one look at him lined up against me before he slams into me, bottoming out in a single thrust. Pain flares a heartbeat and then melts into a wave of pleasure that washes it clean away.
Sterling goes still, chest heaving as he lets me adjust, his eyes locked on mine.
Only when my grip on his shoulder eases and my thighs relax around his hips does he start to move.
I groan, “More, Sterling. I need more.” I don’t even know what I’m asking for, but the look on his face says he does.
He hooks my legs around his waist and rises onto his knees, dragging my lower back and hips off the bed.
The new angle makes his cock slam into the most sensitive spot inside me, and I gasp as he starts to move.
His pace is measured at first, controlled, like he’s testing exactly how much I can take.
He leans forward, just far enough to wrap his hand around my throat, cutting off just enough oxygen to make my head go light.
The room narrows to the feel of him—his grip, his length, his breath against my lips.
My fingers brush metal. The knife… I grab it, bringing the blade up to his arm, and draw a small line across his skin—tiny, but enough to bleed.
Sterling's eyes go almost black as he watches his blood drip down onto my stomach and slide lower, streaking my chest. It pools underneath my breast, circling the curve before trailing down to the hollow of my throat.
Something in him snaps. His restraint shatters as he slams back into me, his thrusts turning brutal, giving me exactly what I begged for.
The sharp edge of pain and the heat of him and the sight of his blood on my skin twist together until I can feel myself clenching around him, my orgasm building higher than it ever has.
A few more thrusts and I’m gone, tumbling over the edge as my release crashes through me, dragging a guttural grunt from his chest as he spills inside me.
I can feel myself squeezing around him. As the high ebbs, my muscles go limp.
Sterling lowers my hips carefully back to the bed, like he’s afraid I’ll break.
He slips away to the bathroom and returns with a warm, damp rag.
I lie there in stunned silence while he wipes me clean—blood, sweat, everything—gentle in all the places he was just ruthless.
When he’s done, he tosses the rag aside and settles beside me.
“Can you tell me what you know about Cicada?”
Sterling takes a deep breath. “I don’t know much more than you,” he admits. “I know your dad was behind it—or at least organized it. I found one post that didn’t say much. Cam found another with your name on it, dated the year before your mom died.”
I nod as he pulls the blanket over me, tucking it around my shoulders. “Do you know what it was for?”
He doesn’t answer me right away, and the silence between us suddenly feels heavier than everything we just did. The look he gives me says he’d rather choke on the truth than spit it out. “It was looking for other families with sons around the age of twelve,” he finally answers.
“Okay.” That’s all I manage, because what else is there to say?
Sterling gets up and starts getting dressed.
“Stay…please.” He goes still for a long moment before he strips back down and slides in beside me.
He tucks his arm under my head, his fingers stroking through my hair the way my mom used to, and the ache in my chest loosens.
I’m hovering on the edge of sleep when I mumble, “Why do you call me Thorn?
“Because I was obsessed with you,” he says quietly. “You are a thorn in my side. And thorns can be deadly.” With his words curling around me, I drift off to sleep, feeling safer than I have in a very long time.