Chapter 12 #2
He tossed the flowers in the trash and returned to where I stood. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me against him. His attention fell to my mouth, zeroing in on the spot where my lip was split open and framed by an ugly bruise.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes,” I answered honestly.
He dropped his head until his forehead rested against mine. “Are you still angry with me?”
I swallowed hard. “I was never angry.”
“What do you feel?”
I closed my eyes and turned my head away. “I’m not sure, Bradley. I’m … I’m not sure.”
“It will never happen again,” he reassured me. “You’ll see. I’m never drinking again, and I’m never letting myself get that worked up, either. So let’s move forward, okay? Let’s pretend it didn’t happen.”
I was certainly good at that. Pretending.
Normally, I could don a mask, concealing everything I felt beneath it.
Faking a smile was easier than explaining why I cried.
Saying I was fine was easier than explaining the thoughts devouring my mind.
Being the put-together girl was better than exposing the bleeding woman beneath.
So like an expert, I looked up at Bradley and slipped on the mask the world knew, burying Serenity behind it.
“Okay,” I smiled softly.
He grinned and squeezed me around the waist. “You know what we should do to start this new chapter?”
Before I could answer, he grabbed my hand and tugged me along to my bedroom. When we were inside, he let me go and started to take off his shirt. I watched him with raised brows, and as he moved on to his jeans, he gestured at my leggings and sweatshirt. “Take off your clothes.”
That was new.
Whenever Bradley and I were intimate, he never made requests to see me naked.
We often did it while I still wore some sort of shirt, or in instances where I took charge and decided to discard all of my clothes, he’d cover my body with a blanket or turn every light off.
I told myself it was the tattoos on my arms, legs, and chest that made him uninterested in seeing me naked.
That was easier to stomach than the idea that it was my thicker curves and occasional stretchmarks.
Hearing his request to get naked now actually stunned me.
I reached down to complete his task, just to see if this was a dream or real life.
I made quick work of shedding my sweatshirt, leggings, and underwear until I stood completely bare in front of him.
Despite my curiosity to see this demand through, insecurities crept in, so I wrapped my arms around my pudgy midsection.
My mask loosened a sliver with the action.
Bradley’s boxers still clung to his legs.
I snuck a glance to see if there was any physical sign of how much he wanted me.
When I saw no hard tenting in the thin boxers, the dagger in my chest dug just a little deeper.
With a painful tug, my mask fell off. The smile gave way to a solemn, resolved flat line.
He crossed the space between us and grinned as he kissed the uninjured side of my lip. “Want to sit back on the bed? This night is about you, Doll. I want that nectar of yours on my tongue.”
The nickname and his dirty talk were as unappealing as always, but regardless, I moved to the bed.
It was easier to go along with this charade as I’d always done, especially since he never showed an interest in catering to my needs.
The part of me that clung to the last shred of hope for this man wanted to see where this went and what he’d do.
Meanwhile, the rational part of my brain told me it would end how it always did—me wishing sex was more than what it obviously was.
I sat on the edge of the bed with my tattooed legs hanging off.
Bradley got on his knees in front of me, had me part my legs, and leaned in.
I laid on my back and stared at the ceiling as his tongue ran through my seam but bypassed all the parts that felt good.
His breathy grunts whispered against my parted middle, and he peppered kisses and teasing flicks all through my center while I remained still, hoping to feel even a smidge of change in his normal tongue game.
But while he was determined to alter his attitude and actions, he couldn’t change this.
With my mask forgotten, I didn’t pretend to enjoy his ministrations like I usually did, and after ten minutes of my bored silence, he stood with a coy, if not slightly irritated, smirk.
“You playing hard to please tonight? Fine, fine. I like it. I bet you’re so close to bursting, aren’t you, Dollface? ”
I didn’t answer. Even though I wasn’t going to put on a show of being into this, I also didn’t want to embarrass him by telling him that I was nowhere near close.
In the past, I’d brought up the fact that I had trouble feeling good during foreplay and sex.
Revealing something so vulnerable had been terrifying, but I’d trusted him to hear me so we could figure out a solution.
Instead, he’d taken that admission as a personal attack and blamed me for being sexually broken.
I stopped bringing up the issue after that, because for all I knew, he was right. I could do it alone but never with him.
I wasn’t sure if he took my silence now as “playing hard to get,” but he grinned and grabbed my legs to drape them over his thighs while he settled on his knees on the bed.
“Fine,” he chuckled. “Try and fight that pleasure with this!”
He shoved inside of me, and no sooner was he seated there than he froze.
“Fuck,” he hissed, throwing his head back. “I’m gonna cum.”
I stared at his lust-shuttered face while he waited for the threat of release to recede so that he could move again. Still, I said nothing. I made no move to kiss him or pull him closer. I just wanted it to be over.
Thankfully, he began to move.
“Yes!” he moaned, punctuating the word with a hard thrust. He continued to chant the word with each movement of his hips. “Yes, yes!”
Seven pumps. It was only seven pumps today, but for once, I didn’t mind. A sad bitterness climbed my chest as I wordlessly went to the bathroom to clean up the mess he’d made between my legs.
I realized too late that going along with his sexual advances wasn’t a good idea.
The confusion and longing for something more that I always felt after sex was ten times stronger today, thanks to everything else that had happened.
I’d already been in my own head about Bradley and where to go from here, and that internal battle was exacerbated by this need for real love and passion.
I returned to my bedroom with my arms hugged around my bare breasts and middle. I quickly grabbed my clothes and pulled them back on, all while Bradley lounged comfortably in my bed in his boxers.
He turned my TV on and smiled at me. “What would you like to watch?”
So casual.
The nonchalance in his tone and posture made the ugliness spiraling around inside of me expand.
How could he act like everything was fine while I was fracturing?
How could he not see that I was dying on the inside?
I pressed my lips together, effectively sealing in all of my emotions.
Keeping it bottled up until I was alone was best. Letting it out now would just make things worse.