16. Frey

SIXTEEN

FREY

I'm adrift in my own sea of self-pity, too damn wrapped up in myself to care about anything else. Like Catherine, who may have given her life for mine. As well as Colton, who died a terrible death, and the women who just survived a far worse ordeal than mine.

I should especially care about Daze, who is practically on his knees out of concern for my well-being. But at the moment, I just feel…

Blank. Empty.

I wouldn't care if the entire world was on fire right now. I feel like a switch has been flipped inside me, numbing me to everything except helpless rage. Defeating my father is my responsibility. It was my responsibility to stop Colton sooner rather than later so that no one else had to suffer.

Maybe Daze is right, after all. In retrospect, I should have let the cards fall where they may and unleashed him on them all. This is all my fault.

"Look at me—" His voice cuts through the maddening chaos in my mind like a knife, but the clarity that follows is disorienting, like being struck over the head. It is so easy for him to make the insane seem plausible. One look from him makes me feel powerful and in control. He has me in the palm of his hand, and it should be the other way around. I should be the strong, unyielding one.

He has enough on his plate to worry about. Like Sammy, and his sister, and keeping them safe from my father's machinations.

"I don't want to be insensitive," he says, drawing out the word as if he's not used to using it. Especially not in a situation like this, with us both half-naked. "So, if you need more time, just tell me?—"

"I told you what I want." My voice takes on a needy, aching quality that makes me shiver. When he doesn't move, I take his hand and press it to my belly. The heat I feel is a welcome distraction, but it stings like a bitter punishment. This isn't about pleasure.

I want him to be angry with me. I want him to convey that rage in a way that only he can. I want him to use me.

And maybe then I'll be able to feel again.

He lurches upright, his head lowered, gaze heavy-lidded. He pulls his hand out of my grasp, only to capture my waist with both. One easy shift of his body, and he has me pressed against the wall with barely any space between us.

"You want it?" His mouth grazes my ear, his voice guttural. "I didn't hear you clearly enough the first time. Say it again."

"I want you to fuck me."

He groans, flattening his hands against the wall near my head. I expect him to strip his clothes, and I start to help him, but he captures my wrist.

"You're missing something," he scolds, pressing his lips to my neck. "There was one other part you said. What was it?"

Despite everything, my lips part in a hollow imitation of a smile. "Hard. I don't want to feel anything but you."

Fabric tears as he rips the remaining shreds of my dress away. A moan travels up my throat, escaping in a gasp as he slides a finger along my inner thigh. My eyes flutter closed at the feeling, but it's just a mere taste of the oblivion I know he can give me.

Salvation in a brutal series of thrusts.

"Fuck, I'm going to hell for this," he grates out. "Spread your legs for me. Like that. Wider…"

He yanks my hips, angling me toward him as he sinks to one knee. The heat of his breath washes over me, electrifying raw, sensitive skin. I can't keep silent when he lunges, taking me fully in his mouth.

I feel fire, rippling through me, consuming me inch by inch. Then he adds a finger, stroking me from the inside out. Another. A third.

"Daze." I feel my fingers tear through his hair, desperate to guide him to where I need him the most. Ironically, he doesn't need any direction from me. It's like he can read my mind, taking his cues from the deepest, carnal impulses inside me. He knows me better than I do.

Too well.

He knows how to make my fear go away until pleasure is all I feel.

"No," I bite out, digging my nails into his skull. "I don't want this. I want?—"

His teeth. I feel them rake over my flesh, and I lose track of my argument. A harsh mix of pain and ecstasy forms a bitter, painful poison. I whimper out an affirmation, and he rocks into me, using more pressure. More wet heat. More. More. More.

Then, without warning, he shoves what feels like the thickness of a thumb inside me, and I come apart at the seams.

"That's it," Daze grunts in approval. "So, fucking beautiful. You want more? I need to hear you ask for it?—"

"Please."

"Good girl."

He flips me around, forcing me face-forward against the wall. His breath fans over my lower back, then lower.

"I need you to trust me, baby," he says before brushing his hand along my ass. "Trust me. Say that you do."

"I trust you." My breath feathers in and out, and it's hard to find the words to speak. Especially when I feel his thumb drift down to stroke my clit. Then up, along my ass, and back again. I jerk each time he completes a circuit. With a few simple motions, he's taken complete control of every limb and nerve. It's like his fingers are hardwired to my brain. He's a puppet master, jerking me along with invisible strings and it's all I can do just to endure.

"You're so damn wet, already," Daze says. "Fuck. You feel that, how eager you are for me?"

He taunts me, stroking me from the inside out with a crooked finger. It's a move far more gentle than what I asked for, but the second I tense, he pairs the sweetness with a harsh grind of his thumb over my clit.

"You want to do this my way?" he murmurs, watching my body jerk helplessly on the tips of his fingers. "Then I need you soaked," the exhales, teasing my flesh with another burst of prickling heat.

His tongue lashes at me with harsh, probing strokes, and I can't think. I just move and react, letting my body go on autopilot. The second I reach a sense of blank clarity…

Smack! His hand hits my ass, conveying none of the violence that Colton or my father assaulted me with. It jars me back into that clouded mindset, and before my body can even finish coming down from the brief pain, he strokes the spot with unimaginable softness.

"You feel that?" he asks me, his voice low and thick. "That's a taste of the pain you put me through. The fucking agony. And then the memory of you that would always follow and make it so damn worth it. You are worth any pain. Do you hear me?"

I do, but somehow, the earnestness in his voice doesn't make it any easier to believe. It seems like I only cause death to those around me. I should be doing whatever it takes to atone for Catherine's death and the poor girl from the stables. I don't deserve to be in Daze's arms, let alone being pleasured by him.

I start to tense, and he must sense the change in my body before I do. Thwack! His hand strikes my inner thigh, and I jump, startled.

"Don't," he snarls, sounding feral. "For the next few moments, I don't want you to give a shit about anything or anyone but me. You got that?" He leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of my hip. "In here, we're the only two things that exist. Just me and you. Fuck, you have no idea how much I missed this. The way you feel. How you smell. The sounds you make."

He drags his teeth over my skin, nipping as he goes, and I can't catch my breath. As he pulls back, I look over my shoulder, and his eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes me shiver, even before I hear him demand. "Get down. Hands and knees."

I obey him on autopilot, shuddering as my body connects with the cold, unfamiliar floor. For the first time it sinks in that I don't recognize this place. He's been busy in the short forty-eight hours that I've been gone. I want to ask him, but then I feel his fingers slide along my spine, and I lose focus again.

"Brace yourself, baby," he says, rocking into me from behind. "You wanted it rough, you got it."

I don't even have the time to second-guess my request. He heeds it perfectly, driving into me with a need that sets my body on fire. Bit by bit, I can feel the shattered, traumatized part of myself waking up, shrugging off the numb haze.

I'm not weak. I'm not an idiot for trusting the wrong people. I never should have doubted Daze.

That thought consumes me as he presses my body to the floor, his voice so guttural I can barely make out any words at all. I don't know what comes over us both, but I feel a connection to him as real and vital as my heartbeat.

He must feel it too, because his lips nudge my ear, and in a hoarse voice, he whispers, "I love you, Frey."

And just like that, he fulfilled my request in the worst possible way.

He paired agony with pleasure, just like I wanted.