“For telling the truth?” he barks.
“What do you want from me?” I cry. “What do you want? Do you want to torture me some more? Or do you just want the convenience of me?”
“Fuck it,” he barks. “I want you because you’re you.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
I jerk my hands from his and launch my fist at his face again, he catches it, pulls my body forward and suddenly his lips are on mine. My knees go out from beneath me and I fight, God, do I fight. I swing, I tangle my fingers in his hair and pull, I kick his shins and squirm but his lips hold mine, kissing, burning into mine.
Then I’m kissing him back and hating myself for it.
Hating myself for going with something so familiar, for needing it so badly I’m willing to put myself through the pain I’ll no doubt feel afterwards just to have it. Just to feel okay for a moment.
My back is slammed against the wall and Marcus doesn’t move his lips from mine. He kisses me until I’m gasping for air. His hands are in my locks, tugging, and his body is crushed against mine, his erection pressing into my belly. Then his hands are wrenching free of my hair and going down to the hem of my dress.
We’re in a frenzy; emotion is gone. There is nothing but raw lust, a lust that is dangerous for the both of us. My head swims from alcohol and emotion. I can’t think straight, not when his lips are on mine, not when his hands are everywhere. He jerks my dress up and finds my panties, tearing them off as if they are no more than a flimsy piece of material.
Then he’s jerking his pants down, freeing his cock. What’s happening? What am I doing? My thoughts are taken from me when he thrusts upwards, filling me in one fluid stroke. My head falls back and I scream. Thrilling, sensational agony rips through my body and I arch, trying to ease it, trying to get more—I don’t know which. Marcus places a hand on the wall beside my head and the other firmly under my ass, and he fucks me.
He fucks me like this is our last day on earth and I’m the only reason he’s fought.
He fucks me like I matter.
He fucks me like I’m his lifeline and he can’t survive without me.
I come shamelessly hard and fast, gripping his suit, running my fingernails desperately over the fabric. He growls low and deep, and fucks me so hard I feel the brick wall tearing into my skin. Then he’s coming too, hard and fast, rasping my name.
I close my eyes, shame filling me.
What have I done?
I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move.
“Let me go,” I rasp.
He turns his face, pressing his nose to my neck.
“Let me go!” I’m becoming frantic.
His hands move to my hips and he pulls me closer.
“God damn it,” I wail, shoving his chest. “Let me the fuck go.”
He steps back and I dislodge myself from him. I’m ashamed of myself. Horrified that I could be so pathetic and weak. He used me, abused me, and I just let him take me as if nothing ever happened. What the hell is wrong with me? I straighten my dress, refusing to look at him.
“Katia,” he begins, but I turn and rush off.
“Fuck it,” he barks. “Katia wait.”
I run inside, pantie-less and broken. I shove through the crowd until I find my brothers. Landon notices me first and his big smile is quickly wiped off his face when he sees me. He runs over, capturing my shoulders. “What’s happened? Did someone hurt you? Jesus, Katia, are you—”
His voice trails off, and when I look up his eyes are trained on something behind me. I know it’s Marcus. Landon quickly shoves me behind him into Wyatt’s waiting arms. He steps towards Marcus and barks, “What the fuck are you doing here? She doesn’t want to see you. Leave.”
Marcus glares at Landon, but makes no move to step closer to me. His eyes lift to mine and they’re telling me so much, so much I don’t want to hear. I drop my face down again, and Wyatt turns me, leading me from the club. When we’re outside, I break down, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Hey,” Wyatt says. “You’re okay, come on.”
He takes me to a park bench and we sit. Landon joins us a moment later.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I’m a whore,” I cry. “That’s what.”
“Hey.” Wyatt shakes me. “You are not a whore.”
I turn to him, my body trembling with emotion. I don’t think; I just speak. “I just let him fuck me. Fuck me. Like none of the bad stuff ever happened. Like it didn’t matter.”
Wyatt blinks and Landon curses.
“He’s your husband. You loved him; mistakes happen.”
“He took my life; he took it and he fucked it up. How could I be so pathetic? I just basically told him everything he did was acceptable.”
“That’s not true,” Landon argues. “You are fragile, Katia. He mattered and no matter what, somewhere deep down that changed something inside you. You can’t beat yourself up over a moment of weakness.”
I drop my head. “I want to go home,” I whisper.
“Katia . . .”
“Now.”
They wave down a cab, and I keep my head down until it reaches us. Landon calls Dusty, who was meant to meet us after work, and tells him what happened. I say nothing the entire ride home. My heart is breaking, my emotions are destroyed and I’m ashamed of myself. When we arrive at the house, I walk straight inside, ignoring Candy and Ford, and heading upstairs.