Page 43 of The Love Penalty
She’s still covering her face like she’s embarrassed to look at me.
I resist the urge to touch her again and shuffle back on the bed. “It’s okay.” I try to comfort her, but I’m not exactly sure what to say.
“Really?” Her words are muffled by her hands.
“Of course.” I frown, desperate to see her face so we can actually talk about this. Do I reach for her? Do I…?
Fuck, I don’t know what to do.
This has never happened to me before, and a small part of me is frustrated that yet again she’s pulling away from me. But a much bigger part of me is worried, because that look on her face when she asked me to stop was…
She was scared.
I reach for a tissue, getting rid of the condom. She peeks out from behind her hands and watches me throw the balled-up tissue in the trash.
Rolling over, she eyes me, like she’s worried about what I might say next, so I keep my mouth shut. I glance at her and try for a reassuring smile, but I don’t know what the hell crosses my face.
This is awkward as fuck.
Shit, why did I even start this? I should have known better. Of course she was going to pull away. It’s like she’s letting me have her in small increments, but never the whole way.
I don’t get what is going on in that brain of hers. I?—
“You stopped,” she finally whispers, sucking in a breath.
I look back at her, running a hand through my hair. “You told me to.”
Her eyes start to glass over, and I can feel my eyebrows dipping.
“Wait, did you not want me to stop? I… I’m very confused right now.”
She lets out a shuddering breath and wriggles to the head of my bed. Sitting up against the headboard, she curls herself into a little ball, wrapping her arms around her knees like she’s trying to hide from me. She stares at my bedroom wall, falling into some kind of catatonic trance. She’s shaking.
And it’s freaking me out.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or say right now, so I keep my movements slow, shuffling off the bed and finding my shorts on the floor. Pulling them on, I adjust my disappointed cock, then gaze down at her.
She’s still staring at the wall, refusing to look at me. I frown, scratching my whiskers and then reaching for the blanket at the end of my bed. Draping it around her, I step back and try to catch her eye.
“I’m not going to touch you unless you want me to, okay? You’re safe here.”
Her eyes dart to mine and she grips the edge of the blanket, tucking it under her chin, which is now trembling as well.
Fuck. What is going on in her head right now?
I crouch down, resting my hands on the edge of the bed and softly asking, “Did something…?” I lose my question and let out a sigh. “I really want to understand what’s going on. I don’t know how to help you. I don’t even know if you want my help. I just…” Another sigh pops out of me, and I’m running my hand through my hair again, then scrubbing it down my face.
She sniffs and shakes her head, but then her expression buckles like she’s about to start ugly crying on my bed.
Oh shit. I’m not cut out for this!
My brain starts scrambling for excuses to escape—Can I get you a drink? Something to eat? Anything that will take me out of this room and away from whatever is brewing.
But what kind of asshole leaves a girl to cry on her own?
So I force myself to stay, to stew in this uncomfortable silence.
My knees start to ache, so I change position, resting on the edge of the bed and making sure I’m not touching her.