Page 68 of Sinner's Malice
“Sit.”
And wouldn’t you believe it?
The annoying fucker actually sat.
Plopping down next to him, I looked at Torment, who sat wide-eyed in shock. “As you were saying?”
Gulping, Torment looked from Malice to me a few times before saying anything.
“I’m honestly at a loss for words right now. I’ve never seen Malice so unsure of anything and, Silver, I’ve never seen you so confident. It’s like you’ve both reversed roles.”
“People change all the time, Torment,” I groaned.
“Yes. But not overnight,” he admitted, then asked, “Malice, are you okay with me being here?”
The grumpy fucker huffed, and I sneered, “Answer him. He won’t continue without your consent, and you know it.”
“Don’t care.”
Leaning forward, Torment took a deep breath. “Alright then. So last night, the both of you were trying to be intimate, but as you said, Silver, Malice wouldn’t let you touch him. How did that make you feel?”
“Hurt. I wanted to touch him. I wanted him to feel everything he was doing to me. I may not know a lot about sex, but I know it takes two to tango, so to speak. I didn’t have the best experiences growing up. I wanted something more, and I thought he did too.”
“What did you think Malice wanted?”
“Me. All of me. When I imagined myself with Malice, I thought it would be magical; that he would show me what I’ve been missing all these years. That he would show me that there was more to sex than pain and degradation. But when he told me about the women he had sex with and how he treated them, something inside me froze. I knew there was no way I could have a relationship like the one I had with Petrovitch.”
Malice growled when Torment held up his hand.
“Silver, what you had with Petrovitch wasn’t a relationship. You understand that, right? What that man did to you was criminal. He sexually abused you, tormented you, beat you for his own gratification. What he did was tantamount to sexual slavery.”
Looking at my hands, I whispered, “How is that any different from when Malice claimed me?”
Chapter Seventeen
Malice
The amount of rage I felt when she uttered those words, comparing me to that son of a bitch, had me seeing red. Never in my life had I ever felt a surge of such visceral frenzy, and that was saying something, because my genetic material was good at eliciting a plethora of emotions from me.
The silence hung in the air, with nothing more to be spoken.
Without giving it much thought, I impulsively rose from the comfortable couch and left her sitting there without a fucking glance back. I absolutely had no fucking clue where I was going, and I honestly didn’t give a damn. The only thing that registered in my mind was the desperate need for solitude.
I cursed myself.
In a moment of vulnerability, I’d poured out my heart to her, revealing my deepest emotions. I’d uttered words I had never spoken to anyone before. I thought she understood, wanted the same thing I did. Now I knew the truth. Did she even know how hard it was for me to say those things, to admit what I kept buried deep? I only wanted to make everything right between us.
I knew nothing about relationships either, but goddamnit!
At least I was willing to try.
I wanted to try for her.
Throwing open the double doors to Davenport Tower, I ran smack dab into Montana. Before the fucker could say a damnword to me, I hauled off and punched him in the face, shouting angrily,
“This is all your fault!”
“WHAT THE FUCK!” Montana roared, stumbling back as he spit blood on the sidewalk.