Page 2 of Break Me
“What do you know about that?” I feel ridiculous as I say the words because he clearly knows everything about it. But I don’t know what else to say, and I can’t accept how he portrays my boyfriend. Because that makes me look weak.
“You deserve a man who doesn’t need to belittle you to feel strong.” He pushes off the door, and I watch his perforated brown leather shoes as they click across the tile. “A man who won’t laugh in your face when you reveal your secret dreams.”
He steps behind me, meeting my gaze in the mirror.
“You deserve a man who will fulfill all your desires, no matter how dirty and depraved.” Lifting his hand, he touches his fingers to my throat. I gasp at the featherlight touch and stare at his hand through the mirror as he slowly slides his fingers over the sides of my neck to settle his whole palm around it.
I breathe hard as he holds my gaze and says, “A man who will open up a whole new world to you and show you true dominance.”
He runs his other hand down my waist, stirring up goosebumps and titillating shudders along the way. I close my eyes and push out a shuddery breath as he whispers against my ear, “A man who will make you submit with a single look or a slight change of voice.” He deepens his tone, imbuing it with a steady command that reverberates through me even as he keeps his volume low. “Tell me that I’m right.”
Something melts inside me—or snaps. A feeling I’ve suppressed all my life. The urge to submit.
“No.” I shove his hand away. “I’m not weak like that.” Then I’m bolting again, out of the restroom, through the bar, and back to our table. My pulse is pounding in my neck—where his hand just touched me—as I grab my jacket and my bag. “I’m feeling sick; I’m going back to the hotel,” I tell Trevor.
“I’ll see you back there later. Remember to...”
I don’t hear the rest of his words as I’m already on my way out of here.
***
My steps come in loud thuds against the carpeted hall floor as I run toward our hotel room. I’m shaking all over, my instincts on high alert as if I’m being chased. Only, no one’s there when I whip my head around for the hundredth time.
I’m not sure what it was about that man in the restroom, but something was off. Something told me he was dangerous. I could feel it in the crackle in the air around him. Like he has known violence. No, knows it and feeds on it.
But that’s not what scared me the most. What had me bolting was the way I reacted. The way I wanted to lean into him and give in to his control. The way I wished he would press a bit tighter on my throat, yank down my pants, and push into me. Take me right then and there.
I’ve known for a long time that I’m drawn to dominant men. Hell, I even know Trevor isn’t always good for me, and I often consider ending things. But realizing how much worse I could have done—how easily I could fall into the claws of a psychopath—I’m suddenly deeply grateful I’ve found a guy like Trevor. He might be condescending about my shy tendencies and snooty as hell, but he would never lay a hand on me.
How could I even wish he would spank me? What’s wrong with me?
As I slip out of my slim dress and into my comfy pajama pants and a matching T-shirt, I decide never to mention it again and bury it deep in my head.
Trevor is right. It’s wrong. And too dangerous.
I crawl into bed and pull the covers tight. Then I lie there on my stomach, staring stiffly into the darkness as I try to chase away the feeling of that wide hand around my throat and those commanding eyes watching me through the mirror.
The memory is no closer to dissipating when the beep of the card sensor announces Trevor’s return.
He steps inside, keeping the lights off as he enters and sets his things aside. Maybe he’s not so bad after all. He does have his considerate moments like this, trying not to wake me when he gets home late or bringing back breakfast when he goes out for a smoke in the morning.
“I’m sorry,” I say as he carefully crawls onto the bed. “I shouldn’t have asked that of you. I’ll never mention it again.”
He moves over me, and I crane my head, expecting him to press his lips to my neck.
There’s a tut, and a whiff of an unfamiliar cologne drifts past my nose just as foreign fingers brush my face. “Were you really gonna forgive him that easily?”
With a gasp, I jerk to pull away, but the stranger has me trapped beneath his weight.
“Let me go,” I demand in a thin voice as I writhe beneath him, clawing at the covers to gain traction. “Don’t touch me!” I half-yell as he trails his fingers down the sides of my neck—long soft fingers that seem terrifyingly familiar as they wrap around my throat.
He reaches out his other hand to turn on the bedside lamp, and I catch sight of his silky shirt and sleek hair in my peripheral vision as the soft light comes on.
“Why not?” He tightens his grip, just enough to let me feel the potential strength that could easily snap my neck. “You seemed to enjoy it quite a lot back at the bar.”
“Trevor will be back any second,” I pant through the restriction.
He swipes my hair behind my shoulder. “Not tonight, I’m afraid.”