Scourge

Sixteen

Tell me every terrible thing you ever did and let me love you anyway.

~Edgar Allan Poe

***

Emerson

I let out a sigh and rolled onto my back, glaring at the stupid sheer curtains for letting the sunlight disturb my sleep.

I rubbed my hand over my face and yawned as I sat up on the bed, freezing mid-yawn at the feel of a dull ache between my legs. I looked down at my body and choked on air when I saw I wasn't wearing any clothes.

Last night was definitely not a dream.

I hugged my knees and rocked back and forth with mortification as the events of last night flashed through my brain.

Skin against skin. A scrape of teeth here and there. Hands buried in my hair. His heavy weight on top of mine. Deep rasp, right against my ear, talking dirty.

"So good for me," He praised.

"Taking all of me so well because you were made for me. "

"Good girl. "

"Tell me you're my whore."

"Please."

Mierda, it was better than I had ever imagined it to be. Intense. Addictive. Restrictive.

The way he grabbed onto my throat and forced me to look at him, lips so close I could practically taste him as he slowed down his thrusts. Harder. Deeper. The intimacy so much, I might as well have let him kiss me.

He did it on purpose. The knowing glint in his eye- he knew what the fuck he was doing, and I had begged him for it.

I'd never be able to not fall for him. I'd never get him out.

I realised how much I smelt like him at the moment. He was everywhere, all over me. But he wasn't next to me.

He wasn't in bed. It was too quiet- maybe he left the house after fucking me. Maybe that was all he needed from me- a fuck.

A wave of bitterness washed over me when I remembered how he held me close to him, cleaning the area between my legs with a cloth as he whispered sweet nothings in my ear. He took my bracelets off and setting them on the nightstand, along with my anklet. I don't know if he spent the night next to me- I had passed out almost instantly.

A small nook of my heart hoped he didn't leave my side.

I sniffled and got out of bed, ignoring the sore feeling between my thighs as I made my way to the bathroom, and took a hot shower. My muscles ached, and my legs felt stiff. I didn't even do any of the work.

As I washed myself, I tried my best to not think of the man who broke down my walls like they were a joke.

I turned the knob and slipped out of the shower, patting my skin dry with a towel before wrapping it around myself and walked out of the bathroom to my cupboard.

I threw on my animated oversized shirt on and a pair of panties and stepped out of my room, making my way to the kitchen downstairs, raking my fingers through my wet hair.

Awareness washed over me when I heard masculine grunts come from the living room. I let my gaze drift around the room, stopping when my eyes landed on him.

My jaw would have dropped all the way to the floor if it could. I am astounded. My God.

In the weeks I have known him, I have never seen him out of formal clothes. Always black. Even underneath his hoodie, he wore a black dress shirt and black slacks.