Does It Hurt?

by H.D. Carlton

“When have we ever been able to let go of the things that hurt us most?”

“We’ll cross paths again, Sawyer. Life has a funny way of throwing people into your path when you’re meant to collide. It’s up to you to choose to make it permanent.”

“You’re going to ruin me, too. But unfortunately for you, that’s where I feel most at home.”

“You taste better than the sweetest wine, and I could fucking drink you forever.”

“I want to hear what it sounds like when you’re breaking and can’t scream.”

“Does it hurt, baby?” he asks quietly. “Not being able to scream for me like you want to.”

I’m the only one allowed to touch you, bella ladra, and I’m the only one who will cause you pain.

“Oh God,” I cry, trying to keep my voice down but failing miserably. “Can you see him, baby? Ask him for forgiveness.” “Why?” I pant, another high-pitched moan nearly swallowing the word. “Because you worship me now.”

God, how could I not worship him? Sex with him is the only time I’ve ever prayed.

“So, I made you feel what you made me feel? I won't deny that I'm the villain in your story, baby, but please don't insult me by acting like you didn't hurt me first.”

And I hate her even more in this moment. Because the longer I stare at her, the harder it is to fucking breathe. It’s enraging that she has that control over me—that she holds so much power, she can suck the oxygen from my body like it’s hers to wield.

“No more running, baby. I want him to come looking for you just so I can have the privilege of ending his life for touching what’s mine.”

“You were always destined to be mine,”

“Now tell me a lie,” he demands, his voice gravelly, deepening his accent just the slightest. I shake my head, my brow pinching with concentration as the coil tightens. “I hate you,” I whisper, spreading my legs wider so the pleasure sharpens. Enzo’s face contorts, and once more, he appears angry as he stares down at me. Despite the severity of his features, he groans, stroking himself faster and tugging harder. “Fuck, I hate you, too, baby.”

“Do you think I’d be happier if I lived in another world?” His response isn't immediate, but it stops my heart anyway. “Maybe. But I wouldn't be.”

“If worshiping you is what you ask, I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life on my knees,”

We’re the perfect storm, where he is the thunder, and I am the lightning.

“There’s a place in the ocean, so deep, where not a single point of light penetrates through it. And for so long, I’ve been trapped there, unable to breathe. When I met you, you lifted me out of that darkness, and it was the first time I came up for air. You’ve become my oxygen, bella ladra, and I can no longer breathe without you.”

Love is funny that way. It persists even when you’ve done everything in your power to banish it. It demands its own voice and refuses to be a slave to anyone but its own desires. And despite the power of it, those selfish desires are what make love so weak.

“I told you my love was going to hurt like hell. So tell me, bella ladra, does it hurt?”