His Words
Serafine POV
The moment Xander pulls away, I look at the ceiling and keep my gaze fixed on it. My body is still trembling from the force of what just happened. My breathing is shaky, and my skin is damp with sweat. I can barely feel any of that, though, because my mind is somewhere else, drifting and detached.
I knew that this would happen. I also knew this was precisely what he expected free me. Only, I didn’t realize how much worse it would feel after he had done it.
The flicker of the fire is still casting shadows along the ceiling, but its warmth does nothing to chase away the cold that’s settling deep in me. I can feel the wetness between my thighs and the soreness from where he took me without hesitation. I saw the look he gave me, and I heard his words.
He honestly thought I was lying about being a virgin. He was wrong. My chest tightens, and I know I should have said something. I should have reacted and fought against him to make him believe me. What would have been the point? He wouldn’t have believed me, and he bought me. I’ve no choice in this.
Swallowing, I force air into my lungs, but my body is too exhausted to move and too spent from the brutal claiming he just put me through. I should really get up, clean myself, and do something, but I can’t do anything.
Xander is still right here.
I can feel his eyes on me, watching me and waiting. I don’t look at him because I don’t want to see whatever expression he s wearing right now. Will it be pity? Maybe even doubt? No, a man like him will likely be annoyed at me because he was wrong.
It doesn’t matter, and nothing changes because I’m still his. I still belong to him, and whatever pain lingers, whatever damage has been done, it doesn’t and never will change the fact that this was inevitable.
Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing, wishing that I could disappear into the darkness that is inside my own mind. Disappear away from this moment and him, but I can’t.
Xander doesn’t leave. Instead, he lingers, his presence heavy, but his silence is far louder than anything he could say or do.
His breathing is slow and measured, but I can feel the weight of his realization pressing down on the room. He knows I wasn’t lying, but he’s not saying anything or even acknowledging it right now. I keep my gaze fixed on the ceiling, waiting for him to leave or at least to say something.
Maybe it will be mocking? Or even him laughing because I really was a virgin. Perhaps he will be angry at me?
He exhales sharply. It’s not a sound of frustration or even anger. I can feel him shifting, and I look towards him slowly and watch as he gets dressed. His movements are smooth and controlled as if nothing had happened. He’s acting like this was just another passing moment to file away.
“So, your father really did give me something untouched.” His voice is low and unreadable, and I can hear the doubt in it like he didn’t expect this outcome.
It’s not a question for me to answer. It’s more of a statement. It’s a fact that he’s now been forced to accept.
My stomach twists, but I still don’t speak, mainly because I’m unsure of what to say.
Rolling his shoulders, he flexes his fingers like he’s shaking something off. I watch as he steps back from the bed, and I wait again because I’m not sure what to do in this situation or what to expect. I can see he’s going to say something else, so all I can do is wait.
I’m guessing he will be amused. I’m twenty–three and untouched, despite the fact that wolves can’t survive through heat or rutting without giving in to the urges. Then again, I’ve never had them.
A small smirk tugs at his mouth, and I now realize that he’s actually pleased.
“You were wasted in that pack,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me. “Your father could have got far more for you than he did.”
It’s not an apology or even regret, just a cold calculation. I swallow hard, keeping my breathing steady, waiting for hi orders. Which I’m sure he will have.
Moving, he picks up his coat and slides back into it without a word, but he watches me.
“Not that it matters now.” His eyes flick over m Successfully unlocked! ssive look. “You’re mine. That’s the only thing
that matters going forward.”
He’s not wrong, and that is all that matters. My father selling me for less than I was worth means nothing at all.
Turning, he heads for the doors. His presence is still thick in the air. Opening the door, he pauses, his hand resting on the frame.
1/2
His Words
“Clean yourself up, please.” He says the words, and then he walks out, closing the door behind him. The moment I’m alone my breath shudders out of me, but I still can’t move
The fire still isn’t bringing me any warmth. My body is sore. It’s aching in a way I never expected and have never
experienced. I was prepared for this, just maybe not the way he did it without any hesitation. He never questioned during t all if he should say something, reassure me, or go slower.
Pressing my palms against the mattress, I force myself to sit up. The soreness between my legs sharpens durdush through it. I have to. I need to get cleaned up. The moment my feet touch the cold stone floor I shiver from the sensation don’t pause to think of it. I move, step by step, to the bathroom.
When I saw this room for the first time, I was shocked by its luxury I was amazed by the size of the tub alone. The machet towels and bottles of soap and such impressed me so much because I had never been given them or allowed to use them Now, the room has lost its touch because I see it as it is. A place to wash him off me when he’s finished
Turning on the bath, I let the water run, and the steam fills the air. I’m exhausted, but I need to wash. When I finally turn off the water, I step into the tub and sink into the heat. I let it soothe away the ache in my limbs. It doesn’t seem to reach deep enough, though. I doubt it ever will.
Grabbing the soap, I start scrubbing harder than I need to and possibly harder than I should. Still, I do it. I scrub until my skin burns and the water in the bath turns cloudy from all the soap. I scrub until I’m convinced there are no traces of him left on me.
The truth is, though, I scrub because it’s the only thing I can control in this situation, and yet, no matter how hard I try know the truth. I will never feel the same again.
