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My eyes flick closed of their own accord. I can’t look him in the eye and tell him I believe him when I’m going to take the choice out of his hands.
“I might go to bed,” I whisper. “It’s late.”
He sighs, and I hear his head hit the back of the couch. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” I am, but I don’t want him to know that. If I’m going to return to only having a meal here and there, I have to train my body again. It was nice eating more, and I’ve had more energy in the last week than I have in years, but Kyle won’t feed me like this, and my next owner sure as hell won’t either. They spend enough to buy us, our upkeep is at the bottom of their priority list.
Before Ace can think to respond, I slip from the couch and carefully stand. I may be eating more, and Doc came by to give me an iron infusion a few days ago, but I’m far from being strong, and getting up too fast will always put me on my ass.
Stars dance in my vision, but I manage to remain standing, smoothing down my dress so Ace doesn’t notice the change in me.
When I meet his eyes again, they’re frustrated, but he doesn’t argue despite the fact I know it’s all he wants to do. Ace is a dominant guy. He was when we were kids, always calling the shots, making sure I did as I was told when I was told, and I can’t imagine much has changed in the last eight years, but he keeps it hidden around me.
“Good night,” I say before scurrying upstairs.
But sleep doesn’t come when my head hits the pillow, instead, regret eats me alive, gnawing at my very being until I can barely breathe.
If Kyle doesn’t kill me first, my own guilt will eat me alive.
The silence is maddening.
Despite my best efforts, I’ve gotten used to sounds again—to people, to laughing, to basic creature comforts like music and the television. But I’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours, wishing for sleep, and it was easier when I could hear Ace downstairs on his computer, the faint tapping of the keyboard bringing me a strange sense of comfort. But he went to bed a little while ago, and there’s been nothing but me and my thoughts since.
I kick the soft sheets off my legs and slip out of bed. Maybe I just need some water, and then I’ll be able to get some rest.
I pad out into the hallway, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors as I make my way toward the stairs. The faint glow of a light farther down the hall pulls my attention away from the kitchen, and before I’ve made a conscious decision to do so, I’m moving toward Ace’s room. It’s still strange to me to have free rein of the apartment, even though I did when I was with Lombardi to some extent. But it’s probably a good thing I’m not quite used to it yet. One less thing to miss when it all goes away.
A groan stops me in my tracks a few feet from the door that’s slightly ajar. I listen for a few seconds before taking a step forward. It was probably just Ace making sounds in his sleep. I’ll just turn the light off for him and then go get myself a drink and head back to bed.
I’m almost in the doorway when a muttered curse accompanies another moan, and the faint sound of slapping fills my ears. What is he…
I don’t get a chance to ask myself the question because a moment later, there’s another moan. My name. The sound full of passion and need, and I realize what he’s doing.
He’s pleasuring himself…to the thought of me.
I take a step back, not wanting to interrupt a private moment, but the next groan pulls me right back to the door like a magnet. I shouldn’t want to ever think about sex again after the things I’ve seen, but of course Ace makes me break all the rules. He always has.
I inch closer until I can see just a sliver of the room through the gap. Ace lies in the middle of the bed, his hand moving slowly over his hard cock. Holy shit, he’s huge. His palm glides up and down his hardness, precum gathering at the tip before he drags it down his length in controlled swipes.
An ache pools in my belly, my core throbbing in an unfamiliar way. Have I ever actually wanted sex? Or was it always forced upon me? The question is like a bucket of freezing ice water, but I still can’t tear my eyes away from the scene playing out in front of me. My god, is it erotic.
I’ve seen plenty of men stroke themselves, usually immediately before forcing themselves on me or one of the other girls, but this is different.
This is art.
The movements are graceful, even as his veins bulge from his forearm and his head falls back against the pillows in bliss, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed.
“Mia, fuck,” he groans. My name on his lips is a prayer, but I can’t be his salvation. Not when all I’ll ever be able to bring him is damnation.
I rub my thighs together, the need for friction too much for me to ignore, despite all the reasons I should. I’m broken. Fucked up. Destroyed from all the men who took what I didn’t offer them.
And yet the sight of Ace stroking himself sets a fire to life in my core that I’m desperate to stoke, to watch the flames and feel them lick at my skin.
I want to burn if it means I can accept a man’s touch just once and not see the demons of my past.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ACE
