Page 133 of Trailer Trash

It takes a while, but his pumps slow. I can feel him all around me. I hate that part of me wants this — to have Killian this close, because this is the result.

He’s troubled, and I knew it. He relapsed as I first expected. I put myself in his path and have suffered for it.

There’s no point arguing with a man on drugs, but with him calmer, I have a chance to get out of here alive.

“What do you want from me? I’ll give it to you, okay? Just don’t cut me.”

“I want you,” he murmurs, squeezing my breast hard and pinching the nipple, making me feel his frustration.

His other hand presses the blade against my throat, nicking the skin. A small blood droplet rolls down the side of my neck.

Afraid he’ll cut deeper, I spew every desperate word I can think of.

“I’m sorry, Killian. I’m sorry. I’ll be good, okay? Whatever you want. I was a whore, but I won’t be anymore. I’ll just be all yours. Okay? I only want you. I love you. I did that because you left me and I was so sad. But, but, now we’re okay.”

A beat.

Thew.

He spits on my face, hot and wet against my cheek, causing me to flinch hard.

“I threw you away because you are fucking trailer trash,” he says darkly.

He smears his spit, rubbing it in my eye, over my nose and mouth. Then he licks it up, cleaning and tasting my skin like he owns every part of my body.

“You’re beneath me, Harlow. You’re nothing. Nothing... And I want nothing all the goddamn time. I’m not supposed to want anyone, but God, I want you.”

His mouth finds mine, and his kiss devours me.

My heart skips a beat. He kisses me like I mean something to him. Like this isn’t rape. Like this isn’t wrath. Like he’s breaking inside.

“I fucking miss you the second you leave me,” he says against my mouth. “And you’re too fucking stupid to see it.”

A kiss and a stab.

No, a cut, because the blade’s edge hits a nerve and I grimace.

“You’re right! I’m so stupid. I see it now. Okay?”

I’ll say anything. I may die if I don’t. I continue, frantic.

“I’ve loved you since we kissed on that dance floor. Please! Please don’t kill me.”

His hips pause, sudden and tense. He cups my jaw, forcing me to look into those haunting eyes.

“Kill you. Why would I kill you?”

I stare into his eyes, searching for the man I love behind the cocaine and chaos. “Look at my neck. You’re cutting me.”

His gaze snaps down. The cold blade vanishes.

He kisses my neck as if that will heal it. I pray this means the battle is over.

It isn’t.

He resumes, and fucks me until he releases — his climax lacking something I once knew.

“I didn’t get you off,” he says as he catches his breath. “I need to get you off.”