Page 145 of Wicked Nightmare

The nightstand went next, drawers spilling their contents as it crashed to the ground. I kicked at the scattered debris, my vision blurred by a red haze of rage and remembered terror.

"You fuckers," I snarled, tearing at the bedsheets. "You goddamn monsters!"

She let me get it all out, knowing once the storm was over, she'd take my violence in measures of love. She didn't speak, didn't try to stop me. She just sat, watching me with those unnervingly calm blue eyes.

Part of me wanted to lash out at her, to make her feel a fraction of the pain tearing me apart. But even in my frenzy, I couldn't bring myself to hurt her. Not Lakey. Never Lakey.

Instead, I slumped to the floor, surrounded by the wreckage of our room. "Why?" I choked out. "Why the fuck are you just sitting there? How are you not raging? How are you not breaking?"

I felt broken. Torn apart. This gaping mess of a hole that hadn't existed before this. I hated it. I wanted to shove it all back, to push the demons back in their cage, but it was too late. Their hands were clawing at me, pulling me down into the depths with them.

Her silence was deafening, her steady gaze an anchor. I wanted to shake her, to provoke a reaction, anything to distract me, to hurt me. I couldn't look away from her eyes. Those big, round eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, now held a depth I rarely saw. Her calmness won out and my breathing slowed, my chest heaving as I tried to regain some semblance of balance.

"Fuck," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. My fingers were shaking. "I really made a mess, didn't I?"

Lakey's lips quirked into a small smile. She didn't say a word, but her hand reached out, fingers brushing against my cheek. The touch was electric, pulling me back to myself in a way nothing else could.

I leaned into her hand, closing my eyes. The rage was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it wasn't consuming me anymore. "You always know, don't you?" I said softly. "You always know what I need."

When I opened my eyes again, Lakey's gaze had changed. There was understanding there, and something darker. Something needy. She shifted on the bed, her body language an open invitation.

"Lakey," a warning and a plea all at once. "You don't have to do this."

Her eyes never wavered. They bore into me, challenging and comforting all at once. Take what you need. I'm here. I can take it.

My hands clenched into fists. "You sure about this, sweetheart? 'Cause I'm not feeling too gentle right now."

Her only response was to lean back on the bed, a silent offering. And God help me, I couldn't resist.

I lunged forward, pinning Lakey to the bed with bruising force. My mouth crashed against hers, all teeth and tongue, tasting the blood that had collected on her bottom lip from earlier. She gasped, arching into me, her nails scoring down my back hard enough to leave welts that would sting for days.

"Fuck," I growled, tearing at her clothes. "I need—"

"I know," she breathed, her voice soothing even as her actions stoked the fire. "Take it, Cam. Take what you need."

I didn't need to be told twice. My hands were everywhere, rough and demanding, leaving marks that would bloom into bruises come morning. I yanked her shirt over her head, ripping it at the seam, and my mouth found her neck, her collarbone, biting down on the curve of her shoulder until she hissed and her hips bucked up into mine. Her fingers twisted in my hair, pulling hard, and the sting of it was grounding, real, present. Not a memory. Not a lab. Not Tommy's blood on white tile.

I shoved her jeans down her hips, not bothering with finesse. She kicked them off while I freed myself, shoving my sweats down just far enough. There was nothing tender about the way I gripped her thighs and spread them apart, nothing gentle about the way my fingers found her, slick and ready, and I groaned at the proof that she wanted this as much as I did. That this wrecked, broken version of me didn't repulse her. It turned her on.

I drove into her in one brutal stroke. She took all of it, her back bowing off the mattress, a raw, guttural moan ripping from her throat. Her hands flew to my shoulders, nails sinking in, and I pulled out slow, watched her face twist with the need for more, then slammed back in hard enough to shove her up the bed. The headboard cracked against the wall. Neither of us cared.

The memories were still playing out behind my eyelids. Electrodes. Cold tables. Tommy's eyes, staring at nothing. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block them out, but they kept coming, overlapping with the reality of Lakey's body beneath mine, her heat, her sounds, the way her pussy gripped me so tight it bordered on pain.

"Look at me," Lakey commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos in my head.

I obeyed, my gaze locking with hers as I continued to move. Her eyes were clear, unflinching, filled with a twisted sort of love that matched my own. She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, crossing her ankles behind my back, and I groaned, my forehead dropping to hers. I could feel every inch of her around me, wet and tight, and the sound of our bodies meeting was obscene in the wrecked room, slick skin against skin, the creak of the bed frame, her ragged breathing mixing with mine.

My hand found her throat, fingers tightening instinctively. I squeezed, felt her pulse hammering against my palm, wild and fast and alive, then released.

Lakey's lips curled into a serene smile, even as her breath hitched. "Give me more," she whispered.

I increased the pressure, watching as her eyes fluttered but never lost their focus. My perfect little psycho. In that moment, with my hand around her throat and her unwavering trust in her eyes, I felt anchored. The memories receded, replaced by the here and now. Lakey beneath me, taking everything I had to give and asking for more. I fucked her hard, each thrust punishing, driving into her with a force that should have scared her. Instead she moaned, her nails raking bloody lines down my arms, her back arching off the mattress, pulling me deeper.

"Harder," she gasped, and I gave her harder. My free hand gripped her hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh, tilting her up so I could hit that spot inside her that made her whole body shake. She cried out, her pussy clenching around me in a flutter that almost finished me right there.

"Not yet," I rasped against her ear. "Not until I say."

She whimpered, actually whimpered, and the sound shot straight to my cock. I slowed down, grinding deep inside her, rolling my hips in a way that kept her right on the edge without letting her fall. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, at my back, at anything she could reach. She was trembling, her thighs shaking against my sides, her breathing ragged and desperate.