Read Online Raw, A Dark Romance by Tawny Taylor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tawny Taylor
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my backside reminded me what I would be in for if I stayed. And while I hated to admit that the pain had done something unexpected, had cleansed me of some guilt and remorse about my sister, I wasn’t ready for more of what I’d already received. And even more importantly, I wasn’t ready for the emotions churning in my gut as I stared into that man’s eyes.
Why the hell did I care that he looked so upset?
“How is your ankle?” he asked, his brows furrowed.
“My ankle is fine. As good as new,” I said, leaving out the fact that my ass was still sore. The fact was, I had to take some of the blame for that. I hadn’t said the safe word. He would have stopped if I had. Softer, I said, “Adios, Señor Ramos. Thank you for letting me leave early.”
His jaw clenched ever so slightly. “You are welcome.”
I moved, jerkily, the pain in my ass stilting my movement.
In that moment an involuntary reaction, a tiny cringe, pulled at his features. He motioned toward the door. “It is for the best you leave now.”
“Yes.” It was better for me. For him…I wasn’t so sure. I remembered what he had said last night, while watching me sleep, that he felt something different with me. And I wondered if I did something for him somehow. That I helped him.
What if by leaving I halted what could have been a very good thing? A healing experience?
Intending to move toward the door, I took a couple of steps. But instead of heading that direction, I traveled toward him. Pausing a few feet from his tense, massive bulk, I stared up into his eyes. “I hope someday you’re free of your shackles, too.”
Rage ignited in his eyes, taking me off guard. “ Vete al carajo, puta! Bitch!” Lunging forward, he caught my upper arms in his fists and shook me. “Don’t give me your fucking pity. I don’t deserve anyone’s pity. Do you fucking hear me? Do you?”
My teeth chattered as he shook me. “Y-yes. I hear you. I don’t feel pity. I—“
Yanking his hands away, he curled them into fists. “Good. Because the only thing you should ever feel for me is disgust. And hatred. Fear.” He pointed an index finger at my nose. “You got that? Hatred. Nothing else. No pity. No affection. No fucking kindness. Do you know what I am? I’m a monster. An animal. Do you know what I do? I buy girls like you. I pay money to break them, to bruise and maim, to whip. I need to hear them scream. I need to hear them beg and cry. They’re nothing to me but things. A means to my satisfaction. Voices to cry out for mercy. Skins to bruise and cut. Canvases to paint with pain.”
Unafraid, despite the rage burning in his eyes, I asked, “Why? Why do you do those things?”
“Why do you feel joy when you eat your favorite food? Why do you feel satisfied when you do your favorite things? Why? Can you tell me that? Then you’ve answered your own question.”
I understood and yet I didn’t. How had this man become so convinced that he wasn’t human? I saw the beast in him. There was no way to not see it. But I saw the human inside him, too.
In those quiet moments last night, when he showed the slightest tenderness. When he snuck into my room and stared down at me, thinking I was sleeping. When he watched me, wincing ever so slightly at the sight of my pain from his lashes. When he silently cringed with regret as he unshackled my wrists and ankles. I saw those moments. Every single one of them. He didn’t know it. Maybe because he himself didn’t realize what he was doing.
But that tenderness, it was real. And it, not the cruelty of the beast, was what I feared most. God help me if I fell in love with this man. God help me. Because I knew it would be a miracle if I survived.
And yet, I was drawn to him. Even as he blustered and shouted, I felt a magnetic draw, pulling me toward him. He was so beautiful and yet so dangerous, like a massive lion. Majestic and powerful. And just like that beast, I knew he had the strength and the instinct to
Why the hell did I care that he looked so upset?
“How is your ankle?” he asked, his brows furrowed.
“My ankle is fine. As good as new,” I said, leaving out the fact that my ass was still sore. The fact was, I had to take some of the blame for that. I hadn’t said the safe word. He would have stopped if I had. Softer, I said, “Adios, Señor Ramos. Thank you for letting me leave early.”
His jaw clenched ever so slightly. “You are welcome.”
I moved, jerkily, the pain in my ass stilting my movement.
In that moment an involuntary reaction, a tiny cringe, pulled at his features. He motioned toward the door. “It is for the best you leave now.”
“Yes.” It was better for me. For him…I wasn’t so sure. I remembered what he had said last night, while watching me sleep, that he felt something different with me. And I wondered if I did something for him somehow. That I helped him.
What if by leaving I halted what could have been a very good thing? A healing experience?
Intending to move toward the door, I took a couple of steps. But instead of heading that direction, I traveled toward him. Pausing a few feet from his tense, massive bulk, I stared up into his eyes. “I hope someday you’re free of your shackles, too.”
Rage ignited in his eyes, taking me off guard. “ Vete al carajo, puta! Bitch!” Lunging forward, he caught my upper arms in his fists and shook me. “Don’t give me your fucking pity. I don’t deserve anyone’s pity. Do you fucking hear me? Do you?”
My teeth chattered as he shook me. “Y-yes. I hear you. I don’t feel pity. I—“
Yanking his hands away, he curled them into fists. “Good. Because the only thing you should ever feel for me is disgust. And hatred. Fear.” He pointed an index finger at my nose. “You got that? Hatred. Nothing else. No pity. No affection. No fucking kindness. Do you know what I am? I’m a monster. An animal. Do you know what I do? I buy girls like you. I pay money to break them, to bruise and maim, to whip. I need to hear them scream. I need to hear them beg and cry. They’re nothing to me but things. A means to my satisfaction. Voices to cry out for mercy. Skins to bruise and cut. Canvases to paint with pain.”
Unafraid, despite the rage burning in his eyes, I asked, “Why? Why do you do those things?”
“Why do you feel joy when you eat your favorite food? Why do you feel satisfied when you do your favorite things? Why? Can you tell me that? Then you’ve answered your own question.”
I understood and yet I didn’t. How had this man become so convinced that he wasn’t human? I saw the beast in him. There was no way to not see it. But I saw the human inside him, too.
In those quiet moments last night, when he showed the slightest tenderness. When he snuck into my room and stared down at me, thinking I was sleeping. When he watched me, wincing ever so slightly at the sight of my pain from his lashes. When he silently cringed with regret as he unshackled my wrists and ankles. I saw those moments. Every single one of them. He didn’t know it. Maybe because he himself didn’t realize what he was doing.
But that tenderness, it was real. And it, not the cruelty of the beast, was what I feared most. God help me if I fell in love with this man. God help me. Because I knew it would be a miracle if I survived.
And yet, I was drawn to him. Even as he blustered and shouted, I felt a magnetic draw, pulling me toward him. He was so beautiful and yet so dangerous, like a massive lion. Majestic and powerful. And just like that beast, I knew he had the strength and the instinct to
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