Hurting To Feel (Carpool Dolls) (24 page)

"Letting
go?" She stood, holding her bag, afraid he'd stop talking if she moved any
closer.

His
chest rose and fell. "I would've hurt you last night. I…I needed something
more than rough sex, and you're not ready."

"More?"
A sharp pain, whether imagined or real, pierced her chest and she dropped her
bag to press her hand between her breasts. "You saw a woman?"

He
barely moved, but she caught the slight nod. Her legs gave out and she reached
for the wall. "Oh, God."

"It's
not what you think." He turned and for the first time, she saw the naked
truth.

His
clear eyes, pained and guilty, stared back at her without any kind of shield to
protect her from what really happened last night. He'd gone to someone else
after making love to her.

Bile
rose in her throat. She shook head. "No…"

"It
meant nothing." He moved toward her, and she held up her hands.
"Okay. Okay. I won't touch you."

"I
need to get out of here." She almost tripped over her bag.

Nathan
grabbed her before she could fall. She struck out, swinging and slapping at his
hands. "God dammit, don't touch me."

"Addy,
you have to listen," he said.

"I
don't have to do a damn thing you tell me to do." She pushed, and he let
her go. She stumbled to stay on her feet. "You're an asshole. God. You
fucked someone else. You might as well kill me now. I gave you a part of me
I've never given anyone. I told you things that—she closed her mouth and
muffled her scream—how could you?"

"It
didn't mean anything." He struck out and punched the wall. "I didn't
have sex with her."

She
laughed, but the sound came out raw and hideous. "Oh, then that makes it okay.
What did you do, get a blowjob? Have her jerk you off? Oh. Oh. Oh. Maybe you
fucked her between the tits and called it good, huh?"

He
was on her before she could get away. He shook her shoulders. "I beat her.
You want to hear what I do? I paid some woman off the streets to strip in front
of me while I took my belt to her back, her legs, her ass, and I liked it. I split
her lip with the back of my knuckles, and the only thing I wanted to do was
hurt her more—he cupped her face and forced her to look at him—but instead of
feeling good, feeling complete, feeling aroused, I felt nothing. Do you know
why?"

He
laid his forehead on hers. His breath mingled with hers, and the small comfort
of his warmth was her undoing. She trembled. Her heart broke into a million
pieces. Deep down, she'd trusted him despite him keeping secrets from her.

She'd
willingly let him take advantage of her, because he gave her the one thing she
craved more than anything else in her life. Acceptance.

For
years, she'd covered the scars from having a mother who hated her, a father who
rejected her, and the condemnation from every boyfriend who viewed her need to
save other women who had it even worse than her, and had nothing. At least, she
could pretend the good feelings she gave away to the carpool dolls were normal.
The need for someone to pay her attention in the cruelest way possible wasn't a
need to hurt herself, but one she knew well.

"Addy,
do you know why?" He tightened his hold on her.

The
people in her life, who were supposed to love her, instead hurt her. Nathan's
constant control and dominating every aspect of her life was supposed to mean
he truly cared or she thought at the time, but she was wrong. He was only using
her, and she wasn't even good enough to satisfy him.

She
couldn't even distinguish between sex and love.

"Look
at me, doll," he whispered.

She
struggled with each breath, and raised her gaze. With their heads touching, his
lips brushed hers as he spoke. "She wasn't you."

She
tried to shake her head, denying his words. "You don't understand. I gave
you all I had, and you threw it all back in my face by going to another
woman."

"Dammit,
stop. I went to someone else last night, because you were home in my bed, safe
and content. I want you with me, I want to protect you against the…the ugliness
I have inside of me. You don't deserve to take on what I battle."

"No,
no, no," she whispered.

"Addy,
it's you I want and need. I'm scared shitless I'm going to go too far and
you'll walk out of my life. That deep down I'm too much for you to handle. I
can't lose you. I won't lose you. If that means leaving you home in my bed and
letting myself go with someone else, that's what I'll do."

Blinded
by her tears, she grasped his wrists, wanting him to hold her. "I'd do
anything for you. I'd go through all the pain and emotional shit, just to have
that piece of you that you don't give anyone. Don't you understand?"

"I'll
hurt you," he whispered.

Yes,
he would. Her body heated and she shook his arms, though they never budged from
her. She had to make him understand.

She'd
die for the love he was willing to give. She only had to prove she was worth
it.

"Give
me another chance, please?" As if confessing, her legs then gave out and Nathan
swept her into his arms. She buried her face in his neck and whispered, "I
want you to hurt me."

Chapter
Twenty-Seven

Nathan
was wrong.

He
didn't lay a hand on Addison and he broke her. He caught the hands that clutched,
grabbed, and stroked him in her mad obsession to prove she was good enough for
him. In one move, he turned her around, pinned her back against his chest. He
held her arms crossed in front of her to keep from being touched.

"Sh."
He breathed deeply in her ear, checking himself against throwing her down and
taking everything she promised and more. "I know."

His
cock, hard and pressing into the ass of her jeans, refused to listen. He wanted
her. Every worry, every fear, every desire, urged him to strip her of
everything she threw at him. He wanted what she'd give him willingly, and then
he'd take what she held from him.

Greedy
and hungry, something foreign to him took control. Having her body wasn't
enough. He wanted her soul.

"Please,"
she said, struggling in her containment.

He
ground his erection against her. "What do you want from me?"

"The
truth." She panted. "What did you give the…the woman that you won't
give me?"

Whether
he wanted to shock her or spill his guts, he said, "I picked up a
prostitute."

Her
body stiffened. All movements stopped. There, he had her attention.

"I
took her to an abandoned building and paid her to strip all her clothes
off." He walked her backward, dragging her into the bedroom until the back
of his legs met the mattress, and he sat, holding her on his lap.

The
pressure of her weight on his cock tormented and pleased him. "Like I told
you, I used my belt on her and I wasn't easy. I left welts and no doubt, this
morning she carries my mark. She meant nothing, only an object for me to use.
I've fed—he blew out his breath—I've caved to my desires since I was a teenager
with women, girls, any female who wanted attention, no matter what form of
contact, and I willingly used them. That's what makes me different than
you…than everybody else."

"D-did
you touch her with your hands?" she whispered.

The
hurt and insecurity in her question made him wish he'd never left the bed last
night. His job was to protect her and instead, he'd planted doubt in her head
that had no place there. The impossible task of showing her the truth never
felt so heavy at this moment. Whether he lied or told admitted his guilt, she
wasn't capable of understanding.

The
only one who understood him was Professor Frank, and even he couldn't help him
dig his way out of the hole he'd created.

"I
touched her." He cleared his throat. "To hurt her. I caused her pain
with my hand. It was not sexual this time. Since I've known you, I've never
used a woman for sex."

Her
chest expanded with her gasp, and he held her tighter.

"I
hate you," she whispered.

"I
know," he whispered back.

He
simply held her, because for how much he wished he could be normal for her, for
himself, he'd tried to protect her. However, he knew he couldn't hold back from
her any longer.

He'd
gone three years without raising a hand to another person before and he'd
focused all his attention on growing his business. Back then, he'd thought he
could outrun the darkness, but it always caught up with him. It always came
back worse than before.

He
lied and fooled himself into thinking he could push away his need to strip the
power from others the way Professor Frank succeeded in accomplishing what he
set out to do, despite the school being clueless on who was teaching classes.
But Nathan wasn't a teacher, he wasn't good, and he sure in the hell wasn't
doing penance for living a shit life when he was owed pleasure.

He
kissed the side of her head. "I'll take you home."

Ignoring
the way her body stiffened, he set her on her feet and steadied her until she
was okay standing on her own. Then he led her out of the room, picked up her
bag, and took her to the car.

They
traveled in silence. He stared at the road, but he was conscious of her beside
him the whole way. She shed no tears and for that, he was thankful.

All
he needed was one sign that she wasn't fully cooperating with his decision and
he'd turn the car around. He begged her silently to put an end to today. He
knew for her happiness, he had to let her go.

Because
for how much he'd wanted to break her, he'd accomplished the opposite.

She'd
nearly broken him.

###

Hollow
and rejected, Addison sat on the floor in her bedroom. The box of her mother's
belongings lay in front of her. She stared a hole in the cardboard. After
hiring a company to clean out her mother's house and give it all away to
charity after her death, the only thing she kept were the contents of the
safety deposit box.

Mr.
Foster, her mother's attorney, had contacted her after the memorial service and
handed her a key. Finally free of any pre-conceived idea of how she should live
her life, she'd rebelled and refused to go over the contents. The wealth, the
properties, the bitter show of what Carly Flint achieved in her life had
nothing to do with her.

There
was no reason to pretend that her things mattered to her after her mother's
death, because they meant nothing while she was alive. Her mother refused to
love her, despite living in the same house for eighteen years. The moment she
graduated, she'd gone off to college and disowned her mother.

Only
when she returned with a grant to start a small business and bought the house
three blocks away from the house she grew up in did she come into contact with
her mother again. She closed her eyes. Exhausted, she had better things to do
than bring up the rush of horrible memories.

Nevertheless,
when Nathan drove her home, she'd realized her life was truly fucked up. Not
only had she fallen short of pleasing Nathan, and ultimately had her heart
broken, she'd spilled her guts to him about the man who fathered her. She
couldn't ignore the valid danger she'd created by letting her secret out.

She
blew out her breath and picked at the tape on the top of the box. If the
threats were real, her mother would document what Curt Stewart was capable of
doing. She'd cover her tracks, and leave behind evidence the police would find
upon her death if she died unnaturally.

Instead,
a blood clot to the brain killed her.

Rrriiippp.
She shook her hand to get the tape off, and opened the flaps.

Folders,
envelopes, papers lay neatly in piles. She paused before reaching inside. She
didn't know what she expected to find, maybe some sign that her mother was a real
human being with feelings and possessions she couldn't manage to throw out over
the years, a picture Addison finger-painted in Kindergarten or the clay ashtray
she'd made in summer camp would've surprised her. Contents out of a filing
cabinet only added to her growing disappointments.

She
extracted a handful of files and thumbed through them before setting them to
the side. Investments and bonds might as well have been house deeds and car
titles. She imagined if she ever had kids, someday she'd liquidate her mother's
holdings to pay for their education or to help them settle in life, but she'd
never use the money to further her own career. She wanted nothing from the
woman who gave her even less than nothing in return.

Underneath
the papers, a slim cardboard box like the ones Nordstrom's give out at
Christmas time lay at the bottom. She rubbed her hands across the hem of her
shirt. The name Curt Stewart written across the top sent her heart racing.

Before
she could talk herself out of putting everything away, she lifted the box and
carried it to the bed. She eyed the phone. Maybe she should let someone know
that she was going through her mom's stuff.