Hurt the One You Love Read online

  "I don't like gin," Elliott said.

  "I don't like being talked to in that tone of voice," Simone shot back.

  He didn't answer her right away. She waited for his expression to soften. For an apology. All she got was a shrug.

  The meal was silent and uncomfortable, and though there'd been times before when he'd made her angry, and sometimes he'd made her cry, before now Elliott had never made her feel this . . . anxious despair. Simone didn't give in to that, though. Nor did she try to coo or placate him, or try to jolly him out of his mood. He didn't even bother to make small talk.

  Neither of them ate very much.

  Afterward, he did carry the dishes to the sink and help her put away the food. He moved around her kitchen as though he owned it, finding the right containers for leftovers without having to ask. Cleaning up the messes she'd left on the stove and in the sink. Simone stood back and gave him his space, but in her small kitchen it was only a matter of time before they bumped into each other.

  "Sorry," Elliott said grudgingly as he turned. When she didn't say anything but tried to move past him, he took her by the elbow to get her to look at him. "Simone. I'm sorry."

  Emotion flooded her, and she blinked back tears. "What's wrong with you tonight?"

  "Nothing. Forget it. I just . . ." He shrugged and took the butter dish from her and set it on the counter behind him, leaving her hands empty. He pulled her close.

  He kissed her.

  And dammit, even though she'd been angry with him for being such an asshole, there wasn't much she could do when he kissed her other than to kiss him back. It wasn't anything like gentle, and Simone whimpered at the crush of her teeth against her lips. When his hands gripped her hips hard enough to pinch, shudders of pleasure rippled through her.

  He backed her up against the counter, pinning her. When she tried to put her arms around his neck, he grabbed her wrists and kept her hands at her sides. He squeezed, tight and tighter, and she loved it.

  She gasped when he put his mouth to her throat, using his teeth. She gave him her neck, arching her back to encourage him as he pushed her harder against the line of the counter, causing it to sink deep into her back.

  This was what she wanted. This urgency, this roughness. Yes, this pain.

  When he put his hand beneath her dress, finding her garters, Elliott groaned and buried his face against her. "Fuck, Simone. You are so fucking sexy."

  His words thrilled her. The way he pushed his fingers inside her panties even more so. When he found her clit, rolling it, her hips bucked and she cried out.

  "Harder," she breathed. "Oh, please, Elliott . . . hurt me. . . ."

  He stopped.

  Pulled away. There were inches between them when only a heartbeat ago there'd been no space at all. Breathing hard, Elliott backed even farther away.

  Confused, Simone shook her dress down over her thighs and pushed away from the counter. "Elliott . . . "

  He held up a hand to silence her. "I'm leaving."

  "What?"

  He didn't answer her. He just left her in the kitchen. Simone didn't settle for that. She went after him.

  "Don't you walk away from me," she told him in a shaky voice. It was hard for her to catch a breath.

  He looked back at her. "I can't do that."

  "Can't do . . . what?" She realized what he meant before he answered her. "Hurt me? Is that what you mean?"

  Elliott shook his head, though he was not disagreeing. "What kind of man puts his hands on a woman and uses them to hurt her?"

  The self-loathing in his voice stunned her. She reached for him, but he shrugged away from her touch. "You do understand, don't you, the difference between trying to hurt someone out of anger, and playing with pain to give someone pleasure? I mean . . . there's a difference, Elliott."

  "It's sick." His voice grated, harsh, not like his normal tone at all. It sounded broken, like a bottle shattered on brick. "It's sick to hurt someone and like it."

  "Not if the other person likes it, too," Simone said. "Not if you both like it and agree--"

  "I don't agree!" Elliott shouted. "It's wrong and sick and disgusting."

  She stared at him. "I like pain, in the right circumstances. I like it when you give it to me. I thought you understood that. And you seemed to like it, too. And there's nothing wrong about it, or sick, or twisted, or dirty."

  "It makes me feel that way," Elliott said.

  Sickened, Simone swallowed hard against a surge of bitterness. "I would never want you to feel that way about anything we do together, Elliott. But I don't understand why, if you feel that way, you . . . did it. With me. Before."

  He said nothing, his hand on the doorknob. His shoulders rose and fell with his breathing. He looked away from her.

  She didn't try to move closer. In fact, Simone thought if she tried to walk, she would trip and fall and not be able to get back up. She was shaking again, but this time not with passion.

  "I would never want you to do something that made you feel bad about yourself," she told him. "I love you."

  Elliott flinched. "Don't."

  "I love you," she said, a little louder. A little stronger. She waited another handful of seconds before saying, "Now would be the time for you to say something, Elliott."

  "I don't want to see you again."

  Simone drew in a long, sobbing breath that hurt her in every single pore, but managed to find the voice to answer him. "That's not what I was hoping to hear."

  "I'm sorry."

  "You're not sorry!" she shouted, sending him back against the front door though she hadn't done so much as take a step toward him. "You're not sorry, you're a fucking asshole!"

  "Fine. Then I'm an asshole."

  "I'm not going to beg you to stay with me," Simone said.

  "I wouldn't expect you to." He opened the door.

  "Now would be the time," Simone called after him, barely able to get the words out, "to tell me that being with me did not disgust you."

  He looked over his shoulder at her. "I can't tell you that."

  "Get out," Simone said. Her voice rose into a throat-shredding scream. "If being with me disgusts you so much, then just get out! Go!"

  And then, damn him, he went.

  Chapter 33

  Simone ran.

  Not physically--the shoes made that impossible. But in her heart, she ran. As fast and far from Elliott as she could.

  She ran to Aidan. Of course she did. He'd always been there to give her what she craved, what she needed. What she had long ago discovered she could live without only if she decided to be unhappy, dissatisfied, discontent. Until Elliott, Aidan had been the only man to ever understand her well enough to make her happy.

  At the thought of it, a giant fist squeezed her heart and her throat until she couldn't breathe. On the sidewalk in front of Aidan's building Simone staggered as though drunk, turning the heads of the couple passing by. She bared her teeth at them, daring them to offer to help her. The man took in the sight of her dress, the stockings, the shoes, probably the makeup smearing her face. For a moment he half reached for her, but the woman on his arm pulled him back with a glare.

  There was a moment, standing in front of Aidan's front door, when Simone second-guessed herself. Her knuckles brushed the painted wood without knocking. She put both hands flat on it. Then her forehead. She could walk away now, before he answered. He would never even know she'd been there, but she would remember it. What she'd done when Elliott rejected her. Who'd she'd come to. She would always remember that.

  With a hitching sob, Simone knocked. Then again, harder, bruising her hand and not caring. It was a different kind of pain, the sort she inflicted on herself, but that didn't matter. She slammed her fist against the door until the skin split.

  "Simone? What's wrong?" Aidan asked.

  He wore a pair of jeans slung low on his hips to show off the V of his abs, the first tufting hint of pubic hair. Bare feet. His hair brushed his shoulders in tangled