Chapter 80 Tell Me to Stop
Emily's POV
"Tell me to stop," Alex murmured. His mouth close to my ear now. His breath warm against my neck. "Tell me you don't want this."
I should have.
Should have told him to get his hands off me. To leave. To stop touching me like he had any right to my body or my grief.
But the words wouldn't come.
Then I felt his lips.
Not on my mouth. On my temple. Soft. Barely there.
He kissed my eyebrow. The arch of it. Then the other one. His lips moving with a gentleness that made my throat tight.
The corner of my mouth. Not my lips. Just the edge where they curved.
My jaw. My neck. The hollow at the base of my throat.
Each kiss so tender it felt like an apology. Like worship.
His hands pushed my t-shirt up slowly. Exposing my skin inch by inch. And his mouth followed. Trailing kisses down my sternum. The valley between my breasts.
Not touching them. Deliberately avoiding my nipples even as his lips traced the curve underneath.
My ribs. My stomach. The jut of my hipbone.
He took my hand. Brought it to his mouth. Kissed my palm. Then each finger. One by one. Like he was memorizing them.
My inner wrist where my pulse was racing.
I opened my eyes and found him watching me. His expression unreadable in the dim light. But his touch—his touch was so careful. So gentle.
Like I was something precious. Something that might break.
It made me want to cry for entirely different reasons.
Because this wasn't just desire. Wasn't just possession or control or any of the things I'd convinced myself he felt.
This was tenderness.
And it hurt worse than anything else he could have done to me.
His mouth moved lower. Kissing down my thigh. The inside of my knee. My calf. My ankle.
He lifted my foot. Pressed his lips to the arch. Then each toe.
The intimacy of it made me want to pull away. Made me feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked.
But I didn't move. Just lay there and let him kiss every part of me except the places that would push this into something purely sexual.
He avoided my mouth. My breasts. The space between my legs.
Like he was making a point. Like he was showing me this was about more than just physical release.
"Alex," I whispered. My voice breaking on his name.
He looked up at me from where he was kneeling between my legs. His hands on my thighs.
"I know," he said quietly.
Then his hands were pushing my legs apart. Wider. Until my knees were pressed toward my shoulders and I was completely open to him.
Completely vulnerable.
I felt my face burn with shame. With the knowledge of what I must look like. What he was seeing.
Ethan had just left. Had just walked away crying. And here I was. Legs spread. Letting another man touch me.
Letting him look at me like this.
I was a whore.
The thought hit me with brutal clarity. That's what I was. That's what I'd become.
Someone who could move from one man to another in the span of hours. Who could grieve and want simultaneously. Who could hate herself and still chase pleasure like it might fill the emptiness inside.
Then I felt his mouth.
Not his fingers. His mouth.
His tongue sliding through my folds. Tasting me. Learning me.
A sound escaped my throat. Half sob. Half moan.
I wanted to push him away. Wanted to close my legs and hide and pretend this wasn't happening.
But my body was already responding. Already chasing the sensation even as my mind recoiled from it.
His tongue found my clit. Circled it with maddening precision.
Then he was sucking. Gently at first. Then harder.
My hips lifted off the mattress involuntarily. My hands fisted in his hair even as tears leaked from the corners of my eyes.
This was wrong. This was so wrong.
But it felt—
God, it felt—
His tongue pushed inside me. Fucking me slowly while his thumb found my clit. Pressing. Circling.
I turned my head to the side. Unable to watch. Unable to see him between my legs doing this to me while I cried.
The pleasure built despite my resistance. Despite the shame burning through me. Despite the voice in my head screaming that I was disgusting. That I was exactly what Ethan had feared I was.
A girl who would spread her legs for anyone. Who would take whatever was offered without thought. Without conscience.
Alex's mouth worked me with a skill that spoke of experience. Of knowledge. Finding every sensitive spot. Exploiting it ruthlessly.
His tongue. His lips. His fingers working in concert to push me higher.
I felt the orgasm building. Felt my body tightening around his fingers as he thrust them inside me. His mouth still on my clit. Sucking. Licking.
"No," I whispered. "No, I can't—"
But I could.
And I did.
The climax hit me hard. Rolling through my body in waves that left me gasping. Shaking. My thighs trembling against his shoulders.
I came with his mouth on me. With his name on my lips even though I hated myself for saying it.
Came while crying. While hating myself. While feeling both cherished and degraded in equal measure.
He didn't stop until I was boneless. Until I was pushing weakly at his head because the sensation had crossed from pleasure into something too intense to bear.
Then he crawled up my body. Gathered me against his chest despite my attempt to turn away.
I was sobbing now. Really sobbing. My whole body shaking with it.
"I hate myself," I choked out against his shoulder. The words muffled by his skin and my own tears. "I hate myself. I hate myself."
"And I love you," Alex said quietly.
The words made me flinch. Made me try to pull away.
But he held me tighter. Wouldn't let me retreat.
"Stop," I said. My voice sharp despite the tears. "Stop saying that. You're not allowed to say that again."
He was quiet for a moment. His hand moving in slow circles against my back.
"Why not?"
"Because you don't love me." I pushed at his chest. Needing distance. Needing him to understand. "You don't. You can't."