Before We Fall

Chapter Thirty

Dominic

I sit for quite some time, but eventually the room closes in on me, dark and silent. The walls cave in and I swing at them, punching a hole into the drywall. But it’s not enough. I glance into the mirror and hate how destroyed I look, so I pick up a heavy stone vase and throw it into the mirror. It all shatters onto the floor.

Within a minute, Jacey appears in the door, hesitant and beautiful. “Are you OK?” she asks as she stares at the broken glass.

I stare at her, hard.

“No.”

She takes a step toward me, but I stop her.

“No,” I tell her. “Don’t come in. It’s ugly in here, Jacey.”

“I want to help,” she says softly. “Tell me how to help, Dom.”

I shake my head, staring at her. All of the feelings that I’ve suppressed so long—combined with the new ones that I have over Sin’s betrayal—come bubbling to the surface, and I feel consumed by them. Consumed by the ugliness.

“You want to help?” I ask between my teeth, taking a step toward her. “Fine. Come help, Jacey.”

I don’t see her. Not really. I see her blond hair, her goodness, her innocence, and my pain. I see a lot of my pain. And my pain fuels my anger.

Jacey willingly steps into the room, right up to me.

“Go ahead,” she says quietly, like she knows what I want to do. Like she knows what I need to do to get rid of this godforsaken pain.

I grab her arms, hard, shoving her onto the bed as I hover over her. “I’ve told you not to be with me,” I snarl. “I told you. I warned you. You should’ve listened.”

Jacey stares at me, unafraid, as I wrap my fist in the hair at her neck, pulling her to me to kiss her ferociously. There’s nothing tender in my kiss. There’s ugliness there. Roughness. Hatred and pain.

She kisses me back, angrily, her teeth scraping against mine.

“Fine. You need me to vent? Vent to me, Dom. Go ahead. Do it. Vent in me if you need to. I can take it.”

Her dark eyes hold a challenge, and suddenly she’s angry too.

“You use this darkness, this roughness as a mask, Dom,” she tells me, her brown eyes snapping. “For years, you’ve lingered on the edge of taboo, doing things that most people don’t because that’s what you think you deserve. You confused it for being something you actually like.”

“Oh, I like it,” I tell her firmly, pulling her to me roughly and nipping at her neck. There’s a red mark where my teeth were. “Make no mistake about that. I like being rough. I like the pain, Jacey.”

I pick her up and shove her against the wall, thrusting my hips into hers as I pin here there, staring into her eyes. “Trust me, I do it because I want to. Not because I’m confused.”

I lift her thighs and slam her into the wall again, not too hard, but hard enough to prove my point. My dick is rock hard now, fueled by anger and the feeling of her pussy pressed against it.

“You like the pain because it takes your mind off of what really hurts, Dominic,” Jacey says softly. “That’s what you like.”

But she kisses me, and her mouth is soft and sweet and it tightens my groin, against my better judgment, against any good that’s left in me.

“You don’t want to be with me right now,” I warn her. “Trust me.”

Jacey looks me in the eye.

“Don’t tell me what I want to do,” she commands softly. “If you can dish it, I can take it.”

Fumbling with my jeans, I pull my dick out, shove her skirt up, and thrust into her hard, with no preamble, no foreplay. Her eyes widen, but she takes it without a whimper or a sigh.

Pinning her against the wall, I hold her wrists above her head with one hand, squeezing them hard.

“Still want to take it?” I growl into her mouth.

She nods, her eyes surprisingly glazed over… with lust. “Fuck me,” she says breathlessly as I thrust into her over and over. “I can take it. I want to take it.”

So I do.

I fuck her hard, I fuck her into the wall, grinding her back into it, an outlet for my ugliness. But as I open my eyes finally, hers are staring into mine.

And they’re brown. Not blue.

She’s Jacey, not Emma.

And all the rage that I’m feeling, it’s not directed at her. The pain that I’m feeling… it’s not because of her.

I freeze as the revelation occurs to me. As I realize that she was right. I like pain because it’s an outlet for what I really feel. It’s a vent. And I’m not venting into Jacey.

Sliding Jacey off the wall, I carry her to the bed.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her urgently as I use my knee to open her legs. She lets them fall easily open, and I slide into her, gently this time. “I’m sorry, Jacey.”

She closes her eyes and pulls me to her, letting my head rest in the crook of her shoulder. The energy of the room has changed from frenetic to soft, from rough to gentle.

I come softly, silently, straining into her, holding her to me.

I destroy everyone I touch.

I can’t destroy her.