Anderson and Robbie roared as their own climaxes shook their bones, both of them thrusting deep within me to flood me with their spunk.
Blood and cum dripped down my inner thighs as Anderson snapped open the cuffs and captured me in his arms when I dropped to the floor. My body felt heavy and I trembled in his embrace, making him pull me tighter to him protectively.
Once again, the softer side to him surfaced. He grunted something at Robbie that I couldn’t hear and I felt myself being carried through the house.
I was asleep before I felt the softness of the mattress cocoon my exhausted body.
WHY WAS IT THE HARDER we fell, the tighter we held on. To hope. To love?
Anderson had chained me to him. But those chains were fragile, corroded and brittle. One strong pull and the links would slip apart like paperchains crafted from the clumsy hands of babes. The tears of our hatred were the very things that would weaken those links holding us together, and would in the end break us.
Anderson paralysed the pain inside me by giving me the pain on the outside to focus on. He took the numb parts that haunted me and he bled life into them. He compelled me to feel the very things I had fought to forget for so long.
And now I had felt them, the pain and the pleasure, the overwhelming sensations that had engulfed me, I couldn’t imagine never feeling them again.
I had banished the truth of my life from my head for so long that my mind had forgotten they were there. My mother. Rape. The thump in my chest when the darkness started to seep into my nerve endings.
My fragile state of mind, at the age of nine, had blocked out the horrors that could, and would, send me insane, and they’d been locked down so securely that they had been buried under lies and fantasy.
Anderson had forced them free. And now Samantha once again had her say in my head, the real visions of my past slaughtered me over and over again.
I was struggling to breathe under the panic that crushed my lungs.
“Breathe, Kloe,” Anderson urged, the beautiful sight of his face blurring under the fog clouding my vision. His hands gripped mine hard, demanding that I feel him, feel something to break me out of the hallucinations plaguing me.
I had woken not seconds ago, a nightmare ripping through my mind and sending me spiralling into a fit of terror.
Brian’s laughter, joined by the cruel sneer of my mother, taunted me again and again, the scorching heat of my tears branding a route down my damp cheeks.
“It’s just a dream,” Anderson soothed as his hands framed my face and he forced me to see him. “Just a dream, little wolf.”
That goddamn stupid pet name slipped rage into my bloodstream and I angrily lashed out, the fright in me needing to find a quick outlet. “I’m not your fucking little wolf,” I spat. “I’m not, you stupid cunt!”
I gasped, my neck snapping as Anderson’s palm struck my cheek and my face flung sideways. The sharp sting cracked the shell that was capturing my sanity and a sob ripped from me.
As if he wanted to play games, his brisk anger at my outburst vanished and he pulled me across and onto his lap. His arms enveloped me protectively as he very gently started to rock me.
“Shh,” he breathed into my hair. “Calm down.”
I clung to him like he could save me, as though he could change my past and give me a different life.
“I’m sorry,” I hiccupped. “I didn’t mean that.”
He nodded. “I know, just as I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Once again I was perplexed by his differing moods. Anderson did mean to hurt me, to such an extent that he would be the very last person my eyes would ever see. “But you do, Anderson. Over and over.”
He didn’t answer me, choosing to stay silent and not grant my confusion clarity.
“What was your dream?”
I stiffened and he turned me so I was still on his lap but facing him. It was still dark outside and I found myself in Anderson’s bed. I’d passed out after both Anderson and Robbie had fucked me into oblivion, and as my vision cleared I couldn’t help but smile softly at Anderson’s messed up hair and the crease created by a wrinkle in the pillow that ran down his left cheek.
Tracing the sleep induced mark with my finger, I sighed. “This,” I whispered. “This is how I want to picture you forever. You have no barriers up. You are you, free from the obligation you force on yourself.”
He stared at me but didn’t make to move or push me away.
“This is the real you, Anderson Cain.”
“And which is the real you, Kloe Grant?”
Smiling again, I ran my thumb over his eye, wiping the tiny amount of sleep that had collected in the corner. “The real me came to say hello last night.”
His brow creased and he sighed as if he had expected my answer but refused to believe it. “I’m not so convinced.”
“Well you should be. I’m not sure how I can make you believe me.”