Page 114 of The Devil We Crave
My mind races with memories of delirious insanity, violent pleasure, a knife against my throat and a hard, huge cock thrusting into me as I shattered.
But none ofthatis why the voice inside me is clucking its tongue and shaking its head in disapproval, tut-tutting that I “shouldn’t have done that”.
I don’t mean losing my virginity in the most unhinged way possible to Achilles.
Yes, that was…insane. And deranged. And violent, and scary, and completely fucked up. But it was also everything I wanted. It wasmorethan I wanted, or had ever even fantasized about, and I don’t regret doing it.
It’s what I did after the sex, when Ithanked him.
How much of a lame, clueless virgin do you have to be to do that?
Cringe.
And I know I’m clearly not the only one who thinks that because The Garrison was totally empty when I came back from peeing.
No Achilles, just a pile of his comically oversized clothes for me to wear.
I’m a big girl. And again, I understand anddobelieve that sex and love are two different things.
But having him stay or even just be polite enough to say goodnight, ormaybewalk me back to Morvaine, or at the very least out of the fucking woods, would have been…nice. I don’t think that constitutes romance or love. It just seems like basic courtesy.
Regardless, now I’m stuck analyzing everything I did or said ordidn’tdo or say. And this is why I’m sitting here in class fixating on the fact that I fuckingthanked him.
He probably got major clinger vibes and figured he should bounce before I asked him to marry me or told him I was naming my first child after him.
Which, despite the lack of condom,isn’tgoing to happen, since I’ve been on birth control to regulate my periods since I was fifteen.
It’s been five days since the night on the cliff.
Two or three, I could see him wanting to keep a little distance, especially if he thinks I was being clingy back in the woods.
Four is pushing it.
Five just seems purposefully shitty.
Maybe he just doesn’t want you anymore.
Maybe as mind-blowing asIthink it was, Achilles was bored. I have nothing to compare it to, so of course I'm going to think it was incredible, world-changing, mind-altering sex. But Achilles, given his looks, age, popularity, wealth, power, and, well, literally everything else, probably hasplentyto compare it to.
To comparemeto.
That vicious green ball of fury inside me snarls and rakes its nails down the inside of my chest. But I muscle it back down and grit my teeth.
Sex isn’t love.
Love isn’t sex.
Two separate boxes.
It’s not a fun thought to dwell on, but it’s one that I keep returning to. What if we both had expectations of what the night would be, and while it exceeded all ofmine, it fell incredibly short of his?
What if I, frankly,sucked? And not in the good way?
I groan inwardly as Professor Llewelyn drones on.
Maybe Achilles faded away into the night because while it wasamazingfor me, it wasnotfor him.
I can resign myself to that, I guess, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.
