27
Peter
It shouldn’t hurt, knowing that she wants to get rid of me. It shouldn’t feel like blades of fire slicing across my chest. Any person in Sara’s situation would fight back; it’s only logical and expected.
It shouldn’t hurt, but it does, and no matter what I tell myself as I lead Sara upstairs, the monster inside me snarls and howls, demanding that I do exactly as she feared and punish her for this transgression.
When we get to the bedroom, I don’t make her take her clothes off in front of me again; I’m too close to the edge to guarantee my self-control. I already tested it too much during dinner, playing along with her innocent, I didn’t just drug your wine routine. I knew what she did right away—the wine spill was too out of character for her—but I wanted to see how good of an
