Tilly's POV
I asked to see his darkness. I did. Me. I asked him to show me.
I wanted to see how far he would go.
He showed me.
So every bruise, every tear, every moment of him losing himself inside me—I asked for it. I begged for it. And he gave it to me.
Now I was sitting on the floor, still partially bound and still dripping with his release, and I had never felt more alive or more terrified.
He was on his knees in front of me, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking.
The man who had just fucked me like I was the only thing keeping him alive was now crumbling into pieces.
"Greyson."
"I'm sorry." His voice was muffled. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—I never wanted to—"
"Look at me."
He shook his head.
"Look at me."
Slowly, he lifted his face. His eyes were red-rimmed. His cheeks were wet. He looked at me like I was something he broke.
