Pain sliced through me, at almost hearing the words I couldn’t admit to myself.
“I-I can’t. He’d need to be a different person. He’s a monster, and he’ll never not be a monster.”
“He’s not a monster to you.”
No. He wasn’t.
“I think you’re wrong.”
I frowned at her.
She let go of my hand after giving it one last squeeze, the ends of her mouth lifting up in a small grin. A hesitant grin. “I think if he was a different person, you wouldn’t have the feelings you do for him. Because then he wouldn’t beyourCreighton.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that.
My Creighton.
Chapter Thirty-One
Blake
I was waiting for him the next night. I left the light off but moved to the chair in the far corner so when he opened the door, I could see him, but he couldn’t yet see me. Watching him ghost inside, moving silently and lithely, I would never get over how he could move. Among everything, Creighton had some innate athleticism that in another world, he could’ve used to become a professional athlete in some sport. He’d been too vicious for football or basketball. Coaches knew not to give him a ball for baseball. Hockey was the best fit, but when he learned how to use his stick as a knife, he was quickly taken off the ice. I never heard those stories from Creighton himself, but the other foster kids loved to tell them at times. There were a lot of stories about Creighton. All of them had the same theme. He was dangerous and deadly.
And yet, I hadn’t been able to get Palma’s words out of my head.
I needed him to be a different man in order to be with him, but she was right. He would not be the man I ... My heart palpitated. I hadn’t argued against what Palma said, but acknowledging and saying those words to myself meant that I needed to accept what I felt for Creighton.
A tremor went through my hands.
I still wasn’t ready. Not yet, but we needed to talk.
I couldn’t stand aside any longer in this new war he was embroiled in. When he came into my room that night, I waited until he was standing over my bed, looking at the body pillow I’d put under my blankets.
I moved fast, knowing I only had the element of surprise for this to work.
I had a pair of handcuffs opened and in my hand, and as his back was turned to me, I pounced. I slapped one of the handcuffs around his hand and used my body to propel him onto my bed and lifted his arm so I could slap the other handcuff around my bedpost. As he lay there under my weight, momentarily surprised, I scrambled to do the same with his other hand. By that time, as I was lifting his other hand, Creighton had caught on to my intentions. I expected him to fight. He didn’t. He let me lift his arm up, and he watched, almost amused as I finished the second pair of handcuffs.
I was out of breath, and my pulse was pounding from the buildup more than anything.
He tested the handcuffs. They held firm. I made sure that he couldn’t flip over and bring his hands together because if he did, he’d figure out a way to pick the handcuffs. I knew he could because I’d learned how to do it from him.
I sank down over him, a little sweaty, and gave him a lopsided grin. “I can’t believe that worked.”
He only raised his eyebrows, his eyes slowly trekking down my body and lingering where I was nestled right over him. “I’m game to see where this is going.” He lifted his hips, grinding up and into me.
I stifled a moan, not expecting the pleasure that coasted through me.
With him.
This was new to me.
Him. Me.
“So far I’m enjoying it.”
I groaned before I growled, lifting up only to grab a pillow. I put that over him and sank back down. He couldn’t grind against me as well with the pillow in place, but I still wanted to keep my weight on him, as if I needed that added way to hold him in place. It was probably a useless way of thinking, but it made me feel more in control. And it added an extra closeness for the conversation we needed to have.
He waited, but when I remained quiet, he inclined his head toward me. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
