I tuck my head into her shoulder, breathing in the warm tangy scent of her. The taste of her blood fades from my tongue but not from my mind.
My sweatpants are down around my thighs, and I hitch them up, feeling the sharp edge of the scissors in my pocket as I do so. I pull them out, holding them in front of her face so she can see them.
“These stay with me,” I whisper, kissing her shoulder in between words to take any sting away. “If you ever need to let those bad thoughts escape, you come to me. Do you understand?”
She squirms, turning in my arms until she’s looking at my face, reading my expression and God knows it must be sappy with my burgeoning love for her.
Her answer is a slight incline of her head, barely a nod, but I take it. Adding the assurance, “I promise, I’ll never have any judgement.”
I tuck the tool away in my pocket, not wanting them in my hand when I stroke the hairs from her face, wanting to be gentle in this moment when I’m hammering in the stakes to my claim.
“You come to me whenever you want, and I’ll be what you need me to be when you get there. If that’s someone to talk you down, I’ll be your counsellor. If that’s someone to vent, I’ll be your punching bag. If that’s someone to help you escape the thoughts you can’t release any other way, I’ll be your guide, your observer, your protector. Know that even if you’re slicing into your flesh, I’ll never let you come to any actual harm.”
And she nods, an acceptance worth every bit as much as a signature on the dotted line. I seal the agreement with a kiss, sucking at her bottom lip until it swells, pulling her so close to me that the only way she could be nearer is to become part of me.
In some ways, it feels like that’s a journey she’s already taken. That she’s lodged in my heart, my head, my spine.
That’s how I fall asleep. Holding her in my arms. Spent, happy.
Letting go of the pain from her earlier betrayals because there isn’t room for them inside me any longer, not when I’m filled with this warm glow.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
ESME
I startle awakethe next morning, unsure of the time and unwilling to stretch across Seb’s slumbering form to grab my phone. Pieces from yesterday swarm into my head, arranging and rearranging, finding the best way to tweak my nerves into full anxiety.
What is he still doing here? I struggle to understand what new game this is, and my pulse picks up speed as I try to think through the different angles.
Last night, I was distraught, but he didn’t break me apart like he could have. Didn’t push the old levers he knows are there, the triggers he created as well as the ones he discovered while he waged war.
Confusion muddies my thinking. When I look down, I see the darkening bruises from where he grabbed my breasts, squeezing them until the pressure was almost unbearable. So rough, but underneath it all a level of sweetness that isn’t Seb.
A demonstration of care that hasn’t been part of our dynamic for so long I forgot it could be part of what flickers between us.
His words play out in my mind, his offer to come to him. To let him become whatever I need him to be.
And then what?
Will he turn, using the new knowledge to launch an elevated campaign? One that will cripple me so badly this time that even running becomes impossible.
Or will he just weave into my head until he can tug loose the information he so desperately wants to know? The secrets that will never give him the satisfaction he craves. That will just drive him a million miles away from me while their revelation places me in peril with everyone else I know.
It doesn’t make sense that he would abandon his demands, so I have to presume he’s lying.
Seb’s always been so much better at hiding his feelings behind a stonewall where mine jostle each other to lead a parade.
Except… when he looked up at me, asked me to be his girl… I haven’t seen him look vulnerable before. Could he really stage a performance with that much subtlety in the heat of the moment, on his knees, face between my legs, with my blood coating his tongue?
I roll onto my side, the movement enough to coax Seb into wakefulness. His arms immediately reach out to draw me closer and a wave of such deep longing sweeps across me I nearly drown.
His features are different at rest, edging towards beautiful rather than handsome, without the raw power of his essence forcing its way to the front.
Then his eyes open and my throat closes, overwhelmed with the joy dancing in their silky hazel depths. I can’t tear my gaze away as he smiles, moving his hand to cup the side of my jaw, stroking a thumb across my lips.
“Morning,” he says in a deep rumble, his vocal cords still clogged with sleep. The vibration sinks into my skin, awakening a thousand electric sparks.
I want so much for this to be real. For it not to be another turn of the rack.
