He stares at me for a moment and I think he’s going to do as I say. Turn around and leave.
I want him to, but I also don’t want him to.
Jordan is like that. He makes me feel too much. But it’s also not enough. I need more.
He takes two steps forward, and I realize he’s still naked. I fight the urge to stare at him, but I lose.
“Come on,” he says, reaching one hand out and settling it on my hip to tug me closer to him.
If I told him no, he wouldn’t fight me. He wouldn’t ask questions. He’d just say okay and let me be.
I glance at him, then at his bedroom, and I realize that apart from Vegas and my meltdown a few weeks ago, I haven’t shared a bed with anyone in years.
I’d grown used to being alone. To being left alone. Discarded after I gave people what they wanted from me.
What I should do is make a clean break. I can’t get attached if I put up the wall. If I distance myself.
Problem is I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to distance myself like I know I should.
I look back at him, feeling more exposed than I did when I was naked and bent over in his bed.
He must sense my fucked up feelings, because a second later his hand is on my cheek.
“Hey.”
I blink, licking my lips as he tilts my face up. His thumb brushes over the column of my throat gently.
It’s strange, knowing not that long ago, those very same hands were harsh and rough and hot as hell, and now they are soft and warm and feather light.
He holds my gaze steadily, his dark eyes full of something I can’t quite comprehend, but that makes my blood rush all the same.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, bringing his lips to mine. My body crumbles, and I fall into him without thinking. He slides his tongue into my mouth, his hand sliding over my ass, but this time he squeezes it lightly. When he breaks away, his lips graze mine, and he leans his forehead against mine.
“You don’t need to run,” he whispers.
And maybe it’s the weird post-sex brain chemicals or maybe it’s the warmth of his palm on my ass, or maybe it’s just that I’m so fucking tired of waiting for things to blow up in my face, but I can’t help it when the words fall out of my mouth.
“I don’t know how to stop running away.” I feel the tears building up again, and the last thing I want to do is cry and ruin everything with my stupid fucking traumas.
“Simple,” he says. “You catch your breath.”
His voice is strangely firm yet gentle. It’s fascinating how this man can be so many things at once.
“I don’t know how.”
I look up at him, his gaze steady, strong.
“You’re doing a good job so far.” He smirks. “You’re still here.”
I know he means I am stillherein Ashbourne. Still working on my recovery. I’m still here, with him, in this house. But I can’t help but feel the weight of his words because I realize he’s right.
I am still here.
Despite being out of commission for the season.
Despite my issues with my family.
Despite surviving Vance.
