That he would take care of me.
That he would be my…
“About what I… called you.” I swallowed hard. “It’s just something Darby said. I didn’t mean?—”
“You can call me whatever you want,” Beck cut in while coiling languid fingers in my hair. “I called you Beauty because that’s what I see in you. I assume you must have felt the same.”
“I did,” I said. Then added in a quieter voice, “I do.”
Beck’s expression was profoundly sincere. “Then I’ll be your Daddy, and you’ll be my Beauty.”
The statement made my insides churn, stirring the good and bad of the past few days into a sickly sludge. I’d been closer to happiness than ever before, only to have it stripped away. I was sent back where I belonged, then caged in with the consequences of my actions. My regrets and fears compounded. Then I was Maslow’s whore on parade. His salesman’s sample, and what happened in the Basilica’shallowed halls had been its own sample of the life the wraith intended for me.
I felt nauseous from the persistent hunger, from the thought of a future of rooms full of men who wanted to taste me, touch me, tear me apart. And Maslow would be there with his hand on my back, pulling everything out until I was reduced to skin and bones.
I didn’t mean to cry again, but it was happening already. A flood of feeling spilled out, and I drew into myself, terrified ofhow muchI wanted. How desperately I longed to be free of Maslow. How I craved a view uninterrupted by prison bars. How I wished this could be my home for more than one night. How I still wanted to keep Beck… maybe forever.
His hand moved from my hair to my cheek, drying the tears that dripped from my lashes. “What’s wrong?” he murmured.
I sucked a shuddering breath, then shook my head. “I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t an answer—it explained nothing—but I meant it. I was sorry for wanting things I couldn’t have.
Beck pulled me in tighter, his fingers skimming over my spine, his mouth pressed to the side of my head.
The suite was too quiet for how loud I was inside. My throat burned with words bubbling toward the surface. Things that needed to be said for my own sake, if nothing else.
I couldn’t hold them in anymore.
“I don’t want to be a whore,” I began. “I don’t want to fuck for money. Or for Mazzy. Or for… anyone else.”
Beck’s fingers splayed between my shoulder blades, a stable presence that eased the breaths rushing in and out.
I kept going.
“Those men today?” I shrank at the thought. “They weren’t like you, but I wanted them to be. I wanteveryoneto be like you because that would make it okay. That would make it better, don’t you think?”
I gazed at him, seeking approval. Or forgiveness.
“You’re not a whore,” Beck said solemnly. “You never have been.”
But I was exactly that to so many people. That identity had been hammered into me, blow by agonizing blow, and I crumbled under the shame of it.
“Mazzy says…” I paused to compose myself. “He says I should like it, but I don’t like it at all.” My brow furrowed, adding deep lines to the spiteful expression on my face. “It’s empty, and angry, and it hurts me, Beck.”
“I know,” he replied.
Then the final piece came tumbling out. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”
Beck hummed a disgruntled sound and rolled me onto my back. He arched overhead, silhouetted by the orange glow of sunset pouring in through the window.
“No, baby,” he said. “It’s not like that. It doesn’t work like that.”
How, then?
I didn’t ask, but I wondered what evil I must have done to end up here. Why was I punished when there were angels as cavalier and cruel as Narcissus? The world felt upside down. Or maybe just unfair.
Beck’s broad, muscular body contoured against mine, and his arm curved around, holding me the way no one else did.
