The fact he’s worried he might trigger me makes me want to cry. He does care. No one who doesn’t care would ask this. “As long as you don’t force me into a basement, I’m okay. Any basement. I freak out. Full panic. Straitjacket necessary insanity.”
It’s true. I had to break a lease before I moved into an apartment in college because they switched me to a basement apartment.The freak-out scared the landlord enough that the fee to break the lease was waived.
“I hope one day you’ll feel you can tell me what happened, Yellow Crayon. I want you to let me in as much as you want me to let you in.”
Swallowing, I squeeze my eyes shut, tears slipping out and onto his chest. “The memory of why I got the tattoo isn’t the problem. It’s what happened because of it that I can’t let out of the vault. I’m scared I’ll shatter if I do.”
“I’m right here if you decide to try,” he whispers. “But if you can’t, I understand.”
I nod and take comfort in his arms. A comfort I’ve never felt with anyone since my grandma was alive. No one has ever wanted to before.
So what if he took me to a bar to liquor me up? I still trust him. I know I’m safe with him. And I’d forgotten what that feels like.
Chapter Seventeen
Pacino
Waking up spooning Phoebe feels remarkably good. Better than I thought it would.
Her body presses against my front, and I’m hard and wanting her something fierce. I try to shift to keep from waking her with my erection, but I fail when her hand reaches behind us to grab my hip.
“Sorry—”
“Can we try this again?” Phoebe asks, looking back over her shoulder. “Now that you know why I pretended before and am no longer drunk. Or hungover.”
Her tattoo and not knowing what caused it still bothers me, but I know how it feels to have someone press for secrets you aren’t ready to share. “You want me?”
Grabbing my hand, she slides it over her belly where her shirt has ridden up and down over her panties. I feel how wet she is, and I slip my fingers beneath the fabric, smirking as she moans.
“One request,” she whispers.
“What’s that?”
“Can we take the panties off rather than just move them to the side?”
I snort and kiss her shoulder. “How about we get fully naked instead?”
“I have a confession,” she says, turning, which forces my hand away from between her legs. “I’ve been dying to know what you look like without clothes. Feeling is all I get, and there’s usually a shirt—or two—in the way.”
We’re not naked yet, and my anxiety kicks up having her hazel eyes on me. Looking at my face. But I want this. I want to give her more than I have anyone since Jo.
“Your wish is my command, Yellow Crayon.”
When I stand to pull off my shirt, she holds a hand out to stop me. “Wait.”
“You decided you don’t want to see me anymore?”
It both bothers and relieves me. I want her to see me but not at the same time. Yep, I’d say I’m all sorts of fucked up.
“Oh, I do,” she reassures me with a soft smile, “but I need to know the boundaries.”
“Boundaries?”
Climbing onto her knees, Phoebe sits back on her feet and folds her hands in her lap. She looks like a beautiful submissive like this in just her T-shirt and panties, and I ache. “You don’t like being looked at. How does this work?”
I stare at her as my chest tightens. Fuck me. I fucked up. How could I not see that Phoebe’s the only one who would come crashing through all of my walls like Miley Cyrus and her fucking wrecking ball?
“Tucker?”
