“Well,” He gets to his full height, holding a pair of fluffy pyjamas in his hands. “We’re going back in.”
He roots through his bag for a spare pair of boxers. He’s a vision with glistening skin and damp hair. His tattoos decorate his sculpted body like a work of art.
He turns to me with a look in his eyes that I can’t quite place. “Can I ask you something?”
“Depends what it is,” I reply, my curiosity piqued.
He drops to his knees before me, helping me with my moisturiser, gently massaging it into my skin. “Do you enjoy sex?”
“What?”
“You said you cannot finish with a partner, but do you at least enjoy the experience?” He blows a strand of hair from his eyes and leans in closer, his touch lingering on my skin.
“Sometimes. It depends on who it’s with.”
His lips trail up my legs, his breath tickling my inner thigh. “Trust is a big thing for you, bug.” His lips keep moving, travelling past my hips, and forcing me back onto the mattress as he climbs on top of me. “Do you like to be touched, baby? Do you like to feel someone’s hands on your body?”
I don’t know how to answer that. It’s a grey area.
I force myself to meet his gaze. “I like your touch,” I manage to say, cheeks blazing.
He smiles; there is something boyish in its charm that puts me at ease. “You,” his fingers slide between my breasts andtrail down my stomach, “are so fucking beautiful.” He leans in, his lips claiming mine once again. “So strong,” Aiden whispers against my lips. “All mine.”
He reaches for my pyjamas and helps me into them before moving behind me and pulling me onto his lap. “We’re not moving from this bed for the rest of the day.”
It turns out that once I start talking, I can’t seem to stop. The confessions continue to pour out of my mouth as if a dam has burst. I tell him everything, and I meaneverything.
I can’t receive gifts without feeling guilt or anxiety because my parents had a habit of allowing us to have pets just to take them away as soon as we got attached. I can’t take a compliment because I was bullied horrendously in school and then went home to have more names thrown in my direction. I was a whore, fat, ugly, a mistake, on drugs, and any other derogatory term you can think of. I’m pretty sure I’m immune to gaslighting because I was manipulated so much growing up that I learned to trust my own instincts and not rely on others’ opinions. I’m afraid to let anyone in (bar Maria) because everyone I took a chance on let me down and reinforced the negative beliefs I had about myself. I spoke of my past eating disorder and how that came to be, and how I beat it with no professional help whatsoever, just me and Maria clutching on to each other in the darkest moments, ensuring neither of us got swallowed by the abyss.
By the time I run out of things to say, I’m surprised that Aiden is still sitting with me and hasn’t jumped out the fucking window. I wouldn’t even blame him if he did.
Then the all-mighty come-down hits. If I thought I felt like dog shit before opening up to him, it’s nothing compared to how I feel now. My head throbs, I’m so tired I could pass out,my speech is slurred, my stomach aches, my back feels like it’s about to snap, and I can’t, for the life of me, get the heat into my body.
“You’re like ice,” Aiden whispers, concern etched on his face as he wraps me in the duvet and pins me to his chest. I can feel his warmth radiating through his embrace, but it does little to alleviate the chills that seem to have settled deep within my bones.
My teeth chatter. I’ve never felt so exposed and vulnerable, as if every ounce of energy had been drained from my body. I try to muster a weak smile, settling in against his strong and steady heartbeat. “Why aren’t you gone yet?”
He chuckles lowly, his voice vibrating against my ear. “Because I belong right here, with you.”
This man is going to be the death of me.
It takes a few tries to bring the teeth chattering to a minimum, so I can ask. “Don’t you have to go to work?”
“Nope,” his fingers gently trace circles on my back. “That’s the joy of being the boss, bug; I can make my own schedule.”
I tilt my head back to look at his stupidly handsome face. “You’re staying tonight?”
He kisses the tip of my frozen nose and smiles. “Tonight, and tomorrow night, and maybe the night after that too. I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”
I glance at his bag in the corner and say, “I don’t think you packed enough clothes for that.”
He wriggles further down the bed and pulls me closer, his warm breath tickling my ear. “That’s why we have washing machines.”
I grin and bury my face in his chest. He smells divine; the heat from his body wraps around me like a cosy blanket.
My eyes are burning with exhaustion. I won’t last long, not like this, not after spitting up over two decades worth of trauma and emotions.
The last thing I remember thinking before my eyes shut is that, for the first time in my life, I finally feel safe.
