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Chapter 65

NOW

Paloma

“P?” Bennett’s voice mixes past and present in my memory. “Just—”

He keeps speaking to me, but I can’t make out the words. They’re more like distant sounds. I’m in his room. A pang of loneliness hits and I’m desperate to chase it away.

“What do you need?” Bennett’s gravelly voice breaks through the pounding in my head. “Paloma, please—”

I yank at my dress, nearly ripping the seams at my chest, until I manage to pull it off. Standing before him semi-naked, my head swims.

“I want you.”

Bennett shakes his head at me, brow furrowing and eyes turning to turquoise wells of pain, so deep I find myself lost in them.

“No, P,” he begs. His eyes dart around, hand flexing—like he’s looking for Seven. His eyes close for a moment and he breathes deep. “Let’s talk. You’re upset—please—”

“I told you. You asked me what I need. What I want. I need you.” I reach for him again, planning to grip his button-down hard and rip it down the middle so I can smooth my hands against his chest, the tuffs of curls and strong hard muscle beneath. “Just this—”

He steps back again, nearly tripping as his shoulder hits the wall and his hands jut out to grasp my wrists.

I freeze instantly and just that makes him swallow hard and gasp in pain. Like my reaction to his touch is as effective as a physical blow.

He drops my hands, raising his in the air like he’s surrendering, like I’m pointing a loaded gun at him.

In a way, maybe I am.

Tears work their way into my eyes as I look at him, the beautiful man I’ve destroyed with my ugliness. And yet, I can’t fucking stop myself from reaching for him again.

“Paloma, please. This isn’t what you need right now.”

“It is,” I try to growl, but it comes out as a breathy sob. “Please.”

“Don’t do this, P. I’m begging.” He is begging, pleading for me not to use my one-time ask for something that will hurt us both, leave both of us in ruins. I know neither one of us will recover from the aftermath of what I’m pleading for.

“It’s just sex,” I snap.

“It’s not,” he breathes. “Not with us. You know that. Tell me you know that.” The words seem as painful for him to say as they are for me to hear.

“What does it matter?” I spit. “This will mean nothing when you’re inside of me, Ben.” I try to make my tone different, to bring out the breathy smoky seductive voice I keep on me like a knife. My protection. “I’ll make it so fucking good for you.”

Devastation settles over his features.

It’s like watching myself from a cage, unable to stop the fury and anger from hurting the one person I love more than anything. The one person that’s ever cared for me.

I wait to see what he’ll do. Hoping he’ll just give in.

Instead, I watch him build his armor, quiet but stable. The constant shore of unwavering love to the tumultuous sea of my own self-hatred.

“You’re upset because of what Ethan said,” he begins, eyes downcast. His voice is matter-of-fact, like he’s working through it aloud, trying to understand. “Maybe embarrassed, too, even if you shouldn’t be. But him talking about you as a kid? It hurt you, and you won’t tell me why.”

I flinch.

His voice has no emotion; his face is steel as he speaks. “You’re upset because of me knowing about your past. Maybe because of your mom, or what Ethan said about her . . . reputation. About the trailer park you lived in—”

“S-stop it.” I manage to find my voice, backing away as he starts to advance toward me. “Bennett—”