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“I’ve hit you. Last night with your tattoo…” He broke off and pulled up my shirt, his fingers tender as they stroked over my ribs. “I made you cry.”
“Goddammit, no. Don’t change what happened into that.” My voice shook, but not because I was afraid. I couldn’t believe he’d allowed such thoughts to take root for even a second. “I’m the one who wants to hurt. You give me that because you care, because you want me to feel good.”
“And you can’t feel good without it.” His eyes searched mine while his fingers caressed my heated skin. I heard the question—and the plea—buried in his words and damn if it didn't make my throat swell.
If I wanted pain, falling in love had been an excellent choice. It hurt all the time.
Not because of him. Because of me. I wanted so much to be what he needed. I couldn’t stand being part of the reason for the confusion and self-loathing in his expression.
“I…I’m not sure.” I wet my lips and tightened my grip on his hand. “I suppose I could try.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I’m not saying I want wine and roses.”
“No, you’re saying you want to see what else we are besides slapping asses and rough fucks over a desk.”
He dragged his thumb over my side, rubbing his calloused skin against mine. Even while we spoke of changing things up, he was offering me subtle bits of pain. Smoothing the way. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s part of why he hit her. If he was an adrenaline junkie like me and never channeled it right. Maybe instead of getting it out through fighting like I did, he pummeled his wife.”
Only training kept me from rearing back at his statement. Pummeling his wife? Christ. We were more alike than I’d even realized. How much had Tray been hiding as well?
“No. It’s not about that,” I said quietly. “Violence isn’t about excess energy. It’s about wanting to prove you can control someone else. That’s not you.”
Questions whirled in my head but I didn’t ask them, not now. He’d never opened up like this to me before and I didn’t want to do anything to close the valve.
Of course, I’d never asked either. I’d seen the signs that something was off between him and his parents and instead of pressing to find out why, I’d gone with the easy answers he’d given me. His dad wanted him to be a lawyer. To be the respectable son he’d always envisioned. To live his life under his command.
Tray’s family might be wealthy, insanely so, but a gilded cage was still a cage. After my experience with Darren, I had more reason than the average person to understand that.
“Maybe it’ll be different now that I’m not fighting. I could get to the point where I just erupt. Look how I was with Costas.”
“Costas gave you a severe eye injury and handed you your ass when you weren’t used to losing. If it hadn’t been for that fight, you might still be in the game.”
“Handed me my ass?” His mouth twitched. “Honey, don’t sweet talk me so.”
I didn’t laugh. “You know what I mean. You have reasons to dislike him. Then all the crap with Carly, him lurking around her…you were trying to protect her and you still don’t trust him. All that shows is how incredible you are.”
“You forgot one vital element of why I was so pissed at Costas.”
“He practically interrupted us during sex?”
“There is that.” He stroked my lower lip. “He also got to fight you this morning. Probably had his hands all over you. You sweated with him.”
“Sweating. Oh yeah. So intimate.”
“For us it is.” He pressed his lips to my forehead. “I was never jealous before you. I didn’t understand what it meant to want someone so badly that other men became a threat.”
“Do you think I don’t get that? Hello, I yanked on a chick’s hair. I don’t even know her.”
“You did.” His smile eased the jagged spots inside me. “It may not be politically correct to admit it, but I loved seeing you jealous.”
I smiled too, glad to see him returning to his usual self. That darker, conflicted version had taken me off-guard. I’d thought I was doing him a favor by not prying but maybe he needed me to ask, to show that
I was concerned and would be there for him if he needed to talk. Just because I didn’t like to share didn’t mean he didn’t. This was probably basic relationship 101 stuff I’d missed during all my years of not having them.
God, had his father ever hit him? Was I making him relive something horrific every time I wordlessly asked him to give me the pain I craved?
“Hey. You’re thinking so loud I’m getting a headache.” He touched the wrinkle between my eyebrows.
“Sorry. I just didn’t realize you weren’t happy,” I said haltingly.
