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All I know is I need his support more than I want to admit. When he reaches the edge of the bed, his intoxicating scent fills my nostrils.
“You smell good,” I say.
I squeak when he drops the towel to the floor and reaches for me, pulling back the covers and tugging me to the edge of the bed. His hands grip onto my sides, and he leans into me, his nose pressed against my neck right over my pulse.
“What kind of man does it make me to want to fuck you right now? Even after knowing everything you’ve been through?” His voice is thick, and the way his nose skims over my skin makes me shiver. My nipples harden, but the idea of letting him fuck me or even touch me in a sexual manner makes me sick to my stomach.
“I know you want me, and I want you too, but I…” My voice trails off, my throat tightening, refusing to let me finish my statement out of fear that he might leave. I want his presence. I need it.
He pulls back, and even with nothing but the sliver of moonlight coming in through the huge window above his bed, I can still make out the chocolate brown of his eyes and the hard contours of his face. He looks conflicted, and I want to tell him that it’s okay. I understand, but I can’t seem to get my mouth to produce words.
Something in his features changes upon looking at my face, and he snaps, pulling away from me, and the absence of his warm body leaves me cold.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what the fuck I’m thinking. After everything you’ve been through, what those fuckers did to you. I’m just another fucking monster…”
He stomps over to his closet and disappears inside. My heart leaps from my chest, and I find myself scurrying out of bed to follow him. I refuse to let him think such a thing. Maybe there was a time when he hurt me and used me for his own twisted pleasure, but he never, not once, hurt me like Matteo did.
Lights illuminate the inside of the closet, and I have to blink a couple of times to adjust to the brightness. Looking straight ahead, I find him pulling on a pair of boxers. His nakedness doesn’t bother me, not when I’ve seen him many times like this.
“You aren’t a monster. You’re nothing like them. Please don’t compare yourself to the…” I want to say people, but they aren’t people. They aren’t even humans in my eyes. “Bastards who hurt me,” I continue, finally finding the right words.
Quinton shakes his head, strands of black hair go flying while some rest against his forehead. I notice the water droplets clinging to the strands and the way they shimmer in the light. His eyes shine bright, and his lips are turned down in a frown. He looks manic, violent, like he’s ready to slaughter all over again. I want him to, I want him to bring them back to life and kill them all over and over again because even though I’m not a violent person, they deserve to suffer, to bleed out, and be brought back to life again and again.
Quinton crosses the space between us and cradles my cheek in his hand. His touch is gentle, and I lean into it, wanting it to heal me like a soothing balm.
“I might not be the type of monster they were to you, but I’m still a monster nonetheless.”
This strange feeling overcomes me. My heart suddenly feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. Turning, I press my lips to his palm, the touch of my lips against his hand, the same hand that drew out their pain, that sought out revenge for me. A bolt of heat zips across my lips, igniting a fire between us.
I look up, peering into Quinton’s eyes as I speak. “You’re my monster. My protector. You stood up for me, even killed for me, and that’s something no one has ever done… and probably never will again.”
His gaze softens, the contours of his face relaxing. “No one will ever hurt you again, Aspen. I vow, on my life, on my sister’s, on my mother’s lives, that no one will get to you ever again. So long as there’s blood pumping through my veins and air in my lungs, I will protect you. Tell me you understand that? Tell me that no matter what happens in the future, you will remember that.”
The urgency in his voice makes my lungs hurt, the air inside them evaporates, and I don’t want to agree because I can’t imagine Quinton disappearing from my life, but I know he’ll always be here.
I nod my head, wanting to believe him so badly it physically hurts. I push onto my tiptoes and press my lips to his. As sick as being intimate makes me feel, this is different. This is deeper than intimacy.
