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Her hand falls on my abs. The touch is light, but my head makes it feel like there’s a bowling ball sitting on my stomach. Burning rips through my body like it did in the bathroom earlier. My breathing is erratic. I feel like I can’t get enough air. The pain is excruciating, and I know it’s all in my fucked-up head.
Fuck, I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not strong enough for this shit.
“Zamira.” I croak out her name, my eyes popping open. Her brows are scrunched, wrinkling her beautiful face, concern written all over it.
She brings her free hand to her mouth, biting down hard on the pad of her thumb. A hiss escapes her, but she doesn’t pay much attention to the pain. Her eyes are glued to me as she brings her bloody thumb to my mouth.
My tongue gets ahead of itself, escaping to lick the drop of blood trickling down her finger. The metallic taste instantly relieves me. The burn of her touch turns numb. The weight is lifted, and I can finally breathe again. She presses her thumb between my lips, allowing me to suck in more blood.
“That’s right, Blais. I’m not going to hurt you. All I want in this world is to comfort you.” Her words are calm as she slides her hand up my torso to my chest, leaning down so her elbow is digging into the bed. It takes a minute to realize what she’s doing. She’s slowly working her way under my arm.
More blood touches my tongue, bringing me peace. I know this isn’t the best way to handle this. She shouldn’t have to feed me her blood so she can touch me, but it’s how I would’ve comforted myself. If she hadn’t done it, I would have bitten my lip to get the relief I need. I refuse to do this every time she touches me. I want to desire the feeling of her hand on my body without the sweet, metallic taste calming me.
I’ll get there, because that’s what she deserves. It’s what I deserve. I’ll make sure of it.
This is just the start.
She slowly leans down, laying her head down on my shoulder. My hand instinctively finds the smooth curve of her lower back, rubbing circles on the surface. Once she’s settled into my body, she removes her thumb from my mouth, laying it on my chest.
I stare down at it but don’t remove it. Her blood isn’t pouring into my mouth anymore, but I still feel at peace. She brings me peace.
She lets me get used to her touch, slowly straightening the arm that was underneath her body, probably in the most uncomfortable position ever, laying it between us. The movement forces her head to lower into me. She doesn’t try anything else. She just lies there with her head on my chest and her hand resting beside it.
Shit, this is really happening.
Relief crashes over me knowing I’m not fully defective.
The woman I love is touching me and it doesn’t feel like I’m going to die. Part of me thinks this must be a dream until she nuzzles her head against my skin, giving the cutest sleepy moan I’ve ever heard.
I don’t do this. I don’t cuddle with girls. I fuck them thoroughly from behind, then let them go because I can’t handle their touch.
But it’s different with Zamira. I’m so fucking entranced with her. Addicted, if you’d say. I want her looking me in the eyes when I sink my cock deep inside her. I want her soft little hands roaming my body as I thrust into her. I want her to stick around after. I want to snuggle with her, holding her while she sleeps in my arms.
I just want her.
We’ve shown Zamira her true self, and she’s shown me I’m not as screwed up as my brain makes me believe.
Looking down at her shiny blonde hair, I notice her eyes are closed and her breaths are deep and slow. She’s asleep.
I want to stay like this forever—with my girl in my bed.
She’s ours. I know I’ll have to share her, but at this moment, she’s mine.
She said she’s in, but the real test has yet to come. The guys and I have a plan that will put her word to the test.
We’ll have to wait and see if she’s really one of us.
We’ll see exactly where Zamira Stone’s loyalty lies.
Nuzzling my face into Blais’ solid chest, a deep sigh leaves me when I realize he let me stay in this position all night. Not once did he try to move me away or hide himself from me. He kept his arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer to him, almost as if he needed to feel my skin against his.
Pure bliss courses through my veins from the thought of him becoming more comfortable with my touch. I have this uncontrollable need for him to feel what genuine love can be like without the worries of pain and empty promises.
I run my fingers down the contours of his abs, taking in the magnificent art that lines his toned frame. He really is the perfect specimen. The way his face looks so angelic and calm while he remains in a deep sleep pulls at my heart. He's a gentle soul, plagued with fear, agony, and despair.
Whenever he looks at me, even when he’s saying something extremely sexual and inappropriate, I see the hollow look in his eyes, filled with torment and anguish. He tries to mask it, but it’s still there, even when he doesn’t want it to be. Honestly, it’s a look they all have. One that never strays too far away, pushing to break through any happiness they allow.
I’m hoping to change that soon.
