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He chuckles and takes our bags to the bedroom. “Perks of the trade,” he simply says.
“Perks of the fucking trade, I bet,” I mutter under my breath as I walk around, barely believing we’ll be staying here for a whole week. “Please tell me we can order room service and eat it in bed?”
“If that's what you want, then yes,” Byzantines answers as I follow his voice into the bedroom. It’s as massive as I expected and my jaw slackens while my feet sink into the lush cream carpet.
Total heaven.
“Why? Do you have the whole week planned out for us or something?” I ask.
“Some.”
“Ah yes, Byzantine, man of many words,” I say as I fall onto my back sinking into the king size duvet.
“That’s how you like me,” he replies.
“Do I?”
“What?”
“Like you?” I grin as I watch him change into a clean but identical black shirt.
He looks at me, a cocky glint to his eyes. “You seem to like me a whole lot when I’m making you come.”
Heat flushes my cheeks. “Well, I mean, that’s when you’re at an advantage.”
“I’d say more than just that.”
“Fine,” I say, crossing my arms. “I guess I do like you a little then.”
In the next breath, Byzantine is on me, straddling my thighs as he pins me down on the bed. His kiss stokes the fire that was already kindling for him, his hand finding the column of my neck, deft fingers squeezing just hard enough for me to moan into his mouth and melt deeper into the duvet. And just as fast, he’s off of me, leaving me breathless on the bed.
“What was that for?”
His eyes are dark when he peers over to me, his grin dimpling his cheek.
“Just proving my point.”
The next day, it rains. Unbothered, we spend the day in bed. Byzantine seems more relaxed here. Just us. Under the sheets. But I still can’t shake the feeling he’s hiding something from me. Especially when I catch him watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to crack. He spends most of the morning trailing kisses over every inch of my skin, muttering praise as he goes.
I don’t hate it. Not one bit.
We order room service and eat in bed just like how I wanted. Eventually, I fall asleep beside him, the rain pattering against the floor to ceiling windows like the softest lullaby. Byzantine lays beside me, a book in hand and the other nestled in my hair. The simple pleasure of the moment hits me like a ton of bricks. So much that I have the irrational urge to ruin it.
Almost. Self-sabotage has always been a fail-safe that I can press at any moment and eject far away from here.
It’s living that scares me the most. Not death.
Living when everything feels like it could actually work out. Truly existing like I believe happiness is an attainable goal. If only I could focus on that instead of the darkness constantly eating me alive. It’s unsettling and it terrifies me.
But today beside Byzantine, in the most comfortable bed I’ve ever been in, I allow myself to believe that maybe I deserve this. That I’m worthy of this. Even if my own worth isn’t close to what I see when Byzantine looks at me. Like I’m everything he’s ever wanted. And he’s simply waiting for me to catch up.
What will happen if I let him in and he doesn’t like what he sees? My insides are rotten. They’ve been rotten for years. Sometimes it feels they always have been.
I settle even deeper into the down pillows, Byzantine’s solid body pressed close but yet I feel so far away. I stifle a long sigh and keep it inside instead.
This is why it’s better not to feel.
Feeling is messy. Feeling is just not worth the hurt. But if I lock myself up again, I lock Byzantine out in the same breath, and a large part of me doesn’t want to keep him at a distance anymore. He might not be the most ethical person I’ve ever met but the way he makes me feel when I’m around him eclipses all of it. He’s never shown me anything but kindness and care.
