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She’s not ready. It’s the truth.
In the back of my mind, I knew it.
My cock chose to disregard it.
“And yeah. You dealt with him and what he did to you. Now you must deal with you. You’ve changed. Before, you were strong because you wanted to be. You defined yourself that way. Now, you must be strong because you are.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“I know.” I shake my head. “I think, maybe, you need to figure out why you want me. I came into your life at a time when everything was fucked up, and you might’ve mended that part, but I can’t be with you the way…” I hesitate to tell her the truth.
“The way what?” She grabs my shirt and pulls me to her. Strength recharging in her passionate blue eyes. “How do you want me? What do you want?”
I stare down at her. “Everything,” I admit more to myself. “I want to know that when I tear your clothes off, push you against the fucking wall, shove my cock deep inside you, and fuck you senseless… I need to know that you’re not afraid. That you trust yourself to be with me. I need to know that you want me and not the man who saved you. Because, while I can fuck you, Cassie, I can’t fucking save you.” I pull her hands from my shirt and start to button it.
“I don’t want to be saved.” Her tiny hands ball at her sides. “I want to get laid!”
“Yes.” I tuck my shirt into my pants, keeping my eyes locked with hers. “I can see that, but maybe you need to reevaluate who you want to fuck.” I push up my sleeves. “Because it can’t be me,” I say before walking out the door.
Chapter Thirteen
I watch Lix maneuver the plaster on the trowel to the wall.
He glances over at me. “Did you know the art of plastering hasn’t changed much in thousands of years? It dates all the way back to 7500 BC? The most used minerals, lime and gypsum, are white. Well, a few clays are used as well. But they’re light gray, making it easy to paint over.”
“No.” He’s knowledgeable and passionate about the things he does.
He’s always offering history or explaining why we do things a certain way. I enjoy being around the youngest Daxon brother.
Sure, it doesn’t hurt that he’s nice to look at. They all are, but Brett is the only one who stops my heart mid-beat.
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” I confess. “My job keeps me glued to a laptop. My hands are mostly used for typing or clicking the keypad. It’s refreshing to do something different. Thanks again for letting me help you this week. I’ve learned a lot.” Not to mention, it’s kept my mind off the mid-heartbeat-stopper.
The episode at my apartment last week crushed me.
I thought I was ready. I wanted Brett to my bones. I wanted what we were doing even deeper. Still, when I came, releasing over a year of sexual tension, it scared the hell out of me.
Something inside shut down.
I don’t know why I stopped him.
I was embarrassed and confused.
I fear Brett might be right. I may not be ready for any kind of intimacy, be it in a full-fledged relationship or a one-night stand.
Although, I think he was offering me the latter. I don’t take Brett Daxon as the relationship type. Not full-fledged or otherwise.
“No problem. You’re a fast learner.” He smiles.
“I don’t know.” I laugh, pointing my trowel and comparing our work.
“Like all great things, it takes time. Well…” His head tilts, inspecting the wall. “I’m not sure this is my best work, but”—he shrugs—“it’ll do.”
“I think it looks perfect.”
“Perfection is in the eye of the beholder. While you see a flawless finish, I see every mistake I left behind.” He wipes off his trowel with a rag, reaching out for mine. “But, then again, without our mistakes, how will we ever achieve perfection? As Aristotle once said, pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work.”
“Do you think imperfections can be fixed?”
