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“If whatever it is, is what keeps you from me, you should know that it burdens me just as much as it does you now.”
Screwy lets his hand slip away from me, looking hurt as he backs away. I’m not used to seeing him this way, and I feel guilty for being the cause of it.
“I just don't understand why you want it to be me?” He drags both his hands through his hair in frustration.
“I want it to be you because you gave me the choice,” I start explaining. “I want it to be you because despite the opinion you have of yourself, I see the goodness inside you. I feel safe with you, Screwy. I lo—” His huge hand quickly slams over my mouth.
“Don’t. Don’t fucking say that. You can’t.” His voice may sound commanding, but his hand trembles, and he looks petrified. “If you say that, giving you up will be so much harder.”
Slowly, I wrap my hands around his wrist, kissing his fingertips before I drag them away from my lips.
“Then let me say it. Let us be together. I like it here, Screwy. I like your family and your friends, and I love you.”
Screwy absorbs my words with a long, deep breath that raises his wide, muscular chest, and the sigh he eventually releases is equally as long and full of restraint. I watch his eyes drop back to his feet before they close, and inside my head, I beg him to give up the fight he’s having with himself and give us a chance.
It feels kinda hopeless. Screwy’s his own worst enemy, and I wonder if he’s spent so long denying himself happiness that he doesn’t recognize it anymore.
He comes at me, moving so fast that I barely register what’s happening. His lips smash over mine, and his fingers slip past my ear to clutch at my hair. I want to laugh with joy, cry with happiness, and scream from the relief that rushes through my veins like a cool river.
Screwy steals all my breath, the pressure of his lips on mine feeling firm and feather-soft at the same time. I feel his heart slamming through his chest, strong and rapid against mine, and the way his hands grip me so desperately is far too intense for this to be a dream.
I wrap my arms around his neck to steady myself when his hands reach under my ass cheeks, and he lifts me off my feet, hitching my body onto his and curling my legs around his hips. Our mouths refuse to part, as if they’ve been kept away from each other for far too long, and the way his tongue rolls around mine makes me delirious.
I feel him, solid as steel, between my legs, and it turns the flutter in the pit of my stomach into a deep ache.
“It’s time,” I whisper into his mouth, praying he’ll have mercy, and the growl he responds with vibrates through my center as if it grew fingers and touched the ache itself.
“It’s not supposed to be like this,” he tells me, distracting himself by tasting the skin on my neck as he talks.
“Please,” I beg, sliding my fingers into his hair and pulling his head back. I need him to look me in the eye and know how sure I am about this.
“I won’t be able to give you up if I have you, and I can’t change who I am. I need this life, Lydia, and you deserve so much better than it.”
“I want you exactly as you are and just like this.” I hold his gaze, watching his face crease in confusion. He’s trying to understand how I can accept him, and I wish I could reach inside his head and show him what I see.
“Do you believe in fate?” I ask.
“Sometimes,” he nods back, his answer actually surprising me.
“Fate wanted me to be yours, Screwy.” My fingers slide through his rough beard. “So many things happened to lead us to this moment. If my trainer had put me up for auction sooner...” His body tenses. “If you hadn't been chosen to be at the auction that night. If I had managed to…” I quickly stop myself from mentioning the time I tried to take my own virginity because I don't want him to be angry. Not now, when everything feels so perfect.
“I was destined to be yours. This moment was always meant to be.” I press my forehead against his, and his damp hair cools my skin as I feel him relent to me.
“I don't know how to be gentle,” he confesses in that self-loathing tone of his. Screwy sees himself as a monster, and he’s worried I’ll break.
“You will be. You always know how to take care of me.” I remind him of what he knows. He just needs to trust himself.
Screwy’s hands slide down my back, and he squeezes my ass cheeks in his palms. Then just when I think he’s going to refuse me again, he turns us and starts moving toward his room. His lips find mine again as we near his bed, his hard cock moving between my legs with each step he takes, teasing me with tiny ripples of pleasure.
He lays me down on his mattress so carefully, resting his arms on either side of my head as he clambers his huge body over mine. His eyes fix on mine while my fingers trace over his chest and move up to squeeze his rock-solid shoulders.
When he takes my wrist and brings my hand to his mouth to kiss my palm, the simple gesture causes my whole body to fizzle.
I lift myself off the mattress just enough to pull the shirt I’m wearing over my head, then rest back down again, allowing Screwy’s eyes to dance over my body and wondering how he’ll react. I’ve been close to him before in just underwear. He’d have seen me on the podium the night he took me, but this feels so much more intimate.
His stare is wide and focused when he sees my scars up close. The permanent reminder of all the brutal beatings my trainer served me. They taint me, and I’m conscious of them, but I have to accept that some of them will be with me forever.
Screwy doesn’t flip like I expect him to. He studies them hard before he touches them, his fingers brushing like the tip of a feather as they glide over them.
