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12
Lake
Sheseemsnervousinmy presence, which is new.
It's almost as if she can't breathe. Like she's holding her breath, in fear of becoming intoxicated by whatever this thing is that’s pulling us inward.
I know the feeling.
My response may be different from hers, though. Mine has something to do with the fact that this little spitfire has me curiously needing more. She's intelligent, clearly passionate, and completely dedicated to her job. I mean, shit, she flew all night just to make our morning therapy session? I honestly feel bad. But I’m selfish, and needed her here.
Her attitude and quick-witted responses are piquing my interest, and I'm finding that my time with her, as difficult as the therapy part is physically and mentally, is something I truly look forward to.
And not to mention, she's quite beautiful, even if she works so hard to hide it. She's got a tight little body with eyes that smolder through you. A vixen, hiding beneath the excessive clothing and casually thrown-up hair.
Now she stands before me, her chest rising and falling faster than before, but she's still refusing to look me in the eye.
I understand it.
I get it.
I barely know her, and she barely knows me.
And yet, I have her so close, standing between my legs in this seemingly intimate pose, our body heat blending together in this suddenly tiny, tight room. Her feminine scent floods my senses, all while her truths destroy her internally.
I can't help but feel a strange sense of protectiveness over the general attraction that's drowning me.
I've seen strong women deny their pain. I've seen them accept what's done to them in order to keep the peace. I know this scenario better than I wish I did, growing up in a home where the woman who loved me unconditionally did what she had to do until she could fight on her own. But the abuse stops here.
“You know you're safe here, right?” I whisper, my arms sliding up behind her elbows until they're cupping the backs of her arms.
I bring her in a little closer. As much as this is about me trying to open up a safe space for her to talk, I can't help but enjoy the feeling of her soft skin against my hands.I shouldn't be doing this. Especially not if she's vulnerable.
Her eyes narrow and she peers down at my chest. I see the wheels turning in her head as she works up a response. Maybe she's coming up with her reasons for staying. Maybe she wants to explain to me it's really not all that bad. It was a mistake. An accident. These things normally don’t happen. It’s just that work’s been stressful for him. He just had a bad night.
“You don't have to go back to that,” I continue.
Those amber eyes finally find mine, and the look in her eyes is not what I'd expected. She looks appalled.
She's still in denial.
“I'm not stupid, Dylan. I get it.” I slide my hands back down her arms, noting the rise of goosebumps on her cold skin. Her skin is cold.
She’s cold and I need to warm her.
No, Lake. No.
My hands slide further and find hers. They’re cold, too. I hold them in mine, giving a light, reassuring squeeze.
She still hasn’t said anything, so I continue, “I just don't want you to feel alone.”
Her appalled look melts into a humorous one. She chuckles, then pauses to swallow before laughing again. My brow cocks in confusion.
Taking a breath, she squeezes my hands in hers, almost comforting me like I was comforting her. Her eyes study me with what I can only describe as appreciation or empathy. Her tongue sweeps across her lips, wetting them with a glossy sheen, and I can't look away.
I want to know how she tastes.
“Lake,” she whispers, and my name rolls off her tongue like nothing I've heard before.
