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She remains silent, so I explain anyway. “I’ll never force you to talk. But I want to get to know you. Every little detail interests me, anything at all.”
She sucks air into her lungs, filling them while I continue massaging and stroking her wherever my hands reach.
“Can we do it later? This,”—Prue twists to face me, the depleted look in her eyes breaking something inside me—“us, it’s everything that’s right in the world. My past will taint it, and I…please, let’s not do it now.”
“Prue.” I keep an arm fastened around her midriff, the other hand gripping her chin.
I stare deep into her soul. She’s not worried about what the memories will do to the moment we share. She’s avoiding it because of how it’ll change my perspective of her.
“I care about you. Nothing will come between us.”
She tries to wiggle. I press her harder to me.
“You can have a trainwreck of a family. Have a history of running away from home. Could’ve killed a person. I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck.” I slice her resistance by adding, “You’re mine. I accept you not in spite of what you think your flaws might be, but because of them.”
If she only knew how unconditional my dedication to her is. How obsessed I am with her. I’ve crossed multiple ethical lines for her. Committed felonies—against her—to feed my obsession.
For fuck’s sake, I love her.
Her chin wobbles. Tears brim in her eyes, giving them a golden shade. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I probe, touching, kissing, soothing her.
“Yes.” Her tight-lipped smile is a new tell. She’s nervous and sad and, motherfucker, I need to fix it.
“I’m here for you.” I crush her body into mine, slant my mouth over hers and kiss her.
In this reverent lock of our lips, in the softness of it, I swear to her I’ll always be here. No matter what.
When we come up for air, the color has returned to Prue’s cheeks. She’s ready.
“Okay, so here goes.” She nibbles on her bottom lip, and I pry her teeth off her flesh. “My parents…or, apparently, my mom, left me in a cardboard box at an orphanage in Arizona, where I grew up.”
This one uncomplicated sentence unlocks one piece after the other. Her insistence on maintaining a strong exterior, why she hides her need to belong. Because she hasn’t been. Because she has to pretend she doesn’t care about it.
But I’ve got to her. One word,mine, said with as much conviction as I uttered, and I had her. I didn’t realize why it had before.
I do now. I’ll say it for an eternity to see her happy, relaxed.
After she shares the rest of her past, I’ll reassure her that I’ll never turn my back on her. I’ll remind her every single day that I’m her family. I’m hers.
I might even…Ishouldcome clean to her about my nighttime activities. I will. When the time is right.
“There was no note, no explanation. No birth certificate.” Her hand clings to mine, a grip that’s laden with layers of pain. “She didn’t name me, Theo. For years, up until yesterday, I’d been sure I was a mistake. An easy one to get rid of, to forget.”
My dick pulses inside her. I’m not turned on by her sadness and definitely not looking for ways to get her to stop talking about this charged topic.
It’s my body’s most basal, most primitive way of telling her she’ll never be forgettable. Not to me.
For as long as I live, she’ll be my first thought in the morning. She’ll be everywhere during my waking hours. My last thought before I go to sleep.
“The housemothers who ran the orphanage had been good to me. They’d been strict about our formal studies, about teaching us about humility, chastity…”
I listen, figuring her out one word at a time.
Then I fight a triumphant smile. With me, she sheds off her past. She’s blossoming, breaking the shackles of her upbringing.
She’s not theirs anymore. She’s her own person, claiming what she wants, swearing, fucking, orgasming freely.
