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When we make it inside the bedroom, I slam the door shut behind us and click the lock into place, then carry Bel over to the bed and set her down on the edge of it.
She sits up, her gaze swinging around the room in marvel. I remember then that she's never seen my bedroom before today.
How many times have I taken her in hers, and she hasn't seen mine?
The longer I stare at her, the more I notice her curious gaze sweeping the room. I smile and cross the room, heading into the bathroom.
In the shower, I turn the handles and let the water run, getting the room all steamed up. I strip out of my shirt and glimpse myself in the mirror.
Fuck, Flower got me good. The cut on my chest is deep, as is the one on my arm. They hurt and bleed like a bitch, but I can’t find it in my heart to be mad at her. These wounds are artificial compared to those that I gave her.
I lean against the doorjamb of the bathroom and watch her sneaking a peek at the bookshelves across the room. Her dainty fingers dance against the spine of each title as if she’s trying to figure out which one she will select.
Of course my little wallflower would go straight to the books.
I smile like the fucker I am, feeling lucky to have her back in my arms, even if it’s temporary. I wish I could hold her at this moment forever, watching her sneak around this room, my room, our room.
This is my future, our future.
"Come here, Bel. Let me get you out of those clothes and clean you up."
She startles at my voice and shifts away from the shelf, jerking her hand back as if the books will bite her.
"Don’t worry about…” She never finishes what she’s saying, and part of me thinks that’s because she notices me standing there, every inch of my well-defined eight-pack on display. I mean, I could be wrong, but I don’t think so.
Slowly, she blinks back to the present, realizing that she was in fact staring at me. “I don’t need you to clean me up.”
Fuck. Disappointment punches me in the gut. I don’t want to beg her to stay, but I need her to stay with me. In my space, her sweet scent surrounds me, her presence warming the icy parts of my heart that have never been touched by the sun.
I know I’m changing, even if it’s slowly. I’ve never shared this place with another woman. Then again, I’ve never had anyone like Bel in my life.
"Come here, please."
A look of defiance touches her face, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "Or what? You'll make me?"
"Don’t act like you wouldn’t like that. Now if that’s how I have to do it, then I will, but I’d prefer if you came to me on your own.”
Standing as still as a statue, she stares at me, probably thinking she’s won, but she doesn’t know I see right through her. Beneath the defiant image she paints is a wavering desire for my touch. I can see it in the way her body leans toward me, craving my touch and warmth. She wants to give in, even if she doesn’t want to admit it to herself or me.
And that’s the kicker: sometimes admitting that you want something when you feel like it’s bad for you is the hardest thing to do.
"When have you ever given a shit about me?”
"Bel, I know you want to hurt me, but do not hurt yourself in an attempt to hurt me. There is never a time when I have not taken care of you. I always make sure you’re satisfied, and I saved you from a rapist. Hell, I paid in flesh and blood to keep you safe from my father."
With a grimace, her gaze moves to the floor, and I wonder if that’s a little guilt that I see on her face. "Thanks for the offer, but I should go home."
I gesture to my chest. "Fine, but do you think you could at least give me a hand with these before you go?"
She looks up from her shoes and scans the cuts on my arms and chest. Battling against herself, she takes a step forward but then pauses. Dammit. I can’t let her slip through my fingers. I can’t.
“Please…” I add even though the word is foreign and bitter on my tongue.
“Please? When did you learn that word?”
“Oh, this beautiful, sassy, vengeful girl told me I should use it more often. I’m trying to, but I’ll be honest, it tastes a lot like weakness. I prefer to make people do things rather than ask, and especially not nicely. Please doesn’t really make my messages come across as threatening.”
“I should let you bleed out.”
