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I wouldn’t let my features twist. I wouldn’t let Birdie know how tempted I was to bite off my own fucking tongue for ever putting such a disgusting thought into her head, but I wasn’t sure how else to take it away. Instead, my body moved on its own. Her eyes were glued to me as I wedged myself between her thighs, and when my gaze finally raised, I let my tongue run over my teeth. A gentle touch brushed her hair out of her face, and as the pad of my thumb ran so tenderly over the prominent scar on her cheek, I watched Bridget melt for me all over again.
“You’re an idiot.”
Her nose wrinkled at the very thought. “You’re the one who told me—”
“I’m an idiot too.”
Her smile was as bright as I’d ever seen. Perched on my countertop, Bridget looked so alive, so perfect, so flawless. All I wanted was to get down on my knees and worship her properly, to taste her again, but when her legs locked around me, burying myself in her hair seemed just as perfect. Birdie’s arms wrapped around me, and as her chin rested so softly on my shoulder, my heart gave a painful beat.
It wasn’t right what she did to me.
It wasn’t right how much I needed her.
Needy hands ran over her thighs, under her shirt, and rested possessively on her waist. The only place I felt at home was buried against her neck, and Birdie released a content hum that radiated through my bones. If I was better at protecting her, at loving her, this was how we could have spent every morning. This was how we were supposed to spend every morning.
“You haven’t told me what happened.”
“Does it matter?”
Swallowing my annoyance was easier when I was between her thighs.
“You’ll trust me to fuck you, but you won’t trust me with the truth?”
A shiver ran over her skin and suddenly, Birdie’s skin felt so much hotter than usual. Did the memory of last night excite her as much as it excited me? Had her hunger really not dulled at all?
“I guess I don’t—” Her words escaped in a breathy moan as my hands drifted higher up her body, as my thumbs brushed the bottom over her breasts. “I don’t really remember,” Birdie choked, clearing her throat before continuing again. “I must have drank too much.”
“What?”
When my body froze, when those instincts whispered awful truths in my ear, not even the squeeze of her thighs would bring me back to life. The beast straightened my spine, and when Birdie wouldn’t look at me, I held her chin between my fingers.
Golden eyes narrowed playfully. “You’re overreacting, Michael.”
“Finish your—” Frustration hissed through my nose, and a breath brought me back into control. “Finish your story.”
Birdie wouldn’t follow the command immediately. She knew me far too well for that. Her golden eyes held me as she lifted my hand off her chin and brought it back to the space it was meant to be. Bridget rested my hands back on her waist, and when my body still wouldn’t relax, she let her hands wander tensed muscles. Her touch danced over my arms, my shoulders. Her words only came when she found herself lost in tracing the tattoo on my chest.
“Nothing happened,” she insisted. “The last thing I remember was feeling sick at an office party. I woke up the next morning on my neighbour’s couch.” When my fingers dug into her, when that fear tore through my muscles, Bridget’s eyes shot back up to me. “He didn’t do anything. Sabrina just said he—”
It was those awful memories, that awful rot, that made the tremble impossible to hide.
Another fuck up.
Another failed attempt at protecting her.
If you had been there, you could have ripped the fucker’s—
Her brows laced in worry, in fear. “Michael.”
“Finish your story.”
“She said it looked like he was trying to…” Her words trailed off when she saw the disgust twisting inside me, the regret for ever letting him leave her house alive. “He was trying to start something, I guess. And she came and took me to her house.” My jaw clicked with the new pressure building, with the bark I was biting back, and Bridget’s smile tried to calm me. “Nothing happened.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Nothing happened,” she hissed. The truth, the one she never liked saying aloud, settled between us. Bridget adjusted in her seat and gave me one last squeeze with her legs. “But I just haven’t felt comfortable since,” she admitted. “He’s just a kid, Michael.”
“Don’t make bullshit excuses for some fuck that can’t even—”
