Page 189 of Tell Me Something True

“I wasn’t going to do this,” he said, almost to himself, “but now I have to. Up on your elbows.”

Her breath caught as she realized what he was going to do.

What she was going to let him do.

She lifted herself onto her elbows and he let go of his dick and held his hand out to her, his palm cupped. “Spit.”

Her eyes widened. Arousal spiraled through her like a tornado, the base a pinpoint prick between her pussy.

Holding his gaze, she worked moisture into her mouth, then spit into his palm.

He stroked his dick again, her saliva making it glisten. His hand moved faster. And faster until it was a blur, his expression twisted in a mix of pleasure and pain.

This was supposed to be about him feeling his anger toward her. A way to work through his resentment and bitterness. She’d trusted him to take that anger out on her in a way that would help him find closure or acceptance.

A way that wouldn’t hurt her.

But she’d been selfish in pushing him this way. Because she didn’t just want him to find closure that would help him move on from their past. Didn’t just want him to gain acceptance of what had been.

She wanted them, too.

But mostly, she wanted forgiveness.

His. Her own.

Even if she didn’t have the courage yet to ask either one of them for it.

But instead of taking that anger out on her, he was taking it out on himself. His shoulders were rigid, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief. The muscles of his abs were constricted, his thighs rock hard. The strokes of his cock swift and brutal. As if he’d rather punish himself than her.

As if his release would somehow purge his feelings from his system.

But still, something held him back. She could see it in the set of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw. The tortured look in his eyes.

“I’m okay,” she told him, wanting him to know she was on board with this. “I’m not just going along to try and please you. I like pleasing you. And I really like when you lose control with me.”

She liked having him tower over her, all big and broad and sexy as he worked himself. She liked watching him bring himself to that edge.

She wanted, more than anything, to watch him go over it.

“Let go,” she continued softly. “Let it all go. I can take it. I want it.”

It was the consent she’d kept from him that night at the bar when she’d refused him this one thing. When he’d wanted to mark her so that everyone would know what they’d been doing.

She’d denied him that night because he’d been jealous and had had something to prove.

She’d denied him because she hadn’t wanted him to claim her. Because she hadn’t been ready to admit the truth.

That of course she belonged to him.

She lifted her arms over head, laying herself out like a feast. Like a gift, just for him. “Mark me. Make sure everyone knows I’m yours.”

“Not everyone,” he panted out. “Just… you…” He groaned. Jacked himself off faster, his hips bucking. “Need to show you you’re mine. All mine. Need to prove it to you so you don’t leave me again.”

Her eyes welled with tears which only proved how amazing the human body and brain were, that she could feel such intense emotion—sadness and regret and hope and joy—even as her body hummed with arousal, trembled with want.

But while she’d be as brave as him and feel her feelings, she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t do anything to make this moment about her.

This was all for Miles.

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