Page 120 of Picture Perfect

My heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. I reach back, threading my fingers through his, offering silent support. I don't need to know the details of his pain to understand it—we're both survivors, marked by our pasts but not defined by them.

The warmth from Dre's body bleeds into mine as he shifts behind me, his breath tickling the shell of my ear. "I was always the black sheep," he murmurs, and I can hear the smile in his voice, but it's tinged with old pain. "Never quite fitting the mold they wanted to shove me into. I’ve always been… different. Darker. I was definitely not the cookie cutter Roberts they were hoping for."

I nod against him, feeling the vibrations of his chest as he speaks.

"Things were always strained with my family. For as long as I can remember, I was treated differently," he exhales sharply, a self-deprecating chuckle accompanying the sound. "But, when they found out I liked guys, that was the final straw for them."

My eyes widen, and I twist slightly to catch his gaze. "Oh, I didn't realize that you were gay."

"Bi," he corrects softly, his ice blue eyes meeting mine in the fading light. "Obviously." He presses a kiss to my lips. I close my eyes, savoring the taste of his kiss.

"I prefer men, but only just." His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from my face, and his touch sends a shiver down my spine. "I've never wanted a woman the way I want you."

"That's okay, Dre. You don't have to... I understand," I say quickly, my heart hammering in my chest at the intensity in his eyes.

He leans closer, his lips grazing my ear as he whispers, "I don't think you do. I fucking dream of you." His words are a seductive caress, igniting a fire within me. "Of how you taste. Of how you'll feel wrapped around my cock. Of how pretty you’ll look pressed between me and Chess.”

I shiver at the thought, which earns me a predatory smile. “I prefer men because I like to dominate. I'm—I can be rough. I’m not sure I’m something you can handle, Snowflake."

A gasp escapes me, a mix of shock and a thrill of desire. The raw honesty of his confession leaves me breathless, teetering on the edge between fear and excitement.

“And, if I’m willing to try?”

“Fuck, I hope you are. I’m not sure I can let you go. Too far gone.”

His hands wrap tightly around my waist, pulling me closer as his lips press against mine. The kiss is passionate and intense, as if he wanted to devour me whole, consume me body and soul. It leaves me breathless and wanting more when he finally pulls away.

His arms tighten around me. "They tried to fix me," he continues, his voice lower now. "Sent me to all kinds of therapy, hoping to scrub away who I am. And, when that didn't work, they took things into their own hands and tried to bleed it out of me." A bitter edge creeps into his tone, and I can feel the scars of those memories etched deep within him.

"Saint and Mason," he says after a pause, his grip on me loosening, becoming more protective than confining. "They pulled me out of that hell. I moved in with them and embraced who I am—the good, the bad, all the dark, twisted parts my family couldn't stand to look at."

The wind picks up, wrapping us in a chilled embrace as I lean back into him, letting his story wash over me. Here we are, two souls battered by life, finding solace in our shared brokenness.

The silence hangs heavy between us. Dre's confession lingers in the air, bold and vulnerable all at once. It's only right I offer him something in return—a piece of my own fractured world.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. "For trusting me with your past." His ice blue eyes meet mine, and I'm lost in their depth, like falling through the cracks in his armor. “I want—I want to…”

"Snowflake," he breathes out, and that's all it takes.

Our lips crash together, a collision of need and gratitude. His mouth is gentle against mine, dispelling shadows with every tender touch. The kiss deepens, and I thread my fingers through his shoulder-length hair, anchoring myself to the moment, to him.

My heart races as his hands roam, skimming down my back, drawing me closer. There's a heat building, an intensity that threatens to consume, but he pulls back just enough to keep us teetering on the edge. It's passion restrained, a promise of what could be.

"We should get you home," Dre murmurs against my lips, reluctance lacing his words.

"Okay," I agree, still dazed from the kiss, from the raw honesty that we've shared.

We pack the blanket and food away in silence, actions speaking louder than words. He helps me onto the bike, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary. The ride back is a blur of streetlights and wind, my mind replaying every second of our time at the overlook.

Before I know it, we're standing at my front door, and I'm fumbling with the keys, reluctant to end the night. I push the door open, turning to say goodbye, but Dre steps past the threshold, his presence filling the small space.

"I'm not leaving," he states firmly, removing his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair.

"What?" Confusion mingles with a flutter of something else—apprehension or maybe anticipation.

"I promised," he says, meeting my gaze head-on. "One of us stays with you every night. Saint, Chess, or me. Tonight, it's me."

Chapter fifty-four

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