Page 94 of Burn With Me

Tears line her eyes. “I really thought I wanted it. I should have told you to stop.”

My heart feels like a block of ice is crushing it as the tears she’s trying desperately to blink away fall down her cheeks. “And I should have never let it go that far. I’m sorry for hurting you. I went after you the second you left, but I couldn’t get down the stairs in time.”

Her cornflower blues widen, and her breath hitches. “You took the stairs to try and catch me? From yourpenthouse?”

“Trust me, Red. If I thought I’d have a chance at surviving it, I would have jumped from the balcony if it meant catching you before you could leave.”

A short laugh leaves her lips before it turns into a sob as she wraps her arms around me, squeezing tight. “Why are we so fucked up?”

“It isn’t you. I’m not…good with this. With intimacy. Withwantingto put someone else before me. I’m not perfect, Ginny. You just need to decide if it’s worth dealing with all my fuck ups as I try to figure it out.” I wrap one arm around her waist and the other around her upper back to tangle my fingers in her hair as I hold her to me.

Her body fits against mine like a thousand-piece puzzle I’ve only ever found the edges to, and now, suddenly, the middle pieces are starting to connect.

We stand there for numerous seconds, just holding each other, before she finally pulls back and wipes at her face. “It’sworth it. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you about the woman in the car.”

“Doyou believe me?”

She nods as she looks up at me. “I do. We’d already slept together. If you wanted to go back to your old ways, you could have. You didn’t need to come here and explain yourself. You didn’t need to keep sending flowers or trying to see me. I’m sorry I overreacted.”

Pressing up on her tiptoes, she reaches around my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. Her lips are soft against mine, surety in their motion as they open to allow my tongue entrance. Our kiss is unhurried, and when we part, she pulls me over to the futon.

“Can I ask you a question?” She settles against the arm, feet stretched out in front of her as she places them in my lap.

“You can ask me anything.” Our position reminds me of the club, and I wonder if she’s done it subconsciously or if it reminds her, too. Just like at Désirer, my hands find her calves as I watch her internally debate how to ask.

“Why do you like to be so aggressive?” Her tone is quiet, and she looks down at her hands in her lap as she asks.

No one has ever asked me that before, but the answer to that particular question is clear.

“It has a lot to do with my childhood, I think. I went to boarding school with a bunch of kids who were just as rich as me, so they weren’t scared of my last name. Growing up, I was a runt. I didn’t hit puberty until I was seventeen, so I got picked on a lot.” I stare at one of the abstract paintings as I recall things I’d rather never remember.

My fingers start to trace absentminded patterns on her shins as I continue. “The other boys at school used to say that my father killed himself because I was too small and too weak to bear the Tailor name. They used to tie me to the flagpole and leave me there for hours, nearly naked in the cold. I’d pass the time by thinking of all the ways I’d get back at them. It harbored a lot of rage and pent-up frustration.

“When my balls finally dropped, I became popular with the girls. Years of jerking off to images I’m not proud of had ensured I wouldn’t blow my load the second my dick was touched, and those girls were already experienced. All that pent-up anger just manifested itself sexually. The girls liked it. I wasn’tasrough back then, but the older I got, the rougher I became. It was like I couldn’t get off any other way.”

“You came with me when we first slept together. You were gentle with me,” Ginny muses.

“Because it’syou, Red.” Turning my head to look at her, I try to convey my feelings with my eyes. That everything aboutherhas turned my world upside down, and everything I wanted before means nothing now.

“I’m really sorry that all happened to you, Jackson.” A small smile plays on her lips before evolving into a bigger one. “What were the images you jerked off to?”

“Nope. Not admitting that.” Shaking my head, I look away, knowing damn well that if she keeps asking, I’ll tell her.

“Oh, come on! I wanna know. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.” She makes a zipping motion with her hand across her lips when I look back at her, and I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks in preparation for utter embarrassment.

Sighing, I scrub at my face with both hands before looking away from her, choosing to stare out the window as I admit one of my most disturbing secrets. “My aunt’s modeling photos.”

Ginny snorts, and as I whip my head around to glare at her, her hands fly to cover her nose and mouth. “You jerked off to photos of your aunt?!”

“Hey, I was eleven when she married my uncle, okay? She’s hot and was my first crush.”

“I get it. She is hot. If she didn’t terrify the absolute shit out of me, I’d probably have a crush on her, too.”

“When have you met my aunt?” Curiosity spikes at her comment as I recall my aunt's text message when she found out that I wanted the apartment for Ginny.

“Last year at Decadence. She was there to question Carmela about Scott. Just her mere presence was intimidating. She called me Scarlett since that’s what my name tag reads, and then Carmela called me Ginny, and if looks could kill, I swear hers would have murdered me on the spot.”

“Hmm.” An errant thought skitters across my brain, linking Ginny and my uncle again.

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