Page 52 of Fool Me Once

“Stupid dress,” I grumble, attempting to get the zipper down on the dress Saylor let me borrow.

She insisted I keep it. She said it looked better on me than it had on her, which is not true, but either way, I should have had her unzip it before she went to the airport.

Walking into the kitchen area, I pull open the drawer to see what I can find for a tool to help me get this dress off of my body, feeling more claustrophobic in it by the second. Just as I pick up a manual can opener, the door swings open, and Smith steps inside, closing it behind him. He looks far from impressed, but, Lord, he looks hot in his button-down shirt and jeans.

“Why would you have my sister tell me you were leaving? Why wouldn’t you just walk over and tell me?” He’s trying to keep the angerfrom his tone, but it’s not working. “I didn’t want to be at that club any more than you did, Gemma.”

“Sorry,” I say shyly before trying to reach the can opener behind my back, unsure of how it would possibly work but desperate to get this dress off my body.

The good thing about being stuck in a dress that I can hardly breathe in is that it distracts me from the fact that I threw myself at Smith, and now, he’s here, watching me play with a can opener like an asshole.

“My God, will you just put the fucking can opener down?” he says, shaking his head and stepping forward. “Spin around.”

He moves his fingers in a circular motion, and I stare up at him before leisurely turning away from him.

When his fingers touch my flesh before he tugs down the zipper, I suck in a breath. I try to keep it cool and stay calm, but the closer his knuckles get to the top of my ass, the more my heart speeds up. When he gets to the bottom, I can’t fight it anymore.

I have wanted him since the day he left. I know I have healing to do, and I know there’s nothing good that could come out of leaning on sex to mend what hurts, but right now, I can’t think straight, and all I want is to be close to Smith Sawyer.

Spinning slowly, I let my arms rest at my sides, and the dress falls to the floor. I didn’t wear a bra tonight, leaving me in only a thong as I stand in the kitchen, staring at Smith and silently begging him to give me what I need.

“Jesus, Gemma,” he hisses, his eyes darkening as they roam my body. “I told you, I can’t fuck you tonight. You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk anymore,” I whisper, taking a step toward him and pressing my tits a little closer to his body. “Since I got back to Maine, you keep trying to fix me, Smith.” I place my hand on his abdomen, sliding it under his shirt. “Fix me then. Rid my body of another man’s touch.” Tears fill my eyes, and I breathe in sharply through my nose. “I’m begging you … fuck me, Smith. Fuck me so hard that the pain leaves my body.”

The battle he’s fighting inside is palpable, and with each passing second, I feel him giving in to me more. He needs this too. It doesn’t have to mean anything, but if it numbs the pain for a while, I won’t stop asking until I get what I want.

My palm glides upward in an attempt to get him to tug his shirt off, making him suck in a breath through his teeth.

“I don’t feel like me anymore,” I whisper. “Bring me back to life.”

He cups my cheeks suddenly. “Tell me this is really what you want, Firefly. Because the last thing I would ever want is to hurt you. I’d cut off my own arm before I ever let that happen again.”

Even now, we’re supposed to be nothing besides roommates who are fake dating, and yet I feel more love just from his hands on my face than I did during the entire relationship with that monster. His eyes drink me in like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, not like a disgusting woman no one else would want, which is what I was told in the past.

“I don’t want anything,” I murmur. “Ineedit. I need it to numb the pain. I need it to fix me.”

His thumb strokes my cheek, and he kisses me. “Tell me where it hurts,” he whispers. “Show me.”

My lip trembles, and my vision grows blurry with tears. “Everywhere,” I sob. “Everywhere hurts.”

“Baby,” he breathes out, continuing to stroke my cheek with his thumb. “I’ll never let anything happen to you again, I promise.”

For so long, I’ve kept everything bottled inside. Since she learned the truth about my ex, Saylor has told me that I should go to therapy. My mom has texted me every single day since I told her the truth and asked if I needed her to come stay with me. Everyone wants to fix me, yet I just keep pretending like I’m all right. But I’m not, and Smith knows that, yet he chose to help me and keep me safe.

“There were times when I was with him … and I’d close my eyes and picture you,” I whisper. “That’s what got me through, Smith.” I kiss his lips. “Yougot me through.”

I tug the hem of his shirt. “Please. Please give me this, just this once. If you’ve ever cared about me at all … you’ll fuck me right now.”

He studies me for a few seconds before undoing the first few buttons on his shirt and then tugging it off, and right away, I reach for his jeans and fumble to unbutton them.

“Baby, this doesn’t have to be about me, okay?” He rests his hand on mine. “I want to help you, but don’t feel like you have to—”

“I know I’m not the girl I once was. And I know I’m not as … desirable anymore.” I pause, feeling myself breaking. “But I need you inside of me. I need you to wash everything else away.”

He’s so handsome and in perfect shape. Any person in the world would be lucky to have him, including me. I’m too skinny now. I don’t sleep well, and it shows in the bags under my eyes. I’m not as attractive as I was before because everything I say or do has me questioning myself. And I can tell he sees every single one of those doubts just by how he’s looking at me.

Understanding flashes in his eyes, and he pushes his jeans and briefs down, letting them pool on the floor before stepping out of them. His cock springs free, rock hard and standing proudly, and I moan just from the sight of it. My pussy throbs, needing him so much that it physically hurts.

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