Page 34 of The Masks We Break

My hand drops, and her face falls with it, the submissive gesture somehow makes my chest hollow. It’s as though she’s admitted to doing something she knows she shouldn’t have and is now awaiting my punishment. I wonder how often it is she’s had to answer for her actions when she’s done something...unexpected. It’s a stance I know all too well, and a thread of anger snaps in my sternum. I want to hurt whoever’s made her default to this pose.Then I long to protect her.

Fuck.

I rub aggressively at the nape of my neck, forcing myself to focus on her words. “You got a piercing? On what? Your clit?”

She pauses, and for a second, her chest stills as though she stops breathing, too scared to admit it. A low growl comes from the back of my throat, ready to ask again, but she nods.

Just when I think the little mouse couldn’t piss me off anymore, she does this. Dismissing the fact that another man has had his hands on her, she also reeks like a bar. Sweat and other foreign smells cling to her body like a second skin, and she was going to go to sleep like that, possibly risking an infection?

I let the growl flow from my throat again, watching as her eyelashes flutter. “Let’s go.”

She obeys. “Yes, sir.”

It’s barely above a whisper, but it feels like she screamed it at the top of her lungs—another thing I have to force away in order to keep my focus on what matters.

We walk inside, and I flip on the light, turning on the shower for her, checking until I like the water’s temperature.

“Do you need help?”

She shakes her head, biting into her bottom lip. I give her privacy, turning to face the wall before I speak. “Drop the dress and get in. I’ll get some clothes and a warm sea salt compress for you.”

Again she follows my command without complaint, sending a wave of satisfaction through my limbs, calming the irritation. After some rustling with the soft thud of clothes hitting the floor and the curtain closing, I turn back around and get to work. I gather all the things she needs and make her compress quickly. When I return to the bathroom, I let my arm snake through the curtain, handing it to her.

As a premed student, I hope she knows how to cleanse the open wound. “I can assume you know what to do?”

Ahmhmmof understanding sounds above the water, satisfying me momentarily. After letting her shower for six more minutes, I move back the curtain just slightly, handing her the towel. The water shuts off, and she draws the tapestry back, the soft cotton wrapped under her arms. Her eyes are low now, fatigue finally taking over any lingering embarrassment as she reaches for my extended hand and steps out. She quietly lets me lead her to my bed and dresses in the oversized shirt I’d laid out for her.

Before I can admire her in my clothes, a tightness squeezes my chest when her eyes finally find me again. The rims are red, and tears flow freely from both the inside and outside corners. “It’s my-y fault.”

“No, puppet. No part of you being here has anything to do with her not.” For the dozenth time since I’ve seen this woman a few weeks ago, I act without thinking, sitting on the bed and pulling her into my lap. She wraps an arm around my neck, cradling her head in my chest as silent sobs wrack through her body.

There are few things I don’t know how to do when it comes to women. I’m well versed in their sexual pleasure and even better at taking care of them after. But comforting them in moments where words aren’t enough? Definitely my weakest skill. It’s something I’ve only ever seen once outside of Remy, and even then, I wasn’t the best at it. Yet with my little distraction, all I can wonder is how to help her.

How to heal her.

This pain she has is so emotionally severe, it’s as though she feels it physically as well. It’s a deep rooted hurt, and it vexes me that I can’t fix it for her.

And Iwantto fix it for her.

The admission is jarring, an odd ache radiating through my muscles as if I’ve had the most strenuous workout of my life. I search my arsenal of reasoning to explain the feeling but come back empty.

Remy has always been different from the other women in my life. Not because of her innocent stature or incredibly complex mind. But because even though she has her own demons, she doesn’t let it corrupt her aura into poison. Her unconditional light seeps from her and infects others with its brightness. It’s a rare and difficult thing to do, hence why it’s so easy to feed into the dark, and I know the toll it will take if she doesn’t take care of herself. I want to help her with that...

It’s then I notice that my chest is vibrating harder, and it’s not from my humming. Glancing down, I smooth the wild hairs on the top of Remy’s head away from her delicate face to see she’s asleep, her soft snores even and deep.

I can put her down now. Go back to the living room and study the file that my father expects to be taken care of in less than two months while maintaining my full schedule.

But I don’t. I lift and move, putting her under the covers, and instead of doing what I’m supposed to do—what I need to do, I fall to my knees and continue watching her rest as I stroke her silky locks.

I study her delicate features I’ve imagined numerous times, though, in reality she is much more stunning. My gaze shifts from her curled lashes to the lingering blush on her cheeks, down to the softest lips I’ve ever felt in my life. The ones that felt as though they were made for mine.

Mine.

The word hits my chest like a wrecking ball, knocking the air out of me and leaving behind an ache to expand across my ribs. This feeling—thislonging, is dangerous.

Sheis dangerous.

It’s something I’ve told myself time and again, and yet here I am, teasing the fire with my bare hands, hoping my skin is far too damaged already to feel any more pain. It’s hard not to play with the idea of what it would be like to give in to temptation, take what I’ve craved for so long. But then I remember the night she asked that question.

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