Page 70 of Look My Way
I smile, stroking his scalp gently. “Yeah. Just a little.”
“Okay.” He yawns. “You pulled my hair.”
“I did.”
“It was because I let you. Because I wanted it. It was on my terms.”
“Sí.” I’d quickly realized that wanting me to be rough on purpose was about him taking back his power. The stalking was too. What if he knew I’d kill for him if he asked? Would he see that the same way he’s seen everything else we’ve done? Would it make him feel stronger?
Twenty-Eight
Liam
This feels too good to be true. I keep expecting to wake up at any moment to Zavier being nowhere in sight. Doing everything he can to ensure that won’t happen, he gives me lots of attention all morning in bed and washes me thoroughly in the shower in between making me come.
He touches me constantly while loading the truck and before we reach our first stop for snacks. I probably grab way too many things with sugar in them, but he doesn’t object to any of my choices, mentioning that taffy is one of his favorites too.
“You going to get anything other than a Diet Pepsi?” I ask as we’re checking out.
“I think you’ve got enough junk food for the both of us.” He winks, resting a hand on my back, and I laugh, unable to get enough of him touching me. He rests so much weight on me, like I can handle it. Because I can. And when I need to be remindedof how much, all I have to do is give him one look and lead his fingers to where I want him to grab.
Daniel hurt me to control me, but I call the shots when Zavier does, and he never goes overboard. It’s also never done to weaken me or keep me in my place. It’s the complete opposite with him. His kisses aren’t to prove a point either, and they don’t ever feel threatening. He likes putting his lips on me and only keeps doing it when he knows I want more. I always want more.
He’s like a drug, and often I ask myself if this is healthy, letting the question roll off my shoulders when he offers me his hand. Who cares when it all feels this good. He wants me and looks at me every chance he gets. I like him watching me. As we’re walking back to the car, I walk ahead, feeling his eyes on me.
Sparks shoot up my spine and I move faster, focusing on his loud steps and penetrating gaze. It’s so heavy and addictive. When I turn around, he looks down at his hand and I smile, facing ahead again. My legs pick up speed, not stopping until I reach the truck. My hand reaches for the door, and I lift my head, expecting him to be on the other side of it, but he isn’t anywhere I can see.
Except I know he’s there. It’s like a sixth sense. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my heart is beating erratically.
My bottom lip slips between my teeth and I wipe my sweaty palm on my jeans, opening the truck door. I move my head from side to side, working my eyes around me before climbing in. I still can’t see him. My heart lifts and drops, my stomach flipping. The door slams at the pull of my hand and I tug on my seat belt. When I spin my ahead around, there he is. All I see are his eyes and hat, the rest of his face hiding behind another vehicle.
Those deep brown irises are unmistakable, and so is how intensely he looks at me, narrowing his eyes and taking me all in. My breaths stutter and my mouth goes dry, cock stiffening. Adjusting myself in my pants, I keep my eyes on his until a carhonks nearby causing me to avert my gaze. Jumping in my seat, I press my back to it and laugh. Shaking my head, I fumble with my belt and bounce in my seat again when the door on the driver’s side opens.
“Hey, carino.”
“Hey yourself. Where’d you come from?” I lean one side of my body against the door looking smug.
“Oh, just around.” His lips wrinkle and he gets into the truck in one swoop, handing me my bag. “I had to make a trip to the bathroom.”
“I see. Is that what happened?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Yup,” he says, shifting in his seat as he starts the engine. “Ready to finish the rest of our trip?”
“Yeah. I hate sitting for too long.” Mostly because I did it a lot whenever Daniel was home. He’d convince me I was dizzy or tired and blame my headaches on my symptoms and medication side effects. It was him. His hands caused them. They haven’t randomly sprung up on me since he hasn’t been around.
How could I have been so stupid and blind? I wanted to be loved so badly by someone who accepted at least most of me. I didn’t want to settle for less, but somehow did anyway, telling myself it wouldn’t get better than that.
He was okay with me getting sick a lot. He was okay with me working from home and didn’t stop me from living my dream job. He supported my plant habit and told me how much he loved me all the time. I needed more but convinced myself I didn’t. I wasn’t only in an unfulfilling relationship . . . I was in an abusive one.
I thought he saw me and accepted me for who I was. I was wrong. He made me who he wanted me to be—someone to control. And I fell right into his trap. Why me? Why did he have to choose me? Why did I have to let him be my first relationship,losing sight of what someone who loves you is supposed to look like?
“If you need to stretch your legs at any point, just let me know,” Zavier says, bringing me back to where I want to be.
“I should be okay. It’s not too much more of a drive, is it?”
“No. Less than an hour. You hungry for real food yet?”
“Not yet.” I look down at my hands, then my eyes travel to where he’s squeezing the wheel. Smiling softly, he lays his hand on my lap with his palm facing up, and I eagerly lay mine on top. “My sister is supposed to be making lunch around one.”
