Page 23 of Dirty, Bruised Martini
I think of him when I slip down the straps of my negligee.
It’s been easy to avoid the damage. I rarely look in the mirror anymore. You always tell me I’m stunning, gorgeous, magnificent. I haven’t believed you. I know you’re lying. I know you’re just trying make me feel better. To make both of us feel better.
Although somehow you’ve worked your magic on me again, and it seems more and more lately I’ve wanted your compliments to be true. I’ve wanted to look beautiful for you. I’m not sure if that’s possible. After all you’ve done for me, I could at least try. Attempt to look better than I have.
Since you won’t let me leave the house without you, I’ve called Piper and asked her if she would please come and cut my hair, and Betsy for a manicure and pedicure. Now, I need to face what I’ve been hiding from. His mark might be gone, but I don’t know if the scars he left me with will ever completely fade. The doctor’s either.
They’re not as bad as I thought but still ugly. He’s a very skilled surgeon. You demanded the best and wouldn’t accept anyone else once you found him. Another gift you gave me that I’m thankful for. I hope you know how much.
Two thin lines flank each side of my torso. The skin in-between smooth and flawless. A sharp contrast from the black and red ink previously marring the area. Different. Better. Normal.
I hope.
Maybe that’s wishful thinking.
When I found you staring at me from the doorway I wished I could know what you really thought.
I can’t think of a damn thing when I catch sight of you.
My run was worthless. I couldn’t get the image of your contemplative expression when I left this morning off my mind and had to come back to the house. Striding to our room needing nothing else but to find you.
God fucking damn did I find you.
My entire body flushed, hard and tight, from you standing in front of the mirror wearing only tiny purple panties. With your silky robe pooled at your feet. Your delicate hands brushed over your plump breasts before stroking down your flat stomach while you scanned your reflection. Looking for what, I had no idea. I couldn’t even really fucking think straight with your beauty wasting me just like every damn time I see you. All I know is I’m one fucking lucky bastard.
Forcing myself not to ravish you, I grasped the door frame. My fingertips digging into the wood over my head to prevent them from trying to reach for you. Enjoying the view for as long as I could get away with it. Before you caught me and hid like you always do. Like I always hate.
I couldn’t fucking move or breathe when you twisted to check out your amazing ass. Only my cock worked at that point. Straining against my thin running shorts. Eager to touch you too.
It fucking killed me when you caught my gaze and wide eyes, flooding with shame, reflected back at me. Discovering me admiring you and unhappy about my approval. I smiled, hoping you could see what I see. Wishing you could believe how exquisite I think you are.
You didn’t. You don’t.
Instead, you scurried downward, desperate to grab your chemise, and yanked up the jade green fabric. Fumbling with shaking fingers to cover yourself. Wrapping the silk belt as tight around your waist as your arms wrapped around your torso. Hiding your insecurities from me.
A humiliated expression drew down your sweet face that made lava race through my body. More proof you’re still not yourself. More confirmation you still don’t trust me. Damn.
I know I shouldn’t have been but I was angry. At that bastard. At you. At myself. You’re wearing my ring. Living in my house. Calling yourself my girl.
But neither of us were acting like it. That was going to stop. That was going to change. Right fucking then.
You didn’t move at first when I told you to come here. Curling tighter into yourself with hesitation. Fuck that. I growled your name at you, and I swear your body arched toward me of its own volition. You’re damaged, I get that. So am I. But you and I both know who owns you.
Third time must really be the charm. I whispered and you took a tentative step toward me. I encouraged you with my silence. My feigned tolerance. My pretense of a patient wolf. Until you finally made your way to me.
A shaky gasp answered my command to touch me. On my chest. Feel my heart pounding for you rosy girl. On my dick. Feel how rock hard and throbbing I am for you. On my face. Feel my cheeks smiling like the fucking lovesick fool I am for you.
You seemed to trust me since I wasn’t touching you back. Keeping my arms above my head. Forcing my fingers to cup only the door mount.
I was hot and sweaty, not just from my abandoned run. But from you. Fireworks following your fingertip trailing down my damp skin. Bombs blasting from your lips brushing my mouth.
Taking that breathless kiss as permission, I slowly lowered my arms and grasped your hand. Leading you to the bed. I dropped a knee to the mattress and motioned for you to lay down. I fucking hated your trembling but loved that you obeyed me. Despite the anxiety swirling in your big blue eyes as you watched me. I never let your fingers loose as I grabbed a pillow and waited patiently for you to lift your narrow hips. Never letting go when I awkwardly tugged down your thong. Not at all slick or sexy in my movements. Yet none of that mattered. Not to either of us.
Your gorgeous breasts raised and lowered with your heavy breaths. Your sweet nipples torpedoed in the cool morning air. Your stomach quivering with the apprehension of giving yourself to me. At least your pretty pussy to my tongue.
I nudged your legs apart and slowly lowered myself between them. As I kneeled in adoration, my hand remained entwined with yours. Creating our own temple with our interwoven fingers. The other cupped your hip. Firm enough to hold you down. Gentle enough to let you up.
Tears dropped on your rosy cheeks when I told you that I can’t take back what he did to you. I can’t erase the memories. But I can prove to you I’m not him. That when we’re in this bed together I will only ever pleasure you. That I will only do what he never did.
