Page 104 of Don't Make Me Beg
Luka
The past week with Scout has been something straight out of one of my fantasies. And just when I think things can’t get any better, Scout never ceases to surprise me.
And thanks to my dickhead brothers and their little confession about setting me up, I’ve decided to take some long overdue vacation time. When I’m not helping her finish the mural, I plan on spending the rest of my summer hanging out with my wife, enjoying every free moment we have to the fullest. I don’t know what the future holds for us, and if I’m being honest, I’m afraid to ask. I don’t want to spook her—or give her a reason to overthink this and come to her senses.
God knows I’ve given her plenty of reasons to run in the other direction from the way I’ve treated her, but I hope she sees I have the best of intentions, because I want more for her. I hated seeing her settle with that shady prick, but more than that, I hated seeing her settle for the life her parents wanted her to live.
I’ll admit, at first, all I wanted was to hurt her the way she hurt me. But it’s hard to stay mad at someone so pure. Someone who doesn’t realize they’ve been preyed upon their whole life.
Somewhere along the way, I guess the spite that was fueling me started to shift, though its intensity remained the same. I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to resist her, that I’d be able to keep up the walls I cowardly hid behind. All it took was one shy smile and a belly laugh to have me fully on my knees in surrender, ready to fight anyone who ever threatened to take that away. I’m not sure where this road will lead us, or what the future holds. But I’m no stranger to having my life shifted on a dime, so I intend to savor every second of these blissful moments, because life can change in an instant.
After our first lazy rainy day, the weather gods must’ve smiled down on me, because it turned into two more.
We’ve had movie marathons that quickly turned into fucking marathons… We slept in, napped together, and I even convinced her to play some video games with me. She was hesitant at first, but I’m no amateur; I knew the only thing she needed was the right game to pique her interest.
All it took was about ten minutes of her watching me play Lego Fortnite before she asked for a turn, which naturally led to her wanting to try out the real thing. The next thing I knew, the entire afternoon had gone by, and Scout was well on her way to a Victory Royale. Looks like my little gamer girl is hooked.
She doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve already ordered her her own handheld gaming console so she can play any time she wants.
I’ve always seen my role as a HusDom—it’s still a working title—but I’ve felt from the beginning that both sides needed equal representation to feel complete. And not just in a sexual way. Watching Scout finally start to relax, to genuinely enjoy her life, feels more rewarding than anything I’ve ever accomplishedfor myself. It’s as if everything I’ve endured has led me here, prepared me for this exact purpose.
I know I can’t change her past, but I can help her build a better future. One where she feels confident enough to ask for what she wants and unafraid to speak up when something isn’t right. All I want is for her to live the life she dreams of—not to please her parents, not to please anyone else, not even to please me.
It’s hard to deny how simple the decision seems just by watching the way she comes alive every time she’s got a paintbrush in her hand. The way her hazel eyes twinkle when she’s in that flow state, where she can’t even hear me when I’m talking to her.
But it needs to come from her.
If I could just get her to see herself through my eyes, there’s no way she’d ever feel an ounce of insecurity again. I’ve spent an entire week watching her disappear into her own little world every time she picks up that paintbrush, and I continue to be amazed by her talent.
I wish I could say I’ve been more helpful, but there’s not really much I can do to help beyond filling in basic solid shapes. And even then, I feel like a toddler fighting the uncooperative paint to stay inside the lines. Trust me, it’s way harder than it looks.
And now that the background is mostly finished, I find myself acting like her caddy, refilling her cups of paint, making sure she stays hydrated in this scorching heat, and fighting her to take a lunch break and actually eat.
I don’t mind, though, not one bit. It’s pretty awesome having a front row seat to someone slowly realizing their potential.
This mural isn’t just a summer project to Scout. It’s a piece of her soul. It’s all the words she wasn’t able to speak. It’s herpain, her dreams, and all the pieces of herself she never felt safe enough to show the world.
And I’m just the lucky bastard who gets to temporarily call her mine. I know it’s not the same as her really choosing to be with me, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Did you start over? Looks like you painted over what you did last time,” Fergus calls, reminding me of the audience that’s slowly grown over the past hour.
“Why is it so dark?” someone else asks.
I clench my teeth, holding back my words when I feel Scout’s hand smooth down my shoulder. “Just ignore them, Luka,” she says, her lips pulling into a knowing smirk as she goes back to working on the Phantom’s veiny forearms. “They’re just bored, and this is the most exciting thing they’ve seen in a long time. It’s nothing personal.”
I let out a huff, massaging my aching temples as a headache starts to form behind my eye. “I don’t know how you do this all day, having everyone constantly commenting on every single thing you do.”
Scout just shrugs, not even giving them a second glance. “You get used to it.” She dips her brush into the cup of paint, adding shadows to the veins. She laughs to herself and adds, “Besides, it’s not like I’m not used to having my every move criticized.”
It’s supposed to be a lighthearted dig at her parents, but I don’t think there’s anything funny about it. In fact, the whole thing’s just reminded me of how pissed I am that her father thinks he can treat another person that way. That he can control her like some fucking chess piece in his crooked dealings. I will make him and her pathetic ex pay for treating her so badly, if it’s the last thing I do.
“No offense, but how is this any different from trashy street art?” A woman asks.
I send her a death glare over my shoulder. “Seriously?”
She throws up her hands. “What? I’m just asking…”
“All right, that’s enough of this for today.” I pluck the paintbrush out of her hand, shoving the handle in my back pocket, before spinning her around to face me. The freckles on her nose are darker than they were a couple of weeks ago, despite the layers of sunscreen she keeps herself slathered in. Her skin’s got a subtle golden glow to it, and she’s got a streak of paint across her jaw.
