Page 52 of His Secret Betrayal
The doorbell rings, the sudden sound making me jump. Alek spins on his heel, muttering something about ordering a pizza before answering the door. Moments later, he returns with a slim cardboard box, the smell of gooey cheese and pepperoni making my stomach growl. He shoos me over to the couch, insisting I relax while he plates the pizza.
When I try to bring the conversation up again, he quickly shuts it down. Eventually, I let him change the subject when he asks about my day. He listens attentively, his focus never wavering as I tell him all about my fishing trip with Jax and what I learned about Evelyn. Before long, Alek is draping a blanket over our laps and exhaustion is pulling at my eyelids.
The last thing I remember before sleep claims me is the warmth of his body pressed alongside mine, and his arm draped over my shoulder as the TV drones on in the background. Alek’s gaze is on the screen, his soft, raspy chuckle filling me with a fuzzy contentment.
And I realize he’s been so focused on taking care of me that I haven’t gotten to return the favor yet. I’ve barely touched him. Hell, I haven’t even seen him without clothes yet. Somehow, we are always in too much of a hurry, his touch overwhelming me until I’m an incoherent, compliant mess.
He thinks I can do better than him? What an utter load of bullshit. No one else has ever made me feel as safe, as protected, as cherished as him. No one has ever turned me into a needy, whiny mess with a simple touch. No matter how much I get from him, it’s not enough. I always needmore, more, more.
Tomorrow, when I’m not so exhausted, I’m going to show him just how much I appreciate him. I’m going to strip his layers off one-by-one, and take my time until it’s clear I don’t plan on going anywhere.
If I’mhis, then he’smine—and it’s time he realizes that.
Alek
Hot water pelts against my tense back, soothing my aching muscles after another grueling work out session. The bathroom attached to my master bedroom is foggy with steam, the heat making my body temperature rise. The skin along my fingers is turning wrinkled and pruney, but I find myself reluctant to get out.
Luke has been giving me that hungry, heated expression all day long. I want to fuck him, I really do. But I’m not sure how much longer I can avoid taking my shirt off, or howmany more times I can distract his roving fingers from running over my scars. Not without raising his suspicion. Even now, as I’m running a trembling finger over the bumpy ridges, my stomach is twisting.
These scars tell a story, and I can’t help but want to distract him from the bleakness of my past a little longer. My long-sleeve shirts hide my weaknesses, my ugliness, from the world. Although part of me wants to rip the Band-Aid off and show him, past experiences tell me he may no longer find me attractive.
It’s one thing for a fuck buddy to avert their eyes, their lips turning down. But instinctually, I know Luke holds a different sort of power over me. If he turns away in disgust or pity, it’ll be a metaphorical punch in the gut.
I need to find a way to buy myself more time.
Just as I’m getting ready to step out of the shower, my fingers wrapping around the edges of the curtain, the bathroom door creaks open. I freeze at the shuffle of footsteps, a pleased little hum spilling from Luke’s throat as he approaches.
“Great timing,” he purrs. “Let me wash you.”
Fuck.
My heart begins to jackhammer in my throat, and I instinctively plaster my scarred back against the wet shower stall, my shoulders hiking up. “Uh, actually, I’m almost done.”
“Then maybe you can wash me,” Luke suggests coyly.
Despite my building panic, a wave of heat spreads through my body. God, if I were worthy of him, I could have his naked, soapy body under the water with me. The thought makes me imagine an alternative future, where Luke’s slick, sudsy hands glide along every inch of my unblemished skin.
The quiet thud of shoes tumbling to the floor drag me back into reality. Everything around me begins to spin, my brain bleating at mebecause this isn’t how I wanted him to find out. My own heartbeat is whooshing in my ears.
Thump, thump, thump.
“Get out,” I bark.
The outline of Luke’s shadow pauses on the other side of the shower curtain, and I swear I hear him suck in a breath.
“Oh. Are you sure you don’t want—”
“I just said I don’t want you,” I snap, the words rolling off my tongue.
He makes a quiet, wounded sound that spears through my heart. If I thought the idea of him seeing my scars was going to send me into a panic, it’s nothing compared to the gut-wrenching guilt that washes over me. He clears his throat, trying to cover up the sound, but it’s too late.
“Oh, okay,” he says quietly.
“Fuck, I didn’t mean it like that,” I quickly amend, my eyes squeezing shut.
“It’s okay, no worries.” He laughs quietly, a brittle, broken sound that isn’t humorous at all. “I changed my mind. I think I’m going to go out for a bit actually.”
“No, wait.” By the time my trembling fingers yank the shower curtain aside, Luke’s hunched shoulders are already retreating through the doorway. A different kind of panic seeps into my pores now, my stomach rolling as I scramble for a towel and wrap it around my waist. I call his name, my feet slipping on the tiled floor.
