Page 120 of The Substitute
Savage puts the bag of food on my desk and crawls over me, straddling my hips and pinning my hands to the bed in one of his huge ones. He smells so fucking good, like rain and aftershave, leather and sex. His free hand slides up my chest to my throat, and he lowers his mouth to mine so I can feel every word he speaks.
Every part of me is surrounded by him. Nothing exists except him, and I want to bury myself in that feeling.
“If you think Ambrose and I won’t compromise just to make you beg, you’re in for a rude awakening.” He slides his lips up my jaw to my ear. “Your own hand only gets you so far.” He rocks against my hardening cock, and the air in my lungs freezes. “You’re mine tonight, baby girl.”
I whimper at the words and sensations he’s forcing on me but can’t think clearly with him restraining me. It calms thebusy part of my head until the only thing left is the need to come. There’s nothing to do but take what he gives me, and it’s intoxicatingly freeing. I’m beginning to crave this calm from him.
“I love the sounds you make for me.” Savage bites my earlobe before sitting up and releasing me with a knowing look on his face that I want to slap off. Jerk. “But this isn’t about orgasms.”
Swinging his leg off me, he stands and grabs the food, hands me the laptop, then pushes me over so he can sit with his back against the wall. All while my cock is hard and aching.
“Come on, let’s eat before the food gets cold.” He drops the takeout container in my lap and opens one with a massive burger and French fries. I open mine and try to hide my smile at the curly fries. “It’s okay to be happy sometimes.” He nudges my shoulder with his.
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
I shove a long, curled fry in my mouth to give me a second to think. Do I know it? Do I even know how to be happy? When was the last time I was?
Thunder booms outside, making me jolt so hard, I choke on the food. I cough and eventually manage to get the chunk clear, but it leaves my throat sore.
Savage hands me a drink and rubs my back. “You good?”
I nod and swallow the cold liquid, hoping it soothes the ache, but it doesn’t.
“Storms really aren’t your thing,” he comments, and it makes me instantly defensive.
“I didn’t make it up. Sound can’t hurt you, but it wreaks havoc on my nervous system anyway. I don’t enjoy being fucking pathetic.”
He grips my throat and pulls my face to his, both a warning and a command. “You are not pathetic.” His tone holds anedge I haven’t heard before. “What have I told you about self-depreciating comments?” This is an I’m-not-fucking-around tone that probably comes right before something I won’t like if I keep pushing it. Whatever. Maybe that’s what I need today—the fight. To see how far I can push him before he walks away.
I try to shrug him off, but he doesn’t let me. “Tobias.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes, and I know if I look at him, they’ll fall. I’m so tired of being this emotional. Shoving people away to protect myself. It's easier to hurt myself than to let them do it.
Didn’t I used to smile and laugh and enjoy things? Didn’t I use to have self-worth and a backbone? Feels like a lifetime ago.
In the blink of an eye, the computer and the food are gone, and I’m hauled into his lap.
His jaw is set, and his eyebrows are lowered just enough to tell me he’s serious, and I have all his attention. I both love it and hate it. I want to be the center of someone’s attention as long as they don’t look too closely. All the ways I’m inadequate are written on my skin like ink. It’s all I see when I look in the mirror—it’s why I avoid them. How much longer will it take for him to see them, too?
I’m expecting a lecture or for him to tell me to repeat some stupid affirmation, but instead, I get arms wrapped around me, and my face buried in his neck. The stupid tears swimming in my eyes fall, soaking into his shirt as I cling to him.
Savage rubs my back and just lets me fall apart. He doesn’t ask stupid questions or tell me it’s going to be okay. He’s just here.
No one has ever done that for me before either. No one except for Ambrose. These two are going to be the death of me. I’m going to get used to it right before it’s ripped away.
Who am I kidding? I already am used to it.
My phone buzzes against my leg, and I know who it is without looking. Ambrose.At least I hope it is. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him, but I know he sent Savage here, which means he still cares.
The fact that I’m falling apart in Savage’s lap while Ambrose checks in on me makes me cry harder. He doesn’t owe it to me to tell me the rest of his story, and maybe he won’t now that I’ve fucked it all up. How can I face him?
Part of me doesn’t deserve this kind of attention from them. A different part is terrified it’s going to blow up in my face and I’ll lose everyone. Again. The last part is tired. Tired of fighting with myself, tired of the unknowns and feeling like I’m failing somehow.
THIRTY-SEVEN
AMBROSE
