Page 159 of Ecstasy
“You love me,” I say against her neck, pulling her skin between my teeth.
She wraps her legs tighter around me, rocks her hips. I swear to God I would fuck her right here, except I don’t swear to God anymore and I don’t want anyone else to see my girl.
“Let’s go back to the hotel?”
She licks her way down my throat, but finally pulls back, her face flushed and her eyes bright, and she nods.
Once we’re there, her naked on the bed and waiting for me, I sink to my knees on the mattress and run my hands up her thighs, eyes taking in every inch of her smooth, pale skin.
In two days, I’m meeting her mother again. Tomorrow, she’s having brunch with mymother, who is in an in-patient rehab. My father is a pussy and went away to some pastor retreat in Utah which I’m sure will do absolutely nothing for him, but I don’t care.
I just want her to meet my mom, and I want to meet hers, and I want to go back to school and walk arm-in-arm with her to class, and take her to the gym and we can start working on that business plan of ours.
My inheritance is already in my account and has been for some time. I took money out of it for my legal fees from last fall, and I did it again for the shit with my ex-roommate, but there’s plenty left, and Zara herself isn’t poor. We could really start something.
Build an empire.
“What are you thinking about right now?” she asks me, propping herself up on her elbows, a slight frown on her face.
I glance at her naked before me, and my cock stirs.
She sees it and smiles. “What were you thinking of before you just looked at me like that?”
My hands slide up her thighs, over her hips, her torso, her breasts because I can’t fucking resist them, and then to her face as I lean over her, settling myself between her thighs.
“Two things.” I wiggle my hips against her. “I was thinking about your scars.”
She goes rigid, so I keep talking: “If you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine. But it broke my heart a little, that you thought I didn’t notice them. I always did. I always have.”
She swallows, averts her gaze. “I used to hurt myself,” she admits, and that fucking nearly tears me apart. “Because I didn’t think I was, you know, worthy of anything. And it felt good. It felt good then.”
I run my thumb over her lip. “I’m so sorry, princess.” I take a deep breath. “When was the last time?” I ask her, since she seems willing to talk about it. “When was the last time you didn’t feel worthy?”
She keeps looking down between us. “When you told me you wanted your father to like me. When you told me you wanted me to be more respectable.”
Those words sear through me. Thinking of what she did to herself because of what I said. Of her admission, right now. Her vulnerability.
My heart fucking breaks. “God, Zara.” I blink back my own tears, gripping her face just a little tighter. “I’m so fucking sorry. I was…” I hang my head, and surprising me, she runs her fingers through my hair. Her touch sends a shiver through me, but I don’t look up. “I was fucking stupid.” I pick my head up, meet her gaze. “And you’re so worthy. I’m so sorry, Zara.”
She smiles at me, her fingers still in my hair. “I’ve wanted to tell you that for a long time. But now that I have, tell me your other thought. You said you were thinking two things.”
I don’t want to. I want to grovel at her feet. Tell her I was a stupid moron. I want to beg her to forgive me but I think she already has. I think she has because we both made mistakes, and neither of us knew what love was.
But we had to grow into it. It’s part of growing up, and we did that. Together, we did that.
I blow out a breath. “I was thinking of what our life is going to look like a year from now.”
She smiles faintly, but I see something else in her expression, the dim light from the bathroom giving me just enough light to gauge her emotions by. And now that she’s not on drugs, she’s full of them.
She said she wasn’t fun without the drugs, but she’s morefun. She might be quieter, but she laughs more. She teases. She’s serious, too, and she’s everything.
She’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I’m always thinking about her, and us, and what we’re going to do together now that this shitty chapter of our life has passed.
I tip her chin up, turn her head to face me. “What?” I ask her, worry in my tone, but I can’t hide it. And I don’t want to. I want her to know how I feel. “What do you see when you think of yourself in a year?”
She runs her hand through her hair, and I watch her throat bob as she swallows. “I think I’ll be a broke philosophy major without a job and a shitload of debt from student loans.”
Relief courses through me, because those problems are solvable. Those problems are too fucking easy.
