Shelby
The first thing I remembered was his eyes. So brown they’re nearly black. There was a familiarity there that I couldn’t place, but I’d swear I’d seen those eyes before. Coming in and out of consciousness, he’d be there. Peering over me. Standing vigil like a fallen angel. I had no idea who this man was, but he seemed to know me. He seemed to care for me.
Several weeks ago, I woke up in a strange place, surrounded by strange men, and now I’m staring into those dark eyes again. Except this time, I awoke with a gasp that stole all the breath from my lungs. I was disoriented and terrified.
Until I saw those eyes.
“Whoa, blossom. It’s me. Alex.”
Alex.
He says it with familiarity, as if Sin never existed and took his place. Not like a few weeks ago when it seemed painful to have me call him Sin, yet nobody had called him by his real name in years.
“I’m sorry,” I grumble sleepily. My back cracks as I move to sit, and the crick in my neck screams in pain. He needs a new couch in this place. Sleeping on it wasn’t my brightest idea.
A frown puckers his heavy brow. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Elias had a date,” I mutter.
“Not here, here. I meant here, as in, on my fuckin’ couch instead of in a bed.”
“Oh.” I breathe, looking across the space to the empty kitchen. I wonder what he has for breakfast food. Eating is still a tricky issue for me, and considering I barely picked at my dinner, I’m starving this morning.
“Shelby,” he growls, having run out of patience. When I swing my gaze back over to him, he raises his eyebrows expectantly.
I burrow further beneath the blanket I dragged off the back of his couch last night. “It was late when I let myself in, and I didn’t want to bother you.”
“What the fuck?”
I deserved that. It’s true this wasn’t the first time I’d let myself into his home. The day after I showed at his apartment alone and freaked out in the hallway, he brought me to the hardware store and had a key made. While the key was being cut, he walked over to a display case and picked out a keyring with a decorative, cursive ‘S’ charm attached to it. He obviously picked that charm out for my name, but I liked to think it was a representation of Sin’s name. He put the new key on it and gave it to me with firm instructions. I was to come and go as needed, even if he wasn’t home, and I better not ever lose it.
This was only the third or fourth time I’d come to his place alone. Elias would drop me off when he had plans, which more than likely involved a woman, and they were becoming much more frequent the longer I was around. I was happy to see him going out and having a good time instead of feeling obligated to hang out with me.
Last night was no different, except when I got inside Sin’s place, he didn’t come to meet me at the door as he normally did. He didn’t come out at all. Actually, his bedroom door was closed, and I assumed he had been busy with someone else.
“I don’t know why you’re upset.” I try for strength, but I still sound weak and afraid. And that just makes me angry.
“Do you ever sleep on the couch?”
“I mean, it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Have I ever made you sleep alone on the couch?” he snaps.
“No.”
“Haven’t we worked on teaching you how to ask for things you need?”
“Yes, but—ˮ
“If that’s true, then why didn’t you come into my room and get into my bed?”
His words make my stomach flip, but I don’t want them to. I start to feel queasy.
“Um, I’m not sure—ˮ
All I saw was a flash of color on either side of my head. His torso pitches forward as he swings his face to my level. He braces himself with his arms against the back of the couch, caging me in.
“You don’t sleep on the couch. Ever. You come here, you sleep in my bed. You want me there, I’m there, but if you don’t, I’ll take the fuckin’ couch.”
The heat from his body, the warmth of his breath on my face, it’s too much. It makes my head spin.
“I thought you weren’t alone,” I whisper, the words falling out unfiltered through my current brain fog.
His gaze flicks to my lips. His brows snap together at the same time he growls, “I will always be alone.”
The double meaning of those words don’t escape me, and it hurts me to hear him say it with such conviction.
“You have me,” I murmur, more than a little hurt he doesn’t see me the way I see him.
“You’re playing with fire.”
“I-I don’t care.” And I don’t, not really. Sure, my stomach is queasy, and the palms of my hands begin to sweat, but Alex has done so much for me over the past couple of weeks that I feel like I should be doing the same for him. How can he feel so alone when I’m right here, practically begging him to notice me? What’s so bad about finding solace in someone who can understand better than anybody else?
He runs his thumb along my lower lip, and that simple touch has me sucking in a sharp breath through my teeth. When he presses down in the middle, forcing the soft flesh into my teeth, the sharp bite causes me to hiss.
“I’m not a nice man,” he growls, staring at the place where he’s touching me.
Responding would dislodge his thumb, and I’m not ready for him to stop touching me, so I stay quiet.
“I’m the worst sort of man.” His voice drops even lower, softer, the tone so deep I swear I can feel it vibrate inside me. His thumb twitches, my mouth waters, and I don’t know what comes over me and makes me do it, but I touch the tip of my tongue to his thumb. It’s his turn to suck in a sharp breath, but neither of us moves. The air around us stills, everything quiet except for the rapid pounding of our hearts.
I must feel like pushing boundaries today, or maybe my self-control is nonexistent because I do it again. I run my tongue along the edge of his thumb. There’s something happening to me. Something bold. Maybe it’s because he’s not forcing me, or that I want to show him I don’t find him repulsive. It might be that the warm, salty taste of him leaves me wanting more. That taste igniting something inside me. Whatever it is, I’m not sure. All I know is the next thing I want to do, so I do it.
I close my lips around his digit and give it a tentative suck.
His resulting groan shoots straight through me. My nipples tighten and my stomach clenches in a way I have never, ever felt before. Not even back to the days of middle school crushes and butterflies did I feel something so deep and visceral. That one sound from him takes root inside me and spurs me on. I latch onto his wrist with one hand and suck him deeper into my mouth, keeping my eyes locked onto his. I circle him with my tongue, loving when he groans again.
“Blossom,” he speaks in a soft, gruff voice. “What are you doing?”
It’s a simple question, but it makes me stop as suddenly as if he’d shocked me. Was I doing something wrong? What was I doing? Sucking on some random man’s finger? I probably look like the whore I’ve been conditioned to be, oh God.
I relinquish my hold on his wrist and pull my mouth away, dropping my eyes and turning my face to the side in shame. Was this my conditioning again, or did I want to do this? I can’t deny it felt good, and it’s never felt good before.