When I was with Sylvester, I learned to hide everything. How I was feeling. My opinions. Who I was. While hiding all of these things, I forgot some of them.
Turner watches me like he’s waiting for me to show him who I am. He’s not leading me or putting expectations on me. He’s simply watching with genuine curiosity.
“How is that you make no sense to me and make perfect sense at the same time?” I wrap my arms around his neck as his hands land on my hips.
I’m tempted to grind down on him, just to see. To test. To tease?
When was the last time I teased anyone?
I used to be fun.
I used to know that feeling, to embrace it. Laughter. Smiles which aren’t forced. Looking for the sunshine instead of wishing for rain.
Turner’s grin is rakish. His eyes bouncing back and forth between mine. “I don’t know, Angel,” his voice is rough and it makes my nipples pebble. “You make me feel the same way. Like I’ve always known you, but I also can’t wait to learn everything about you before experiencing how you change, how you grow.”
My fingers slide up the back of his head and he shivers. I can’t help but smile because he doesn’t try and hide what I do to him. It’s refreshing.
Can I trust it?
He leans forward and nips at my bottom lip. “I’m proud of you,” his words are filled with sincerity as he pulls back while his hands start to glide up and down my spine.
“I don’t,” I swallow hard and shake my head before starting again, “I don’t understand.”
“That took a lot of guts,” he tells me while nodding toward the door as if the movement encompasses the entire path which brought us to here. “Being vulnerable, trusting us with your past.”
I duck my head, my eyes skipping over the way his shirt stretches across his chest. My man isn’t as buff as some of the guys around here, but I can still feel his strength.
“I don’t know whether it was brave or if it was just a survival instinct. Even if I can’t stick around, you should know what I’ve brought to your door.” My lips close and words get lodged in my throat. “I hate this. I hate him,” the words are strained. “I hate myself because I allowed him to trap me. I allowed him to use me and manipulate me.”
“Graycie,” he growls my name as he grips my hair in his fist, holding me steady, his touch firm, but not painful. “I never want to hear you say that ever again. You don’t get to hate yourself because you sought out love. Love should be pure. It shouldn’t be used by anyone else. That’s on your parents and that asshole.”
His eyes slide closed while he takes a few steadying breaths. When he opens them again, there is a fire blazing in his eyes.
“You can hate him. You should. And, as far as I’m concerned, you’ll never speak to your parents again. They threw you at a man without any concern for you,” he snarls. “It says a lot that you didn’t think you could go to them for help.”
“They probably would have called him to come and get me. If they were even home,” I huff out the words, hating how true they are.
“You don’t owe them a damn thing, Angel,” his fingers tighten in my hair, and my breathing starts to turn choppy.
Not with fear.
“You left. That’s all that matters.”
His words have a finality to them, like he’s closing the door on the possibility of it being any other way. And I want to cling to his surety. Maybe I can.
“Give me the past,” his words are a balm, “my shoulders are strong. I can carry it. You don’t need to anymore.”
I lean forward, my lips ghosting over his. So close. Not nearly close enough.
“I won’t be able to forgive myself if anything bad happens because of me,” I whisper my fears, the words are puffs of air against his lips.
“Oh Angel,” he sighs, “you don’t get it. There isn’t a man in the club who hasn’t shed blood at some point in his life. I’m included in that.” He tilts his head to the side. “Do you feel any differently about me? Knowing that my hands have caused destruction and I’ve brought violence.”
“No.” I murmur, “I’m not scared of you. I don’t see you differently.”
He makes a humming sound, his nose sliding over my cheek, replacing the tear tracks with the touch of his lips, and then down along my jaw. He takes a deep breath and his fingers flexin my hair. The way he’s holding me is possessive, but there’s a softness there.
Affection?