Page 109 of Filthy Dirty Dom

He held his breath, unable to comprehend the affection she was showering upon him. His heart echoed the rhythm of her gentle whispers. He wasn’t supposed to be loved, not after the horrors he’d committed.

But as he felt her warmth seep into him, her scent wafting into his senses, he couldn't help but clutch onto the solace she was offering. His eyes pricked with unshed tears, his heart throbbing. It was a paradox, a bizarre dance between the bleakness of his past and the possibility of a future he hardly dared to dream about.

"You deserve love," she whispered again, her voice laced with conviction, her touch filled with tenderness. It was a notion that seemed too good to be true, a dream he was afraid to believe in. And yet, as he closed his eyes, leaning into her embrace, he allowed himself to savor the moment, the comforting words that held the promise of something beautiful. Something he had convinced himself he could never have.

Love in the face of all he was. All he’d done.

The room was quiet when she finally pulled away from him. The silence was broken only by their breathing and the faint hum of life within the monastery's thick stone walls.

Without a word, she got up, went into the bathroom and after opening and closing doors and drawers, came out carrying the first aid kit that had been stashed in a lower cabinet.

Alex looked at his hand where a trickle of blood had dried, the shallow cut a stark reminder of the desperate measures he'd taken earlier. He watched as Leslie meticulously cleaned the wound on his neck, then swiped away the blood on his hand, her delicate touch a stark contrast to the violence of his memories.

As Leslie fussed over him, Alex relived the way she’d held him, the way she had rocked him, the conviction in her voice when she told him he deserved love.

When she was done, she tidied up, the motions almost mechanical, borne out of a need to keep her hands busy.

"Lie down," she instructed, and her tone carried an authority he found himself instinctively wanting to obey so he did.

Slowly, she undressed him down to his boxers then urged him to slide under the cool sheets, which he did. Leslie followed suit, stripping down to just her panties, then slipping into bed with him.

49

Leslie slipped into bed with Alex.

"You don't have to..." Alex began, but she cut him off.

"I want to," she interjected softly, shifting closer to him. She guided his arm, pulling it around her until she was nestled securely against him. His other arm instinctively mirrored the first, cradling her close to his body.

There was a moment's pause as they both adjusted to the new position. Then, with a contented sigh, Leslie leaned back against him. The warmth of her body seeped into his, soothing away the remnants of his earlier tension.

He closed his eyes, his senses overwhelmed by her closeness. Her scent filled his nostrils, sweet and calming. Her soft breaths brushed against his skin, and her heartbeat thrummed in rhythm with his own.

In that moment, everything else faded away. The painful past, the uncertain future; they were both forgotten, replaced by the comforting presence of the woman in his arms. She was the constant, the beacon of light guiding him through the darkness of his life.

As sleep began to pull at him, a single question floated to the surface of his mind: could he really deserve her love? Because he had no doubt she loved him, and wasn’t that in and of itself proof of his worth?

She loved him despite his past, despite the darkness within him. And in a world that seemed to be shrouded in shadows, she was his light.

With that thought, Alex allowed sleep to claim him, his hold on Leslie tightening ever so slightly. And for the first time in a long time, he slept with a sense of utter peace enveloping him.

That night, sleep eluded Leslie entirely. She lay nestled in the comforting cocoon of Alex’s arms, her heart aching with quiet desperation. His rhythmic breathing was the only constant in the whirlwind of emotions that she was experiencing.

His confession had left her feeling raw, shocked, and scared. The image of the blade slicing through his skin, the droplet of blood dripping down his neck—it had all played out like a nightmare. But it was real. It was painfully, horrifically real.

In the darkness, silent tears slipped down her cheeks. She clamped her mouth shut, trying to keep her sobs silent as she held him closer. She was desperate to shield him from her fear, desperate to be his rock when he had shown himself to be so fragile.

Her heart ached for him, for the pain he had endured, the guilt he carried, and the fear that was etched in his eyes. But she was also undeniably scared. His world was far darker than she could have ever imagined, and she wasn’t sure if she was brave enough to step into it, assuming he even allowed her to.

Eventually, exhaustion took over, lulling her into a fitful sleep filled with disturbing dreams. When she woke, the room was bathed in the soft light of dawn. For a moment, she was disoriented, lost in the tangled sheets and dark thoughts.

Then she realized Alex was gone. A pang of panic shot through her, but it was quelled when the bathroom door creaked open and Alex stepped out, a towel slung low around his waist. His hair was wet, droplets of water still clinging to his bare chest. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, her gaze drawn to the small wound on his neck, a haunting reminder of the previous night’s revelations.

"Good morning," Leslie murmured, forcing her voice to remain steady. Her heart still ached from the memory of the night before, but the last thing she wanted was to bring back the dark cloud that had lingered over Alex. To her surprise, sleep seemed to have done Alex good. His eyes seemed lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from them. He was smiling, a soft, genuine smile that reached his eyes. It was as if the Alex from last night was a different person, his dark confession a story from another life.

"Good morning," he replied, his voice warm and relaxed. There was an uncharacteristic tenderness in his gaze, one that made her stomach flutter despite the turmoil of emotions swirling within her. He moved closer, leaning down to press a soft kiss against her forehead. The casual affection startled her, yet she couldn't help but lean into his touch.

Her heart fluttered with intensity. She was torn between relief at his sudden lightness and fear that he was simply brushing aside his pain, pretending it didn't exist. She studied his face, searching for any sign of the torment he had revealed last night. But all she found was repose.

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