Page 22 of Sullied Saints

Nodding slowly, I feel his gaze drop again before looking away from me altogether. He's oddly reserved tonight, like he's holding part of himself back.

I take a step towards him, sensing that he's going to leave, to run away the way both of us have been consistently doing. "Dirk can't we just…"

"Be friends?" he cuts me off, meeting my eye with a fierceness in his. "Forget? Is that what you're going to ask?"

I close my mouth, dropping the hand that has somehow come to grip his arm.

"I should go," he says suddenly.

"Stop!" I demand, exasperated. "For God's sake, what do you want?"

"What do I want?"

"Yes!" I near-shout back. We've somehow come close, and my eyes drop to his lips. It’s like he's magnetic, drawing me close all the time.

My voice gives me away as I start to say, "Dirk we shouldn't…"

"You asked me what I wanted," his low words cut through whatever protest I feel I must make, his hand coming up, brushing my cheek, taking my breath away. I brace my hand on his upper arm, swaying towards him as his fingers trace to my jaw, letting him lift my chin. My heart flutters like this is the first time again, with that thrill, almost fear. How does it still feel that way, even now?

His lips brush mine, slowly savouring, and it’s me tilting my chin up to taste him, impatient for more. Arms pulling tighter around me, Dirk answers, gives, until we're wrapped in each other. His hand slides hot under my robe, gripping my waist, and I feel his coarse clothing in contrast to the soft fluffiness of my robe. My bedroom is behind me, and thoughts of being there, feeling him how I need him have me drawing towards it.

But he breaks off the kiss, feet planted. My chest rises and falls, constricted slightly by his hold, my robe fallen off one shoulder. Trying to compose myself, I ask, "What is it…? You don't want to?"

"No, I really do." Contrary to his words, his grip loosens, letting us come apart far enough to look down on my face. Voice soft, he asks, "Why were you leaving? Last time?"

I know he's also asking why I left the first time, and why I wrote that stupid note. "I…" I blink, unprepared for this line of questioning. "I was scared.Amscared."

He raises an eyebrow. "You were fucking a serial killer, butthisscares you?"

I wriggle, and he tightens, keeping us joined at the belly. "Why?" he presses.

"I don't know." That’s a lie, but I don't know the truth well enough to tell it.

For a moment, he seems to teeter on the edge of releasing me. Hand sliding up my back, his fingers nestle in my hair, dislodging my already mostly dislodged bun. Then he grips suddenly, making me gasp as he pulls my head back, throat exposed to him. Teeth and lips graze my skin, trailing up to my earlobe. "Have an answer for me in the morning," he murmurs, and my heart thrills. At the moment, I'll agree to anything if it means he'll stay.

Letting go of my hair, his hands slide down my hips, gripping my behind and pulling hard so that I grate on the front of his jeans. My breath catches around a moan. I shove his jacket, stripping his sweater too, finding nothing underneath, just him. My fingers graze a ridged scar on his pec, but I barely register it, not caring to look. Now is not the time for that.

His hand slides around my thigh, touching me. Eyes popping open, he comments, "You're already wet."

"I was about to…" I gasp as he slides his fingertip along me, growling against my mouth before I can finish the sentence.

We're pushing, stumbling back towards the bedroom, landing on the bed, the tie of my robe still around my waist but otherwise doing very little to cover me. I wriggle my arms free, undoing the top of his jeans. "Get naked this time," I order.

Dirk grins, stepping back to stand on the edge of the bed, and shoves his jeans down and off, then grabs my thighs and drags me to him. One knee braced on the edge, he positions like that, leaning over me. "You still think we shouldn't?"

"Haven’t decided," I breathe, and contrary to my words, wrap my legs around him.

***

Dirk’s stirring wakes me up.

The sheets are tangled, but we're both underneath them in the cool of the winter morning. Quietly, I look at Dirk, finding him still asleep enough as I creep out of bed and to the bathroom. The sight of the full bathtub reminds me that I never got back into it.

Back out by the bed, I find my robe, slipping it on. I'm not about to leave, but I don't know if I should slide back into bed either. The promise of warmth brings the promise of something else, too.

"It's too early," his sleep-thickened voice murmurs. I smile, sitting on the edge of the bed. When he stretches, resting his arms on top of the quilt, I see those fresh scars again. My gaze drops. "I, uh…" I start, then clear my throat. "I saw your arms before. I didn't realise… I mean, I did. I just…" I trail off. None of the other bodies had those cuts. Why him? Because of me? I remember what she said about trying to seduce him. It makes me sick to my stomach. "Do they hurt?" I ask lamely.

Dirk glances down at his own arm. "Some do. She didn't cut very deeply. Just enough." As he shifts, he lets the blanket come away from his chest, and I see the full extent of her torture. Compared to his forearms, they’re less across his pecs, thin but longer, like she was doing those ones just for the fun of it. There’s only one below, on his ribs. It’s not enough by any means to mar how gorgeous I can’t stop finding his body, but the psychological impact goes deeper than that.

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