Page 23 of Sullied Saints

I look away. "I'm sorry."

"Don't do that," he tells me sternly, tugging the sheet back across. "I don't need you to view me like some injured bird."

"I'm not!" I protest right back. “You’re not!”

Dirk props up on one elbow. His hair is sleep and sex mussed, but his eyes are alert now. He sighs. "What are we doing here, El?" I open my mouth, but he adds, "It can't just be fucking."

"Then it’s not."

He stares at me a beat longer. "So that’s your answer?"

I don't need to ask what the question was. Last night, why I'm scared of this. "I… I'm scared of screwing this up. Scared of losing you, as a friend or anything else."

He nods slowly. His hands are resting near my leg, but he doesn't reach out, though I feel him wanting to. I want him to. "I'm sick of being scared."

I laugh. "Me too, I guess."

He extends his fingers now, touching my bare ankle, four warm points. "So, you want to do this properly?"

"Yes," I say, and realise I do. "Do you?" I ask, feeling all too vulnerable.

Finally, he smiles. "You already know the answer.”

Grinning, I tease, “I don’t think I do?”

His hand slides up my leg. “Come here, I’ll show you.”

And indeed, by the time we leave the bed, there’s not a doubt in my mind.

***

He makes the eggs, because my cooking skills leave something to be desired. We put pillows on the floor next to the coffee table, sitting on the floor, and Dirk glances around mid-meal. "Why are you still here?"

Obviously, I should leave and get as far away from Olivia's memory as possible. "I just… with everything. Moving is so much. And to where? In with another psycho, potentially."

With a shrug, Dirk accedes that’s a real possibility. He still hasn't put a shirt on, and it warms me to know he’s not letting the scars be a mark of shame, and warms me in other ways too, because his muscles are constantly drawing my eye. Which is possibly why the next thing he says takes me by surprise.

"I have conditions."

I raise an eyebrow. "Do I get to have conditions?" None come to mind, but it seems worth asking.

His lips quirk. "We'll see."

Is this usually how relationships start? It’s been some time since I've done this. "Okay…"

"No alcohol. You turn into a drunk, it’s over. I'm not watching you do that from even closer."

"Deal," I agree without hesitation. I’m through the hardest part, and right now, a sex addiction is sounding more appealing, anyway.

"And no lying to each other. And…" he adds before I can affirm again, "You need to get therapy."

I wrinkle my nose at that last one.

"Admit that you need it. If I do, youdefinitelydo."

"You were nearly murdered," I point out.

"Uh-huh."

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