Page 98 of Savior

I hold her foot tightly, stumbling over my words as I decide how much to let her over my walls.

“Well…” I clear my throat at the uncomfortable feeling of emotion building there. “I was wavering in my faith long before you came along. It almost felt like you showing up threw me over the edge.”

My admission hovers between us.

She sits up, tugging her feet away from me, shoving them underneath her.

She closes her book, forgetting to save the page, and tosses it onto the awaiting coffee table.

“And that’s what I don’t want,” she says, her honey eyes conveying so much meaning as they pin me in their stare. “I don’t want to be the reason you leave your flock or whatever they’re called. And I don’t want to be the reason you lose your faith. I’ve seen and done a lot of shit in my life, even at my age. I had to. To survive. Seeing you falter and knowing it was my fault would kill me.”

I swallow at her words, knowing I’ve been selfish with her and how I’ve let things carry on. It’s considerate of her to think this deeply about my soul and faith while I’ve been greedily touching and lusting after her like a teenage boy with his first crush.

“I know you don’t, and I don’t want you to carry the burden of anything between us, Sloane. None of it is your fault. I won’t do anything I don’t want to.” I know I sound desperate. My tone is edged in raw desperation to make her understand. I need her to comprehend that I’m not some fucking creep who can’t control his carnal urges.

I want to touch her, and I understand the ramifications.

We both know it can go no further than it has, and there doesn’t seem to be disillusion to the fact written on her face.

“You know we can’t…” I trail off, feeling the same well of emotions build into a ball in my throat.

She nods, leaning forward and grasping my hand in hers. “I know.”

Her words are soft and kind.

Far better than I deserve.

“Friends?” she asks, her brows tugged together.

I smile, even as my heart sinks and shatters to bits inside my body at the term. “Friends,” I agree.

“Good. Now, get back to rubbing before I have to let the rooster loose in the house.”

My chuckle comes accompanied by my touch back on the foot I’d left off with, and silence stretches between us as she closes her eyes and sits back.

For the longest moment, I watch her breasts rise and fall as she gets comfortable, and I don’t know if it’s the vulnerability of the action or pure insanity that makes me ask, but my mouth opens, and stupidity walks right off my tongue. “When Matteo forced himself on you, were you a virgin?”

Her eyes shoot open, and she lifts onto her elbows. “What kind of question is that?”

I take a steadying breath. “I don’t know. It kind of just flew out.”

She narrows her eyes at me, likely deciding how she’ll handle my ignorance. I hope she puts me out of my misery and goes to bed.

Then she’d be out of my eyesight, and my nerves could settle.

“No. I wasn’t.” She lies back, looking at the ceiling, as if memories are flooding her, and she doesn’t want to be trapped with them if she closes her eyes again.

“Was it the first time you’ve been… assaulted?”

What is the matter with you?

“What is this, therapy?” she spews as she sits up and tucks into herself.

“No. It’s just curiosity. I want to know you.” I wring my hands, the lotion seeping into my skin as I do.

“If you want to know someone, ask their favorite color or song. Not how many times they’ve been raped.”

I nod, feeling foolish and about a foot tall under her scrutiny. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

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