Page 57 of Tear Me to Pieces
And that includes our time in the bedroom.
I’ve still only gotten Simon off once, and it was that night in the shower almost a week ago. If I didn’t already know what I was fed growing up was bullshit, his behavior would have absolutely convinced me men are significantly more in control of their bodies and needs than I was led to believe. Never once has Simon pressured me into anything. Not a single time did he act like he was dying due to an unmitigated erection. If anything, his reassurances that he doesn’t need to get off have made me a little...
Insecure.
I know I’m not as thin as I once was, and I like that. I like the idea of having a body that is nourished and loved and appreciated just as it is. But after so long of being so ashamed of so many parts of it, that’s a tough point to get to. Simon’s ability to resist his baser urges only digs those insecurities deeper. Which is stupid.
And a little sad.
“What’s wrong?” Simon asks.
He already knows me well enough he can sense the shifts in my mood. Can tell when I start getting caught in a spiral of self-doubt. Or overthinking.
Unfortunately, he also knows me well enough to identify when I try to feed him a fib about the reasons.
And maybe tonight that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe I need to tackle this struggle I’ve got head on. Because if Simon doesn’t want me—sexually speaking—it’s going to be real difficult for me to get the baby I want.
Setting down my fork, I turn, twisting the pivoting seat until I’m facing his side. “Do you want me?”
Simon stops chewing the mouthful of food he just shoveled in and quickly swallows it down. “What?”
Having to clarify what I mean makes my stomach twist with nerves, so it takes me a second. When I do manage to get words out, I start by repeating myself. “Do you want me?” After taking in a quick breath, I specify, “sexually.”
Simon stares at me, looking a little like a deer caught in the headlights. Like I just said the last thing he expected, and he has no clue how to respond.
Running my slightly sweaty palms down the front of the black jeans I wore to work, I slide my tongue over my lips, trying to remedy the sudden dryness of my mouth. “It’s just been a few days in a row of you taking care of me, and not letting me take care of you, and I’m starting to worry that maybe you don’t want me taking care of you because...” Somehow I manage to put my eyes on his. “Because you don’t want me.”
Simon’s dark gaze stays on mine for a few seconds before slowly drifting down my body. “I don’t think you’re prepared to hear how much I want you, My.”
The twist in my belly shatters, splitting off into a thousand butterflies. I swallow hard, trying to calm them down. “Then why won’t you let me touch you back?”
After setting down his own fork, Simon slowly turns to me, his chair swiveling until our knees touch, his bracketing the outside of mine. “Because I know where you’ve been.”
I get what he’s saying, but I’m so tired of my past. I know it will probably always control my thoughts and my actions on some level, but I don’t want it to have a featuring role in my life. Not anymore.
“What about where I’m going?” I manage another shaky breath. “You’re always making plans and thinking about the future. What you want and how to get there.” I rest my hands on his thighs, leaning forward, hoping he hears how truthful I am when I say, “That’s what I want to do. I’m tired of living in the past. I want to plan for my future.” When Simon’s eyes drop, I try to regain his focus, leaning forward more as I slide my hands higher so I can maintain my balance. “And I may not know exactly what I can offer you yet, but I do know whatever it is can’t be one-sided. Even if it’s to my benefit.” I hold my breath, waiting for his reply.
When Simon remains silent, my hope dips. I don’t want to be in another skewed sexual situation. I don’t want?—
I look a little more closely at Simon’s eyes and notice he’s not simply avoiding mine. He’s looking somewhere very specific.
He’s looking at my hands. Staring at where they rest right at his upper thighs. Very, very close to the part of him he’s worked hard to keep away from me outside of the little meet-and-greet I had with it in the shower.
And it is well beyond time for another get together.
I watch Simon, excitement amping up as his gaze stays fused while I move my hands higher, slowly bringing them to the front of his jeans. I flip the button free and pinch the zipper tab between my fingers, slowly raking it down.
“My.” There’s a hint of warning in his tone, but I don’t think it’s for me.
If it is, he’s going to have to get over it. Because I might not know what I am, but I know what I’m not.
And I’m not the kind of girl who is okay with only taking.
I want to give too.
20
SIMON
