Page 80 of Fighting for You
The time she asked if I was stalking her with genuine fear in her eyes.
It all adds up now.
It was never about me or random quirks of hers, they were legitimate fears.
I’m trying my best not to let my rage pour out of me the way it wants to. It’s simmering just below the surface like an entity all on its own; ribbons of bright red and dark crimson searching for a way out. I want to rip the man to shreds, whoever the fuck he is. Bury him alive and listen to his screams from the surface. I want to end him in ways he’ll never come back from so Margot is safe from the trauma he’s caused. Keeping a lid on my emotions has never been something I was good at. I’ve always been more of an act now, think later kind of guy. But I can’t do that right now. Not this time.
“Brooks?” Her voice pulls me from my thoughts of fury, pausing the spiral.
“Yeah, baby?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even and calm.
“Can you stay tonight? Can you help me forget? Just for a little?” She’s looking up at me now. The light green of her eyes is more haunted than I remember, and it fucking guts me. She looks so tired, like all of the energy’s been sucked from her soul after the week she’s had.
All I can do is nod. I’m scared to speak because I don’t want her to know what’s happening inside my head. I don’t want her to see the violence sparking to life behind my eyes. I wrap my hand in hers and pull her to her feet so she’s standing between my legs. A drop of water falls from her wet hair to the blazing skin on my arm, sending a shiver down my spine.
I take a deep breath, never taking my eyes off of her, before I say, “I uhh—” Fuck. Clearing my throat, I try again, “I need to know where the sheets are.”
She scans my face, her eyes slightly squinted and her nose a little scrunched, and I’m not sure what she’s hoping to find. Maybe she expected something less rational, but the truth is, I’m overwhelmed. I haven’t drank in ten days, I haven’t had a cigarette in two hours, and the woman I’m in love with—who has no idea how I feel—looks like a husk of who she was. I’ve spent the last week coming to terms with my feelings for Margot, while knowing she’ll probably never feel the same. In my thirty-three years, I’ve never loved a woman in a romantic way, I’ve never been struck stupid by someone the way I am with her. And now I find out she’s in trouble. It’s all too much.
Finally, she points to the closet behind her and says, “I have an extra set in there.”
I spin her around, setting her down on the edge of the bed and walk to the closet. With linens in hand, I pass one side to her as we silently replace the sheets on the bed, working in tandem.
She grabs the pillows from where I’d left them earlier and throws them toward the headboard then follows them, crawling up the bed. I avert my gaze to the ceiling so I’m not staring at her ass and those fucking thigh-highs. Just the thought of how they hug the silky skin of her thighs has my dick perking up, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop it. I’m an asshole for even having those thoughts right now. She’s upset and scared as fuck, and I’m over here getting turned on by the image of her ass and those stockings.
“What’s wrong?” Margot asks, pulling me from my self-hatred. She’s now sitting at the top of the bed, facing me with her knees pulled up to her chest.
“Nothing,” I say, turning around, pulling out my smokes and my phone from my pockets to place them on her dresser,anything to avoid the sexual tension in the room. It’s not the time, and I’m trying insanely hard to be respectful. Taking a second to compose myself, I subtly adjust my half-hard cock from the front of my pants before turning back around to her. “You should get some rest,” I say, walking toward her, grabbing the comforter and pulling the covers up as I do. She opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off, “I’m not leaving. I’ll be right here.”
I reach across the bed, grabbing one of the pillows again and placing it on the floor right beside her head. She says nothing as I sit down, my back against the edge of the mattress, eyes forward so I’m not torturing myself by watching her fall asleep. It’s two-thirty in the afternoon, but it’s clear she hasn’t slept well in quite some time. If me being here will give her enough comfort to finally get some rest, I’ll do it.
I listen as she shifts around on the bed, getting comfortable. But then her hand snakes down my shoulder. Goosebumps pepper my skin from the contact. With my right hand, I reach up and thread my fingers through hers, then pull her hand to my lips, and press a soft kiss to the top of it.
She lets out a long sigh but seems to settle in now that we’re connected. With my phone over on the dresser, I’m not sure how long it takes for her to fall asleep, but I notice the change in her breathing. The grip on my hand loosens as well. Deciding I should use the time to do some clean up for her around the house, I unlace our fingers and go to stand, but she reaches back out for me.
“Don’t leave,” she says, her voice groggy.
I turn to face her, watching as she sits up in the bed, prepared to follow me if I do. “What do you need?” I ask, willing to give her just about anything she could ask for. She pushes the covers down her legs and swings them over the side.
“I need you,” she says, pulling me back to her so I’m standing between her legs, her fingers trace the hem of my shirt, inching it up my abdomen.
“Margot,” I start, shoving my hands deep in my pockets, so I’m not tempted to reach out and touch her. “I don’t… I don’t think it’s a good idea.” The confused look on her face forces me to continue, “I’m too pent up. You’re too fucking gorgeous. And I’m too—” I cut myself off before I spill my guts to her about my feelings.
While I've spent a week having an epiphany about how I feel for her, she's been trapping herself here, scared sick. Just the thought makes my rage boil again along with nausea knowing she's been going through this alone. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Please… I need you,” she pleads. “I need to feel something—anythingelse. Please.” The sound of her begging is only creating a bigger problem for me. And I’m not sure I can resist any longer. She pushes my shirt as far up as she can, waiting for me to do the rest. I take a moment—just one—to make sure she really wants this before pulling my hands from my pockets and tugging the shirt over my head. It drops to the floor, and Margot’s eyes graze over my chest, my abs. She leans forward and kisses just to the left of my navel. Her hands fumble on the button of my pants.
Her fingers are trembling, it’s the only reason I try once more to resist. “Are you sure?”
She nods her head at the same moment the button she was working on pops free. The sound of the zipper reverberates throughout the silent room.
“Where did your underwear go?” she asks, the tips of her fingers tracing along the trimmed hair right above my bare cock. It sends electric currents through my body, straight to my dick.
“I uhh—” I try not to moan at the feel of her hand as she reaches inside my pants, releasing my cock from the confines. “They were soaked. I had to take them off.”
She hums some kind of response I can’t make out because my mind is too focused on everything her hands are doing. Within seconds of her touching me, I’m hard as a rock. She moves her hands to push my pants down, and the brief second of clarity allows me to stop her. “Wait, baby, wait. Please.” She pauses and looks up at me. The look on her face is full of anxiety. I hurry to explain, if only to wipe the expression away, “I want to take care of you. Can I do that?”
The anxiety turns to relief, then she’s biting her lip in—what I hope is—anticipation. “Okay,” she says, her voice small and raspy still.
