Page 43 of Blazing Desires
My eyes flick around the room and I try to work out if this is his home. I don't see any personal belongings even though the room looks lived-in and inviting. A large bed is against the back wall, the frame a beautiful dark wood. It’s made up with a soft oatmeal linen set, and I have to fight the urge to crawl underneath the covers and hide from the world.
Instead, Blaze steers me to the left and into what I discover is an ensuite bathroom. Again, the lights are already on, but they’re soft and warm. The light doesn't make my headache worse like something harsher would.
I'm still tucked under Blaze's arm, the right side of my body crushed to him during the whole time we'd walked, and I could stay like this forever.
I hear the door softly close with a click behind us. Angling my body toward him, he backs me toward the light-coloured countertop that houses the sink, his hands on the tops of my arms. He bends slightly and grips the backs of my thighs, lifting me to sit on the counter.
I'm like putty in his hands. I don't have it in me to pull away, to push him away. He hesitates for a moment before standing in between my legs like he had in the garage. He bends sideways as he pulls a medical kit from the cupboard to his left. His right hand never leaves my thigh.
The heat of his large, tattooed hand scorches my skin. I am drawn to the warmth like a moth to a flame. If I could crawl inside his skin and burrow there, I'd never be cold again. He places the kit carefully next to me on the counter, popping the clips and flipping it open.
I don't wait to see what he pulls from the box, my stare back to roaming his chest, shoulders and neck. He's so broad and even though he is wearing a hoodie and his leather jacket, I can still see his muscles moving and flexing as he pulls out the things he needs to clean me up.
The urge to reach out and touch him, to have his muscles moving under my fingertips, is impossible to resist. He moves so gracefully and with such purpose. He was made to be studied, to be drawn, to be admired. Sleeping beside him last night was torture, so far away yet not close enough.
I close my eyes and imagine myself tracing the hard lines of his body, feeling the blazing heat of him seep into my cold hands. Resting on his chest and listening to his steady breathing, as I use the rhythm to remind me to keep breathing when it feels like I have no reason to.
“Are you in pain, baby?”
His whisper is soft and comforting in the quiet space, and I shiver as the words caress me.
Baby. It's the second time he's called me that. Now that I think about it, he rarely calls me by my actual name unless it’s serious. I slowly open my eyes as he tips my chin, distracting me from my thoughts to finally meet his eyes.
The lighting turns them a darker shade of green and I'm lost in them. My mind empties and stops spinning while I stare into the depths of them, the dark long eyelashes framing them enough to make any girl jealous.
“Answer me, Mea Divina. Please.”
I cannot resist his pull any longer, not with the plea falling from his lips.
“Why do you care, Blaze?”
The question slips out of my mouth before I can stop it. It's pathetic, but I yearn to hear the answer. My head can't comprehend why he's doing all of this. He could have left the job, leftme, to ride off into the sunset and never look back. Instead, he saved me and put himself in danger.
He moves his grip from my chin and cups my jaw with both of his hands. His brow furrows and I immediately want tosmooth the crease that forms there. He's too lovely to be marked this way.
"Because, Mea Divina, you’re important to me. You deserve better than what that bastard has given you. You deserve to be taken care of, to be cherished, to be loved."
He sighs as if in pain before continuing, his gaze never leaving mine. My heartbeat pounds under my ribcage, and I'm sure he can feel it pulsing through the veins on my neck where his hands are, although he doesn't say anything. I shake my head in argument, my mouth parting to deny his words, but he stops me. The words he lets tumble so freely ricochet in the space where my heart should be.
“Don't you dare try and say you don't deserve those things. Anyone who has ever made you feel that way is a worthless prick and I'd kill every single one if I could. Don't you get it, love? I'm fuckingaddictedto you. I want to be the one to make you laugh, make you smile. To comfort you and hold you. You've woven a curse over me so cruel, burrowed under my skin so deeply, that I will never be able to get rid of you. And I don’t fucking want to. I crave any part of you that you’re willing to give me. You will be my downfall, my reckoning. And like the sick fuck that I am, I will spend every second you give me soaking it into my bones and wrapping it around my dark soul.”
Blaze is panting, having rushed the words as if he thought I'd interrupt him. His forehead touches mine and rests there, making his breath brush over my lips with each exhale. Our mouths are so close to each other that all it would take to connect them is a tilt of my chin.
I've thought about these lips since I first walked into my dad’s office, when I sensed the pull of Blaze’s orbit. I’ve been stuck there since. It would be so easy to close the distance and finally experience what weightlessness is, but I don't give in.
I won't be his downfall. Blaze deserves more than the trail of disappointment I've left behind. But I don't say these words to him, keeping them locked away behind my lips. To voice them would burst this bubble we've found ourselves in. He will figure it out eventually and leave anyway. People always do.
I lean back slightly and he immediately lets me go, the distance between us feeling more than physical, the sadness lining his eyes building tears in mine. But I don't let them fall, won't let him see them and feel like he’s got to save me. I drop my head and focus my attention on the pockets of his hoodie.
“One day you’ll see yourself through my eyes,” he whispers.
He doesn't say any more as he gets to work cleaning the cut on my face, picking out bits of the glass my father broke on the table. I play his words on a loop in my head, wishing I could ask him to say them again.
Instead, I use the distraction to ignore the pain as he pries the blood-soaked strands of hair off my cut cheek. I hear the tear of an alcohol wipe and relish in the sting that comes as he gently wipes my face. Pain is a welcome friend.
Once he's done, he puts everything back and throws the used kit away. Wordlessly, he lifts me from the counter, setting me on my feet and leading me back into the main room. We step into a room next to the bathroom. It’s a large walk-in closet full of clothes that are clearly his.
So this is his home after all, then.
