Page 44 of Blazing Desires
He holds my hand while pulling clothes from a drawer before heading back into the bedroom. It’s at this point I notice the duffle bags he’d been carrying earlier, sitting on the ottoman at the end of the large bed. We approach it hand in hand. I try to let go of his to free him, but his grip tightens in reprimand, although he’s careful not to make it painful.
“Don't.” Blaze growls with a glare in my direction that should scare me, and I obey. He's already done so much for me that thisis the least I can do for him, and I’d be a liar if I said I wanted to let go.
He carefully places the joggers next to the duffle bags. His hands are large enough that even though he’s holding mine, he can use his fingers to grip the material as his free hand unzips it. Inside I recognise my clothes. He must have packed when he went into my dressing room, while I’d been trapped by my swirling thoughts.
He pulls out some pyjama bottoms and I see it's my favourite pair. They're white with tiny pink hearts all over them, fitted and soft after so many washes. My heart clenches that he picked these from all my other pretty sets. They weren't at the front of my drawer, as I was afraid my dad would instruct the housemaid to throw anything of comfort out. But that was before she quit weeks ago, and old habits die hard. He places them on top of his and turns to face me once more.
“Let's get you into some comfortable clothing and then I'll cook us some dinner, since we didn't actually get to eat anything. Don't worry, there's no sad salad here, I promise.”
I hear the smile in his voice, and there's nothing on earth that would stop me from getting a glimpse, so I give in and catch his goofy expression at his joke. I can't help it as my lips tip in return and his grin gets bigger. He's captivating when he looks like this.
“Are you comfortable getting changed here? I don't want to let you out of my sight for one second, but I will if you need the privacy.”
Fuck, why does he have to be so sweet?
It's as if the earlier sadness that ghosted his face never happened. He waits for me to answer but all the while, his thumb is caressing my hand where our fingers are still interlocked. I consider the question, and I’m surprised that I’m comfortable. I trust that he won't take advantage of me while I'm feeling vulnerable, not like so many others have.
I nod and the smile I get in return is so worth it. I'm mesmerised by him. I try and memorise the way he looks right now in the soft light, his bright expression aimed at me and warming me to my bones.
He lets go of my hand but gives it a little squeeze first. The loss of his warm touch allows the cold to seep into place immediately. He doesn't take his attention off of me though, as if that’s a good enough replacement for now.
I peel the leather jacket off, and he does the same with his, placing them next to each other. I undo the button on my jeans next and go to pull them down my legs. The hoodie I'm wearing is large enough to cover me to mid-thigh and that’s when I pay attention to it properly. It’s oversized because it's his. I get my jeans to my hips when Blaze speaks again.
“May I, love?”
He gestures to my jeans, and I nod my consent. He moves swiftly, as if the time spent not touching me was unbearable, but I chalk it up to him being hungry and him not wanting me taking too long to change.
Blaze goes to his knees until he is at eye level with my stomach, his sculpted chin angled to allow him to meet my eyes. I can't help imagining us in this position in an alternative situation, in a different set of circumstances, him peeling my clothes off for another reason entirely.
My skin flushes and a smirk ghosts over his lips. His hands relax by his sides, and I figure that he is asking once again for permission. I nod.
His hands are instantly on my jeans, pulling them slowly over the curve of my ass and hips, peeling them from my thighs with a tortuous gentleness. His fingers trail over my skin, leaving goosebumps as he goes.
He breaks his gaze from mine as he holds my ankle and helps me step out of one of the legs, repeating it for the other leg untilthe pale expanse of my skin is fully revealed. His gaze sweeps over my legs, flickering over every inch.
“Please turn around, love. I need to check you've got no other injuries.”
I do as I'm told and turn. I can feel his gaze raking over my skin, checking for cuts and bruises. I'm about to turn back to face him when his hands stop me by gripping the outside of my thighs. That’s when I remember, and what he finds there is why he's stopped me.
The scars.
“What thefuckis this, Davina? Did yourfatherleave these scars on your body?”
The cold venom in his voice makes me twist and scramble out of his hold, the back of my legs hitting the ottoman until I'm sitting on it. I don't answer, my jaw clamped tight. I just stare as I descend into panic.
I'd forgotten about them. It happened so long ago that I don’t think about them anymore. It had been one of the first times my father beat me for making too much noise after Mum left.
I'd been running through the halls, pretending I was being chased by goblins coming to take me away to faerie, and Dad had been having a meeting. He screamed at me once his guest had left that I had ruined it and that it was my fault he had blown a business deal.
He'd dragged me into his office and pulled me to his desk until I was bent over it. I heard his belt snapping open, the sound of the leather as it slipped past the loops of his trousers. I begged, pleaded, and cried out that I was sorry. That I didn't know he was in a meeting, and I was only playing. That it would never happen again.
I remember his gruff voice. “No, it won't happen again because you'll be locked in your room from now on whenever I have a meeting, you little bitch.”
Before he finished his sentence, he pulled up my cream sundress and whipped me six times with the buckle end of his belt. The sound of the belt whistling through the air is still as clear to me as the day it happened.
He made me count them with him. Not stopping even as the tears flowed, and the screams ripped from my chest. I felt the blood running down the back of my legs and into my floral socks with each strike.
After he finished punishing me, he pulled my dress down and righted my body until I was standing. I'd never seen someone so viscerally angry, and it was from that day that I became terrified of the man who was supposed to protect me.
