Page 46 of If You Were Mine
I swallowed hard and began to play with the seam of jeans on his outer thigh. He didn’t wince, and I was grateful for that. But I knew this was the leg that always gave him trouble. The knee that had required surgery after the plane crash.
“I got pneumonia because my grandparents were abusive assholes that didn’t deserve to have a child, and it was no wonder that my mother had left them when she did.”
I explained the story in detail, how once my grandparents had found me on the porch the next morning, and finally let me inside, I’d spiked a fever. But they didn’t give me medicine, didn’t take me to the hospital. Instead, they waited it out because they knew better. They didn’t trust modern medicines and vaccines. My parents had given me enough vaccines as a child though, so I had a better immune system than my grandparents would’ve let me have to begin with.
“I ended up in the hospital when I stopped breathing, and my grandmother finally got worried that she couldn’t handle it on her own.”
“If your grandparents weren’t already dead, I’d kill them myself,” he snapped.
I squeezed his hand and then leaned farther into him so I wouldn’t have to meet his gaze.
“I nearly died. They intubated me, and I don’t remember much of it. All I do know is that by the time I recovered, I had reduced lung function. To the point that I will always have reduced lung function. At one point, they were worried that it would turn into COPD, but thankfully my meds and genetics helped me heal. I’m never going to be able to run a marathon or climb a mountain beyond where we already live. Gymnastics are so out of my hands at this point, even though I’m not quite as flexible as I used to be.”
I tried to make a joke of it, but he didn’t laugh.
“You’re really okay?” he asked as he shifted me so I was sitting on his lap, straddling him.
I froze, meeting his gaze. I wasn’t quite sure why he had done it. And damn it, I wanted that to. I slid my hands through his hair, playing with the ends of it as he ran his palms up and down my back.
“I’m fine. I promise. Sometimes I get a little dizzy, and I have to pause. But I do try to take care of myself. I promise.”
He scowled, and I rubbed his temple, making the wrinkle go away.
“I promise I’m taking care of myself. Can you say the same?” I asked, honestly worried.
Instead of answering, he sighed, squeezing my hips.
“Dorian.”
“I do my physical therapy. And frankly, I know how lucky I am. I’m always going to have some scars on my side, and my knee will sometimes let me know when the weather’s about to change, but one day, I’m not going to walk with a limp. And one day I’m not going to twinge every time I sneeze because I stretched the skin at my side. It’s not perfect, but I’m okay.”
“Good. Then so am I.”
Because the thought of Dorian not being okay would break me. It scared me how much I wanted him, how much this feeling of being close to him felt right. I hadn’t thought this moment would be possible, and yet here I was, in Dorian’s arms.
And we weren’t talking about it.
Instead, his fingers slowly played with the edge of my jeans, and I sunk my teeth into my lip.
“I would love to know what you’re thinking right now, Wellesley,” he whispered.
“I really want you to kiss me again. Is that okay?” I asked, my voice soft.
“If I kiss you, Wellesley, I’m not going to stop. This isn’t going to be one of your high school or college boyfriends that are so sweet and caring. Not the ones that you can walk all over because you are so powerful. I’m demanding. I’m an asshole. I’m going to take care of you, Wellesley. But if I kiss you again, it’s going to be because I want you. Because I want to fuck you. I want to feel that tight pussy around my cock as you come and call me yours. I want to know exactly what color your nipples are, I want to know what you taste like. And I know that my wanting this is so far beyond wrong that it makes no sense. But in this moment, I don’t fucking care. I can feel your tight little cunt all hot over my cock right now and we’re both wearing jeans. But I can stop. I can walk away if I have to. But I don’t want to, Wellesley. There’s just something about you. It scares the fuck out of me.”
I had never heard him be so honest, so open. And I could imagine every single thing he wanted to do with me. Because it was only imagining. I had never been with a man before. Never let a man touch me like that. I hadn’t had the need, the time, or desire. Because some part of me, ever since I was old enough to know, had known I wanted it to be Dorian—even though the idea was so far-fetched it would never happen.
And yet here I was, in his arms.
“Kiss me,” I whispered.
“Damn it, Wellesley.” And before I could say anything else, his mouth was on mine, and I gasped. He slid one hand up to my hair, tangling it in his hands as he tugged hard. The slight pain shocked me, but I arched into him, my breasts pressing to his chest.
“That’s my baby girl. You like that, don’t you?”
“I don’t, maybe, Dorian.”
“I already have you flustered. I’m barely even touching you.”
