Page 80 of Watch Me Burn
“I’ll wait.”
“You will?”
Her disbelief stings, and my eyes narrow behind the mask. “You think I’d hurt you? Force you?”
Her gaze sweeps over the mask as she hesitates. “I wasn’t sure you’d stay away. That you’d be able to.”
I want to argue, but my initial reaction condemns me. My cock still throbs with want, even now. If she offered herself, would I have the strength to refuse?
“I fucking want you desperately, Luna.” My voice drops, taking on the rough edge I know reaches her. “Every fucking hour of every day. But not at the expense of your body. Never that.”
Her face softens with relief, then clouds with doubt. “I wasn’t sure. Since I can’t see your reaction behind that mask. I thought maybe you’d see me as broken now. Damaged.”
My hand leaves her stomach and finds her face, cupping her cheek, her skin warm against my palm.
“You’re still perfect. Still mine. Nothing about this changes that.”
“Nothing?” She pushes back.
I weigh the question, fighting the instinct to offer platitudes. “Maybe it changes how I see us. The potential consequences of what we do. What we are.”
“And what are we to each other?”
The question catches me unprepared. What are we? Lovers? Predator and prey? Two broken people seeking oblivion in each other’s bodies? I’ve never had to define it before. I’ve never loved someone the way I love her, but how do I tell her that without revealing who I am?
“More than I intended. And less than you deserve.”
I stand, needing distance. The intimacy of the moment presses in on me, threatening to suffocate me. “You should rest. I’ll go.”
“Don’t.” She reaches her hand out. “Stay. Just… stay with me tonight. For a little while.”
I stop, caught between conflicting impulses. This is the moment. I could tell her who I am and end all the lies right here. But her body is rejecting what we created together. Dumping my confession on top of that seems like the worst kind of selfishness.
“Please.” Her voice comes out small and fractured. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”
The naked need in her voice splinters my chest wide open. Every intention I had to leave evaporates. How can I walk away when she’s asking for this one thing? This basic comfort?
I nod once. “The mask stays.” I cut off the question forming in her eyes before she can voice it.
She’s not fast enough to hide the way her shoulders drop, the disappointment that flashes across her face.
“I know.”
I stretch out along the bed, propping myself against the headboard. The comforter creates a barrier between us, her beneath and me above. She shifts down into the blankets and rolls to face me.
“I’m sorry.” I force the words past years of emotional armor. “Not for something we didn’t plan, but for your pain. For your loss.”
“It’s our loss.”
Tears well in her eyes, and I brush my fingers against her cheek, then slide them through the soft strands of her hair. She sighs and closes her eyes. My body still aches for her, but it’s manageable now, subdued by something stronger, by the overwhelming love I feel for her.
As her breathing evens out and she drifts toward sleep, I battle new demons. My mind cycles through images of what might have been. Luna swollen with my child, a blonde-haired infant with her eyes and my damned bloodline.
Mine
The child would have been mine. Just like Luna is.
The cruel truth mocks me. Maybe it’s better this way. But what kind of man finds relief in the loss of his unborn child?
