Page 82 of Watch Me Burn
Pain flashes across her face, and regret crashes through me. This is what I know. Dominance, possession, and control. But it’s not what she needs right now.
“That was…” I release her, stepping back. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
To my surprise, a small smile curves her lips, even as she rubs at her scalp.
“That’s the first normal thing you’ve said since I told you.”
I tilt my head, confused.
“That sounded like you. Like the man who comes to me and takes what he wants. Not this careful stranger who’s been tiptoeing around me.”
Her words strike a chord. She’s right. I’ve been performing a role I don’t know how to play. The understanding lover. The supportive partner. Roles beyond the mask I wear.
“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to comfort you. How to be with you without being inside you.”
“I know. What we have is just physical.”
Her words rip through my chest. A piece of me tears open—hot, bleeding, and raw. The need to correct her burns through me like acid.
“It’s more than that. It’s always been more than that.”
“Has it? Because right now, when we can’t have that, I don’t know what’s left.”
Her words knock the air from my lungs. Is she right? Is our connection nothing more than lust, dominance, and submission? Does that mean she could never love me back? The thought hollows me out.
“There’s more.” I force the words out, though I can’t define what that “more” might be.
“Then show me. Because I need something to hold on to right now.”
I stand frozen, caught between who I am and who she needs me to be.
“All I know is taking you, Luna. I don’t know how to be gentle.”
“You don’t have to be gentle. You just have to be here.”
I watch her for a long moment before moving back to the bed, settling beside her again. I take her hand in mine, the gesture awkward and careful. Nothing like the demanding and rough way I usually touch her. Her hand feels small in mine. Breakable.
The need to hold her burns through me. I want to bury my face in her hair and inhale her scent while I pull her tight against my chest.
“I’m here.” The words scrape from my throat. “And I’ll keep coming back. Every night. Even if I can’t have you.”
“Promise?”
Everything she’s feeling lives in her eyes. Pain, fear, and need, exposed and unguarded.
“I promise.”
The words feel like a vow, binding me more than any contract I’ve ever signed.
We sit in silence, watching the sun climb over the horizon through the sliver in her curtains. In a few minutes, I’ll have to leave before the world wakes. Before the light is too bright to hide my identity.
But for now, I sit beside her, holding her hand, learning a new way to possess her that has nothing to do with flesh and everything to do with presence.
And somewhere deep inside, behind walls I’ve spent years fortifying, I mourn the loss of something I never knew I wanted until it was already gone.
Chapter twenty
Damien
