She stared up at his striking face and attempted a confident expression. But his gaze immobilized her much more effectively than she could pin him. His pillowy lips semi-puckered with sulkiness, and his intense eyes creased at the corners. Irritation? Uncertainty, too, given the grooves in his forehead and the twitch in his jaw. It was a raw look for him, one that ripped at the places she was already torn and stitched her back up with stronger seams.
Too many terrifying possibilities bounced between them, tingling over her scalp. She could give him a physical connection in the dark, her method of maneuvering through lovers. It would keep her heart safe and her mind focused on the real dynamic of their relationship. She might've decided to stay, but she was still his captive.
As she dropped her toes from his thighs to the floor, he crowded in, melding their bodies together, his feet on the outside of hers.
He gripped her jaw roughly. “You've been in the dark too damned long. The lights. Stay. On. Why does that scare you?”
Her heart cramped in its thundering torment against her ribs. As he glanced down at her most intimate places, he didn't seem disgusted. But her filter questioned it. He would get halfway through fucking her and see a flaw he hadn't noticed, an unsavory part of her body brought to light. “It's...I don't...God, this is hard.” She breathed in deeply. “I feel exposed. I can't...I don't handle rejection well.”
His eyes flashed, and his nostrils flared. He released her and backed away, but his gaze stayed with her. “Your piece of shit ex abused that beautifully unique part of you that needs to be accepted.”
Said the former sex trafficker. She shook her head, unsure how to respond to that.
He gripped the zipper on his jeans and dragged it down, slowly, torturingly, his eyes heated and locked on hers. Without looking away, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband, shoved them down, and kicked the pants to the side. His cock stood hard and swollen between his legs. A curl of heat twitched through her, and her * clenched.
He reclined on his back amidst the destruction of Froot Loops and propped up on his elbows. “Now I'm exposed, too. Waiting for your acceptance.”
There was something changing inside him. She couldn't name it, but she could see it creeping to the surface in the stiffness of his muscles and the clench of his fists as he lay on the floor. It seemed to be feeding on feelings that gravitated around her. Was he aware of it? She wanted him to know she could see him, that she wanted to accept him.
“You look uncomfortable.” She cringed at the stupidity of her statement.
“Yeah, well, this position doesn't bring out the best in me. I'm not a bottom, babe.” His eyes darted away as he blew out a long ripple of air then looked back at her. “And you're not the only one susceptible to rejection.”
Who would've rejected him? She wouldn't, not anymore, but he was covered in cereal. It stuck all over his skin in multicolored crumbs. Who knew what other nooks and crannies it was finding its way into? Just looking at it made her itchy and sweaty.
The other post-Brent men she'd slept with had been so much easier to deal with. They didn't ask questions, didn't pay attention, and certainly didn't fuck her on a crumb-encrusted floor. They pounced; then they bounced. On her terms. “Can we go upstairs?”
“How about you follow your nose down here and taste the rainbow?”
Her heart pounded anxiously at the thought of rolling around in that, but the pleading expression on his face splintered her anxiety painfully down the middle.
She knelt beside him, shuddering as cereal adhered to her legs. Picking off four pieces, she searched for the box to discard them. It would only take a sec—
“Amber.” His demanding tone made her drop the crumbs. His long, skillful fingers drummed on the tiles in such a seductive way she might've leaned down and sucked one into her mouth if not for her repulsion at the crumby floor.
The spilled cereal beckoned her, her mind grouping the O's in fours. She'd scoop them up in those groups then clear the crumbs away from the grout lines. “You ask for a lot. Lights and dirt.”
“I'm not asking. We are going to have lit-up, dirty sex because you are not allowed to look at the mess.”
Her gaze flicked to his. “I...I don't kn—”
“You are going to straddle my cock because you need to come. And you deserve that release because you won't be looking at the mess ever again.” His glare was as fierce and unwavering as his tone. “Not once. Understand?”
No one had ever talked to her like that, and it gnawed away a chunk of her anxiety. “Okay.”
“I'll be right here the whole time.” He lowered his back to the tiles and opened his arms, his eyes potent and knowing. He saw her yet didn't utter a single hateful word.
Her heart raced as if being chased, hunted. He could catch it, take it, right now, and she wouldn't stop him.