Time (Laws of Physics #3)(58)
“No. No, you weren’t too rough. And I agreed with you, if you remember. I want us to discover each other. I want to give us a chance to be good at this. We’re already good at this, we’re great! It’s just that it’s—it’s complicated.”
He took a deep breath. “Complicated.”
“Yes. Because I love you.” My eyes stung with new tears, but I determinedly blinked them away, pulling my knees to my chest.
“That doesn’t mean I get to do whatever I want to you.”
“But I want it too. I like it rough. I—” I laughed, because I didn’t quite know how to explain without sounding crazy, or wrong in the head. Sniffling, I said firmly, “I’m going to be brave, okay?”
He nodded, his eyebrows still knotted.
“Here is the truth, and if this makes me disturbed, then so be it. I’ve always been the one in control, with all my past partners. Always. But not with you.”
He opened his mouth like he was going to say something.
I held up a hand, blinking against the stinging in my eyes. “Wait. Let me finish.”
Abram nodded, clearly agonized by this data.
I took a deep breath, needing to clear my throat of emotion before continuing. “I love how you make love to me. I love it when you hold me down. I. Love. It. It gets me so, so hot. I love it when you’re above me and I can’t move. I love it when you take control and tell me what to do, order me around. However, after, I feel guilty about it, ashamed, and I can’t stop comparing what happened when I was younger with what I enjoy, with you, during sex.”
Abram blinked, distraught, his gaze moving over my head for a long moment, during which I regained control of myself, successfully winning the battle against the urge to cry.
“Have you talked to anyone?” His eyes cut back to mine. “A therapist?”
I hesitated. “Leo gave me some numbers a few weeks ago.” It didn’t escape my notice that everyone—Leo, Lisa, Gabby, and now Abram—seemed to think that my touch aversion in certain situations was related to the trauma. I still couldn’t figure out why I flinched sometimes, and at other times I didn’t, even with Abram. “I spoke to one of them—twice so far—but I just . . .” I shook my head.
“What?”
“It’s like, I don’t know this woman, and I’m going to tell her everything about myself? It seems very strange.”
His mouth twitched. “Mona.”
“Abram.”
“That’s what therapists do.”
“I know.”
“That’s their job.”
“I know.”
His gaze moved over me. “Will you please talk to a professional about this?”
Ugh. Crap.
“Fine.”
“I’ll go with you if you want.”
I splashed water on my face, hoping to wash off some of the eye makeup that I was certain had smudged under my eyes. I probably looked like a football player. “I’ll, uh, let you know, if I need you to go.”
Wiping my face of water, I gave him back my gaze. The bathtub was almost full, but neither of us made a move to switch off the water. I was too busy mediating a four-way battle between longing, hope, fear, and shame.
I longed for his touch, for things to be like they were before, between us.
I hoped he’d still want me.
I feared that he wouldn’t.
Shame . . . well, that was a dead horse. I’d beaten it enough.
We were silent for a long time, long enough for anxiety to swell in my chest, long enough for me to await his next words with both dread and anticipation. I was terrified of what came next. But tonight was a night for bravery and recklessness. I’d come this far, I’d revealed this much. Therefore, even though I was nervous, I decided to rip off the Band-Aid.
Balling my hands into fists, I lowered my gaze to the surface of the water. “I already had your bags moved here. But if you need some time or want to stay at your original hotel for the next few days, or somewhere else, I completely understand.”
Abram chuckled, it sounded incredulous. The laughter drew my eyes back to his and I found them to be equal parts tired, concerned, and frustrated. “Oh, my Mona. Do you really have no idea how I feel about you? Do you not understand that, even as I sit here, worried about you, livid and plotting revenge on your behalf, I’m trying to figure out how to prove you can trust me? Always. I love you with every part of myself, you’ve invaded every corner, every secret place, and I only want—I’ve only ever wanted—your happiness. If you want me to stay, then with you is always where I want to be.”
I blinked against those confounded tears again, this time battling misery instead of apprehension. Why does his beautiful profession of love make me miserable?
“What can I do?” he asked, worry adding an edge to the softness of the question.
“I just . . .”
“What?”
“I don’t want you to see me differently,” I confessed to the water. “I loved how you looked at me, like you were hungry for me, like you wanted me all the time, like you’re insatiable. I looked forward to it. Does that make me superficial and shallow?”
“Look at me.”
Bracing myself, I did. His eyes glowed amber. Hot. Full of such raw desire and affection, it drove the air from my lungs and most of the wits from my brain.