Beauty in the Ashes

“My bed. My rules,” I whispered.

His soft laugh rumbled through my body. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Grinning like the cat that ate the canary, I splayed my hands over his chest and looked down at him. “Get ready for a wild ride. I promise it’ll blow your mind.”

???

Caelan

I wasn’t one to linger after sex. It wasn’t in my nature. I didn’t want to cuddle and do the whole, ‘let’s talk about our feelings’ thing. Who the hell has time for that bullshit?

But what was I doing?

Lying in bed with my arms wrapped around Sutton and my face buried in her neck. I never wanted to leave and that fact scared me. I was a man of many addictions. Drugs. Alcohol. Art. And now I could add Sutton to that list.

“You’re not leaving,” she stated.

I knew she was surprised. It was evident in the tone of her voice.

The other times, I’d made it clear that when we were done she was to leave. She didn’t seem to mind. Now, here I was in her bed and I was the fucker that didn’t want to move. Go figure.

“Do you want me to?”

Please say no.

“No.”

She traced a finger down my chest and my eyes closed from the pleasurable touch. Her nail dug in and I hissed.

“That hurt.” I glared at her.

“It was meant to,” she giggled, now lightly caressing the area she’d just scratched. Like I needed illegal substances to numb my memories, Sutton needed pain to drown out whatever haunted her.

Feeling bold, after all, she knew about my family—nosy bitch—I asked, “What happened to you?”

She stiffened in my arms and started to pull away but I held tight. She wasn’t going anywhere.

“I know something, or someone, hurt you. You know about my past,” I growled, getting angry at the distant look on her face, “isn’t it fair that I know about yours?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” she muttered.

“You’re a really bad liar, Sutton.”

She sighed heavily, her whole body shaking with it. I knew she wasn’t going to say anything. I might not have been a good guy, but I knew how self-destructive it was to keep painful memories bottled so tight. It slowly ate you alive until there was nothing left but a rotting black hole that destroyed everything you came into contact with.

In a gesture that wasn’t like myself, I laced our fingers together and held them up, marveling at how amazing something so simple could feel. Her skin was soft and silky, her hand fitting perfectly into mine. “Why don’t you tell me how you got this scar?” I probed, determined to get something out of her. This wasn’t me trying to get to know her. Not at all. This was simply one broken person speaking to another.

She swallowed thickly and I could practically see heart racing in her chest.

“Why do you want to know?” She whispered, staring over my shoulder at something so she didn’t have to look at me. “I thought this,” anger laced her tone, “thing we’re doing, was just physical. Don’t act like you want to get to know me when you really don’t.”

“Who’s to say I don’t want to get to know you.” The confession tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Gathering the sheet up, she rose and her glare was withering. Her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders. “I call bullshit. Pretty much everything that comes out of your mouth is rude, I doubt you want to know anything personal about me. Just because we had sex doesn’t mean you need to know everything about me.”

I snorted, rubbing my hands over my face. She was a fucking pistol. “This has nothing to do with the sex, Sutton. Don’t be so dramatic, it’s unbecoming of you. Let’s face it, you know way more about me than I know about you,” I reasoned and her face began to soften with realization. “I don’t even know your last name.”

She stared down at the white sheet, wringing it through her fingers. “Hale.”