Trust Me (Rough Love 3)

She looked a little nervous, but she mostly looked happy.

“A shower and some room service?” I suggested. “You’re going to need your strength.”

* * * * *

I woke to a slash of sunlight streaming through the dark velvet curtains, and Price’s heavy form strewn across my back. I turned my head to look at the clock. Late morning already. I’d slept like the dead, which made sense, since Price had pretty much killed me with our sexual reunion. Memories flooded back, all the fucking and grappling of the night before.

I groaned and tried to extricate myself from his embrace. He grumbled but let me go. He’d stayed up even later than me, stroking my back and my hair, whispering to me as I drifted off to sleep. Mine. That was the gist of what he’d told me, over and over. You’re mine. As for me, I’d told him what he needed to hear to soothe his secret, crippling anxieties. I love you. I need you. You’re perfect, and I adore you just as you are.

I stumbled into the bathroom and dialed the lights down low, and started the shower. I was halfway through brushing my teeth before I looked up and saw the writing on the mirror. Not just writing, but art too, hearts and jewels and a cityscape, and remarkably good likenesses of me and Price. I looked closer at the scarlet and pink lines, and realized he’d done the whole thing in my lipstick. There were three empty tubes on the counter. A poem took up most of the mirror, written in his now-familiar hand.

What you see right now

Is what I see when I dream.

Beautiful diamond, beautiful heart.

Beautiful fighter, and a soul like art.

I was so gripped by his poem, so spellbound by the depth of feeling in those scrawls of lipstick, that I didn’t hear him come into the bathroom. I jumped when he hugged me from behind.

“I’m no world class artist,” he said. “And it still doesn’t fucking rhyme, but I hope you like it.”

I turned and threw my arms around him. “It kind of rhymes. I love it. It’s… Holy crap. I love you.” I clung to his neck and breathed him in as he groped my ass. “You wrote ‘beautiful’ three times.”

“Because you’re beautiful in so many ways. You’re everything in that poem, and so much more.”

His caresses were wonderful, but still not as thrilling as the affection in his voice. “When did you do this?” I asked, letting go of him.

“Last night, while you were sleeping.” He glanced at the empty tubes on the counter. “Sorry about your lipstick. I’ll replace them.”

“Forget the lipstick.” I turned back to his artwork as tears gathered in my eyes. “It’s so lovely, Price. It’s my favorite poem ever.”

“Don’t cry.” He frowned at me in the mirror, over my shoulder. “It’s not supposed to make you cry. It’s supposed to make you happy.”

“It does make me happy.” I cried anyway, just a few tears, while he rolled his eyes and brushed his teeth.

“So what now?” he said after he spit. “Do you want to ease back into things?”

I stretched my sore muscles. “Was last night ‘easing back into things’?”

“Last night was hot sex,” he said with a grin. “I mean the rest of our life together. The surrender. The slavery.”

“Yes, I still want that, if you want it.”

“Do I want it? Let me think about that a moment.” He slapped me on the ass. Hard. “Yes. But no more sex until I go back to the apartment and collect a few things.”

“You don’t want me to go too?”

“Not yet. Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” he assured me when my face fell. His fingertips traced along the worry lines in my brow. “I don’t want to hole up in the apartment with you yet. I think we should spend a little more time on neutral ground. The dungeon will still be there, I promise.” He gave me a mocking smile. “Naughty girl.”

“Naughty girls need dungeons,” I grumbled as he went out into the other room to dress.

“I’ll bring back some things for your amusement,” he promised. “And mine.”

The last two words were accompanied by a wonderfully threatening leer.

I sprawled on the bed and watched him dress, pants and clinging undershirt and sweater. God, the muscles. It was still hard to believe sometimes that this powerful, complicated man belonged to me.

“Do you think you would have been able to find me if Vinod hadn’t helped you?” I asked.

“Eventually. I would have come for you when my willpower ran out, just like last time.” He fastened his belt, then jammed a hand in his pocket. “Speaking of which…” He returned to the bed with something between his fingers. “I suppose you better put this back on.” He held out the garnet ring I’d left with Andrew. His lips tilted down as he slid it on my finger. “You can wear it for now, until I get something better. Something more permanent.”