Could I do this?
She sat beside me on the couch, her arm hooked through mine. She pulled her hair into a ponytail because she’d just washed and moisturized her face. It was the first time I’d seen her without makeup.
And I thought she looked beautiful.
Her skin was just as flawless without foundation on. Sometimes, there was a difference in tone above her cheek and below it, but those negligent flaws didn’t mar her obvious perfection. Her eyes looked smaller without makeup, but somehow, they looked brighter. The natural intensity of her eyes made them stand out like diamonds in the dark.
She felt me staring at her, so she turned my way. “Hmm?”
I didn’t hide my gaze. I didn’t care if she knew I was staring at her. I didn’t hide my actions from anyone, and if they bothered her, she could walk away. But I knew she never would. “I like the way you look without makeup.”
She rolled her eyes like my compliment was absurd. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m being serious.”
“The only reason why I took it off around you is because my face is screwed up anyway.” Her lip was still swollen, and her left eye would be dark for days.
Every time I looked at her injuries, I felt rage bubble deep inside me. I’d find out who her assailant was, and even if he went to jail, I’d still find a way to torture him. I’d break through those bars just to strangle him for laying a hand on my girl.
Having her stay with me wasn’t the best option, but I knew she would be offended if I got her a new apartment. She would never take my money, no matter how much I pushed her. She had too much pride and self-respect to rely on me for anything. While it frustrated me, it was still a turn-on. Any other woman would take my gifts without blinking an eye over it. But she was too strong to accept help.
Everything about her was contradictory.
“Even with the bruises, you’re stunning.” My hand rested on the back of her neck, and I massaged her gently, feeling the loose strands of soft hair that didn’t make it into her ponytail. My thumb rested against her pulse, and I felt it quicken under my touch. I aroused her, excited her, even if she tried to hide it.
“You’re sweet, Calloway…”
“Honest. There’s a difference. You know I’ll say stuff to piss you off tomorrow.”
The corner of her lips rose into a smile. “I know that all too well.” She moved from my embrace and gave me a quick kiss right in the corner of my mouth. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” She didn’t glance at me as she reached the stairs then disappeared.
The awkwardness settled on my shoulders like the weight of the world. Not having my girlfriend sleep with me while staying in my home was the weirdest thing ever, and I knew that’s what she was thinking even if she didn’t say it. It was strange, to say the least.
With my subs, I didn’t sleep with them simply because I didn’t want to. And I didn’t need to explain that. It was okay to be an asshole because I was the one in charge.
But Rome was different.
I walked to the third story then found the bedroom she was staying in. I lightly rapped my fingers against the door. “Sweetheart.”
“Come in.”
I cracked the door and walked inside. The guest bedroom had a private bathroom and more space than a single person could ever need.
She was already lying in bed, her tiny frame looking remarkably small in the large bed. The sheets were a mixture of brown and gold, and the accompanying furniture was constructed of fine dark wood. A TV was mounted on the wall between two windows covered by curtains that matched the bedspread.
I sat at the edge of the bed and searched her face in the darkness. Even without a single light on, I could see the brilliance of her eyes. They possessed their own light that shone outward with its own vibrancy.
She sat up and rested her back against the headboard, wearing a loose t-shirt that hid all of her delectable curves from view. Her hair had been pulled from the ponytail, and now her long strands framed her shoulders. There was an obvious kink where the band had constricted her hair. “What’s up?”
I had no obligation to tell her a damn thing about my past. Keeping my secrets was a much easier way of life. During my time with Isabella, I didn’t tell her a single thing about myself. She didn’t know about my father, my mother, or the other things I’d seen in my lifetime. It was all about business with her, fucking and fucking hard. But with Rome, I wanted to tell her. I wanted to give her more of myself than I’d given to anyone else. She’d confided her secrets to me and asked me not to pity her. I needed to do the same. “My father had an unusual style of punishment.”