With You (Tear Asunder 0.5)

“Eme.” His arms tightened around me. “Tell me.” He shifted, easily picking me up under the arms and bringing me around so I sat facing him, my legs bent on either side of him. It was intimate, and Christ, it was hard to resist him and not just say screw it and tell him how I felt and go with him. “Eme, tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

He watched me carefully, eyes never once wavering. “You know what I’m asking, but this once I’ll indulge you. Tell me you don’t want more.”

Shit. He knew I was crazy about him. I’d been trying to keep my feelings . . . well hidden, somewhat. It obviously wasn’t working. I licked my lips and tried to look away, but he was ready for that and held my head between his hands.

“Eme.”

Fuck. I was so not good at this. The last person I expressed my feelings to was my dad while he lay in the hospital dying.

“Mouse.” He leaned in, and my hands went to his upper thighs feeling the flex of his muscles beneath my palms. “Look at me.” I did. “I want you with me. I’ll look after you.” His voice lowered. “I’m not happy leaving you here, baby.”

And that was the problem; I didn’t want to be “looked after.” I’d looked after myself all my life. My mom . . . I sometimes wondered if she even remembered she had a daughter.

“Emily. I don’t play games. I told you what I want, and I know you want me.”

I didn’t know whether to be pissed or laugh at his arrogance. What I did know was that I was turned on—big time. How could he do that? I mean, he was just looking at me, and yet . . . his eyes abducted me. “Sculpt . . . I . . .”

Sculpt tightened his legs around me. “Eme.” He gripped my chin and held me steady. He waited several seconds, and I finally inhaled a shaky breath. “I’ll never hurt you. I know you’re worried about the women.” I opened my mouth to speak, but his eyes narrowed, and I shut it again. “I’m a fighter. I’m in a band. The women will always be there, but I’m with you.”

And that was the issue. Why was he with me? I wasn’t pretty, had big hips, mousey, brown hair, and my thighs were my best feature. Most guys wouldn’t say so, because I was only five foot three, and they liked the tall, skinny fawn-like legs. I liked my thighs, because I rode horses, and they were the most muscular, lean part of my body.

He stiffened, and I recognized the russet in his eyes reflect in the moonlight. I laid my hands flat on his chest feeling his beating heart beneath my touch. “Jesus, Emily, you have to bury that shit your mother tells you. I swear if she wasn’t a woman, I’d kick her ass.”

I gasped. How did he know about my mother?

“Yeah, Mouse, I know it’s swimming around in your head like a shark eating all your confidence. Do you think I don’t pay attention? I’ve asked you about your mother, and I see what it does to you. You spent most of your childhood at Matt and Kat’s. A girl doesn’t do that if her mother is something special. I’m certain yours is not. She’s put toxic shit in your head.”

“Sculpt . . . I . . . my . . .” Yeah. I had no words. He was right. My mom was toxic, and that was why I never saw her, not that she’d remember if I did.

He tucked my hair behind my ear. It seemed so natural; I wondered if he even realized he was doing it. “We’re exploring this, Eme. I want you on tour with me.”

“I need more time, Sculpt. I can’t suddenly decide to change my life and go with you. I have school starting and Matt and Kat . . .” My voice trailed off.

Silence.

“You want to train horses. Why are you wasting your time going to college taking accounting?”

We’d been through this. “Sculpt, it’s a silly dream. I need to focus on what’s real, and that is finding a career and making money.”

“You’re wrong Eme. You should be chasing your dream.” He sighed. “I’m leaving. Next week.”

My breath hitched, and my heart felt like it had been pierced with quills, and he hadn’t even left yet. “But I thought—”

“Things have changed. We’re leaving sooner than we planned.”

I couldn’t go. God, I wanted to, but he needed to live his dream, and I had to make my own way. I never wanted him to regret being with me. Anything I wanted in life I had to reach for myself. I didn’t want someone else supporting me. One good thing I’d learned from my mother was that if I wanted anything, I had to get it myself, because she sure as hell wasn’t going to give it to me.

“Sculpt. I can’t.”

“Emily.” He lay back in the grass scowling. “You’re overthinking this.”

“But Sculpt—”

“No buts, Emily. I can’t handle any buts. I’m pissed right now.”

“But—”

He sat up again, brows lowered. “No.”

“But you’ll like my but.” I leaned toward him and nipped his chin. That got him to ease up, and his muscles relaxed.

“I already like your butt.” His hand slid down the small of my back to my ass and squeezed. It was playful, but I could still see the darkness in his eyes, and his face was hard.

“Sculpt. My but is important.”

“Yeah Eme, it is.” I slapped him on the shoulder, and I was glad when he laughed. “Okay what’s your but?”

“I was going to say, but . . .” His brows rose. “Before you go, I want you to make love to me.” I paused, seeing his brows rise with surprise, then I pushed on quickly before I lost my nerve. “Like now, Sculpt. Right now. Here in this spot where we always hang out together. Our place. You with your guitar, and me with the horses.”