Sleeping with the Beast

Maybe I don’t have loyalty, or maybe I never met anyone worth being loyal to, at least until now.

“I keep having this recurring daydream,” she said, her voice soft as she stared out over the water again. “Maybe it’s a recurring daymare, I’m not sure what to call it.”

“What happens?” I asked.

“I see you breaking into some room in the mansion, and one of the Leone guys is there waiting for you, and he shoots you, over and over again.”

I chuckled. “And I guess I die?”

She gave me a look. “It’s not funny.”

“I know it’s not. At least I don’t come back as a zombie and you have to cut off my head.”

“Ren.”

“It’s not going to happen,” I said, leaning toward her. “The Leone guys, they know their backs are against the wall.”

“Which makes them more dangerous.”

“That’s true, but they’re going to do what’s best for them. Listening to me and going through with this plan is the right play.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m not,” I said, shaking my head. I shifted my weight and got off the chair, kneeling down next to her. I leaned over and took her hand, my body against hers, and she stared into my eyes. I saw the fear and the uncertainty, and it was astonishing that she’d come this far at all. So many other people would’ve given up already, but she was still in it and still wanted to fight. “But I know this is a risk worth taking.”

“I wish I had an ounce of your courage. I’m afraid all the time.”

“Being brave isn’t about not having fear, it’s about controlling what you can control, and doing what needs to be done despite everything else. That’s what having courage means, and trust me, you have it in spades.”

She gave me a tight smile. “I don’t know what you see in me.”

I reached out and touched her cheek. “I wish you could see what I see.” I reached out and pulled her towel down, away from her breasts, and further, down her stomach, letting it fall off and to the side. She wore a black bikini and she shifted slightly, leaning toward me, as my fingers trailed down her chest, along the swell of her breast, and down toward her belly button. I turned and found the first pink scar, the bullet wound still puckered and ugly. She flinched away, but I held her there, and leaned forward to kiss her neck.

“Do you know how many people could survive something like this?” I asked her softly, afraid of scaring her off.

“It had nothing to do with me. I got lucky.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” I massaged the bullet scar and kissed her neck again. “Most people would’ve curled up and hid away from the world.”

“That’s what I did.”

“No, you didn’t. You’re here, and you’re still going. I think you mistake worry for fear.”

“Ren,” she whispered, half-moan, and hearing my name on her lips like that drove me crazy.

“You have to realize how beautiful this makes you.” My fingers continued to caress her scar, then moved down her body, toward the scar on her leg, then back up, trailing along her beautiful smooth skin until I found the scar on her pelvis. “You’re a survivor, and you’re even more gorgeous in your flaws.”

“I thought you’re supposed to tell me that I’m perfect.” She smiled a little, head tilted toward me.

I bit her bottom lip. “That’d be a lie. Nobody’s perfect and I’m not about to pretend like you’re an exception. But these scars make you special. They make you stronger. I wish you could understand that.”

“I hate them. They’re not who I am.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I slid my fingers along her skin again, down between her legs. She let out a soft moan as I slowly rolled them along her gorgeous wet spot, damp from the pool, but pulsing and warm with desire. “They’re exactly who you are. All your scars. All your imperfections. It all adds up to what we’ve become.”

“Where are your scars then? Your imperfections?”

I smirked and leaned back. I pulled off my shirt and tossed it aside, then pointed to a small scar on my shoulder. “Stabbed when I was ten.” I showed her another. “Shot with a .22 rifle here when I was fifteen.” Another, and another, and another. “Bar fight, glass bottle, cigarette burn. I’ve got hundreds of scars and I earned every one of them.”

I kissed her then, pinning her back against the chair, and my hand moved back between her legs. She rolled her hips furtively and I slipped aside her bikini bottoms. She was soaking as I ran my fingers along her slit and found her hard little bud, rolling around it, making her moan into my kiss. She grabbed my hair and tugged me closer, than touched my chest with her palms, finding the scars I’d pointed out with her fingertips.