A Cut so Deep (Thornes & Roses 1)

“Let’s go, wild rose,” I tell her, as I grab another mug, fill it, and head out the door and toward the gym. Our ground floor has two offices, one music room, and a gym, which my father put in at the request of the three of us when Finn turned sixteen. He didn’t see the point in it but, after a while, agreed.

I set the mugs down and watch Nesrin walk into the room. She’s dressed in a tight pair of yoga pants that will, most certainly, have me distracted for most of the session. Her tank top doesn’t help either. It’s tight, showing off the fact that she’s not wearing a bra.

Fuck me.

26

Nesrin

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he grits angrily, blue eyes sparking with annoyance, but my mouth tilts into a smile.

Glancing down, I shrug nonchalantly, because the desire to push him to admit his feelings has my stomach fluttering. “Clothes.”

His glare pins me to the spot, the fire that dances in those endless pools scorch me. But he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he moves to the stereo that Cassian and I used and flicks it on. The speakers come to life and, soon enough, the large gym is filled with the melodic sounds of Dan Owen singing “Made to Love You.”

The sound of the piano fills the large room. But the space seems so much smaller when Damien turns to regard me. He crooks his finger, calling me closer, and my feet obey, taking me along, as I close the distance between us. I stop inches from him, our bodies close, but not touching. Damien raises his hand, and I slip mine into his. The heat sears me, but I swallow back the desire and breathe.

His other arm snakes around my middle, and soon, we’re practically floating across the soft flooring of the gym. The only sound, besides the song that’s echoing around us, is our rhythmic breathing.

Damien leads with confidence, his hands warming me where they grasp. His eyes lock on mine, a smirk curling his lips perfectly. He’s poised and confident, with squared shoulders and a spine that’s strong and straight.

Everything this man does captures me. My attention is glued to him, as he sways through the room like he owns it. As if everything is merely in his way, instead of the other way around. And I know the night of the ball, it will be the same. He’ll lead, and I’ll follow.

When the song comes to an end, we stop. The stereo continues, the next song comes on, and I’m once more gripped in his arms, like I’m his lifeline, instead of him being mine.

Sara Phillips sings about “The Way You Move”, and that’s exactly what I feel. His body and mine are a symphony, molding together, and moving like we’re one, instead of two. My heart leaps into my throat when Damien spins me around, before catching me in a hold that dips me backward. I feel like I’m falling, but certainly not physically because he’s holding onto me.

“You’re beautiful,” he says suddenly. When he pulls me back up, my hands land on his chest, my body flush with his, and I can feel the hardness of him prodding my stomach. Even though I’m barefoot, and I’m more than a head shorter than him, I feel like I’m on top of the world being in his arms.

“You’re quite the dancer,” I respond, unsure of what else to say to him. I can’t move, because he’s holding me so tight. But I find myself wanting to be there, in his grasp.

“I learned at a young age. Growing up in Thorne Haven, I needed to keep up appearances.” There’s sadness lacing his tone, which makes my heart ache. Even though I still have no clue what we are, I know that I’ll always care about him.

“I like hearing about your life,” I tell him honestly. Blue eyes pin themselves on mine. “I mean… I just don’t know much about you and Cass and Finn.”

“There’s not much to know.”

“I think there is a lot more that I don’t know,” I tell him, with our soundtrack playing in the background. A small smile curls his lips. The dimples I’ve come to love, appear, and I can’t help myself from grinning.

“I don’t know what you do to me,” Damien tells me.

“I think we both make each other feel,” I admit. I’m not saying I love him, and I’m not under the impression he could love me, but I know he cares for me.

“Feel,” he tastes the word on his tongue. His voice rumbles through me like it always does. It’s as if he and I are connected. “I know what I felt when I saw your scars.” His gaze sweeps over my face: from my forehead, to my eyes, down to my mouth, then they snap back to my stare. “Rage, fury, frustration. Everything I couldn’t explain with words.”