Trust Me (Rough Love 3)

He didn’t answer. He stared instead at my hand over his. Take my hand. Hold my hand. Please, try, for us.

He stirred suddenly, like he was coming out of a trance, then looked at me with his brows drawn together. “For a couple months now, I’ve been designing this bridge. It’s not like anything I’ve done before. It’s simple and spare, because of you. Because you showed me that that could be beautiful.” His eyes burned me with their intensity. “I didn’t think there’d be a way to do it, but I figured it out and showed it to everyone. No one liked it at first, but I kept trying to make them see. I kept trying. I made it work.”

I swallowed past the emotion in my throat. “And did they see?”

“Yes. I told you, there’s always a way.”

I held up a finger. “No, I told you there was always a way. Remember? I put that sign in my window.”

“I remember,” he said.

“Because you were fucking up again.”

“I’m pretty sure you were fucking up too.”

He finally laced his fingers through mine, and brought my hand to his lips. They felt warm and firm. How many times had I kissed those lips?

“I know we can work,” he said. “There’s always a way. There has to be a way for us, because it’s important. I’ll change the way I act, to make things better. I’ll adjust.”

His words unsettled me. I knew we needed to work together to fix things, but I didn’t want the essence of Price to go away. I needed his commanding personality, his dominance and requirements. “I don’t want you to change too much,” I said. “I still want you to be you.”

“I’ll still be me, but you need to tell me what you need. You’re part of this too.”

“You know what I need. You’ve always known.”

“Jesus,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “There’s nothing more frustrating than trying to communicate with a submissive.”

“But you know,” I argued. “You know the good parts of our relationship, and the parts that didn’t work. I want the things that were good. The passion. The sex and drama. The dungeon, and the kisses afterward in your arms. The poetry.”

“The poetry.” He made an impatient gesture. “It’s not enough, for all you do for me.”

“You’re enough for me, just as you are. Well, slightly changed. Minus the fears and jealousy.”

He shook his head and gave a rough laugh. “I can’t believe I’m enough for you.”

“Believe it.”

“My poems don’t even rhyme.”

“Poems don’t have to rhyme to be beautiful.”

Look at what you do for me, I thought. You’re so beautiful.

He let out a slow breath. “You know, I only ever wrote poems for you. You’re the only one.”

“I know.”

He was so fucked up, this freakishly handsome, lonely, neglected, rich boy who’d never known love. All his grand bridges and skyscrapers weren’t enough to make him feel worthy of one ghetto-bred ex-hooker.

“I love your poems,” I said, “but I don’t want the taunt of you anymore. The mystery. The distance. I want you, Price. Let me in. I’ll be your slave forever, but I need you to be with me too. Do you know what I mean?” I let go of his hand and spread my fingers against his chest. “Be with me. Give me your heart, all of it, without fear and suspicion. I won’t hurt you. I won’t leave you.” I grabbed his face and made him look at me. “I love you.”

He gazed into my eyes and put his hands over mine. “You left me,” he said.

“You left me too, damn it. But we’re going to change. We’re not going to leave each other anymore. We’re going to find a fucking way.”

He stared at me as he squeezed my fingers. “Does that mean you’re coming back to me?”

That was the big question, but it was hardly a question. I was almost sitting in his lap. “Do you want me back?” I asked. “You told me to get out of your fucking life.”

“I was a little upset when I said that. If I ever say that again, just ignore me because I don’t mean it. You belong with me.” He let go of my hands to grab my neck. “Come back to me, starshine. When you’re ready, I want you to come back. We’ll fix everything. We’ll make everything better.”

He put his thumb against my pulse, and I felt it in the beat of my heart.

Chapter Sixteen: Beautiful

There were tons of people in the Gramercy Park lobby when Chere and I returned, and more people in the elevator. I wanted all of them gone. Coming back to this hotel—to that room—was difficult enough for me. I’d made so many mistakes. But white tulips were a symbol of forgiveness and new beginnings, and Chere was letting me come upstairs.