Beautiful Terror (Burn It All Down Duet #2)

144. The Dexmatization of Margaux

CHAPTER 144

THE DEXMATIZATION OF MARGAUX

MARGAUX

T he past couple of weeks, Dex and I have been attached at the hip, and it’s led me to some realizations.

Dex is funny, cute, and strong. The kind of strong man that doesn’t feel threatening, but protective—like he’d never even consider using his size against me to intimidate or harm me.

And the way he laughs when I tease him? It’s like he knows my jokes come from a kind, gentle place.

He doesn’t get defensive or turn my humor into a weapon against me. He just laughs, his green-hazel eyes crinkling, making me feel like I’m safe here.

That’s a hard feeling to trust. I’ve been trained by Timmy and his kind to brace for the other shoe to drop. For the sweet words to turn into venom, the kindness to reveal its hidden barbs. Part of me still waits for Dex to tell me that everything he admires about me is actually what he hates about me.

But that’s just my trauma whispering in my ear. Of course, I’ll stay vigilant, because I have to—I’ve learned too many painful lessons to ignore red flags.

But with Dex, it’s different. The connection doesn’t feel contrived or manufactured. It’s rich, layered, and organic.

They say butterflies are your body’s warning signal. With Timmy, I was radioactive—buzzing with anxiety and dopamine, swept up in a love-bombing haze that made me think he was my missing piece.

With Dex, there are no alarm bells. Just small, warm flutters of excitement. My brain is calm, my heart steady.

He has friends—plenty of them. Even some exes who he hangs out with as part of his broader friend group.

But unlike Timmy, he doesn’t dangle them in front of me to make me jealous. Instead, he introduces me to them, brings me into his world, and I find that they’re kind and welcoming, just like him.

And he doesn’t propose within two weeks. He’s not even sure if he wants to get married at all, which is fine by me. There’s no rush, no pressure.

He has a job—an actual job—and he shows up for it, running his team with the kind of focus and passion that makes me admire him even more. I still don’t know exactly what he does—all I know is he has a high-level security clearance and he can’t talk a lot about his job—but that’s okay.

I trust him.

After a comfortable night on the couch, snuggling against each other, I walk to the kitchen to refill my wine glass.

Dex appears next to me, and he pulls me to him.

He tilts his head and his lips brush mine, tentatively at first, as if he’s gauging my response. I freeze for a moment, realizing these are the first lips to touch mine since Timmy’s. The thought flickers through my mind like a shadow, but it doesn’t stay. Because Dex’s lips don’t feel like Timmy’s. They don’t feel like anyone else’s. They feel like warmth and safety and desire all rolled into one.

I haven’t kissed anyone quite like this before. It’s usually a little awkward—at least at first—although I suppose it wasn’t with Timmy, either. Clearly, the quality of a first kiss isn’t a strong indicator of the value of a relationship.

But the touch of his tongue on mine sends little shivers throughout my body, generating anticipation of what’s to come. It feels natural, primal somehow. Electric, even. I hungrily explore his tongue with my own.

He starts to pull away, but I lean in, pressing my lips to his, feeling the way they mold perfectly against mine. Relief and yearning flood through me as his tongue grazes mine, and I let out a soft moan.

My hands find their way to the nape of his neck, my fingers tangling in his soft, sun-streaked locks. I pull him closer, deepening the kiss, hungry for him in a way that feels both primal and healing.

All thoughts of Timmy vanish. For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not afraid. I’m not comparing. I’m just here, with Dex, and it’s everything.

THE NEXT DAY

“I know we could’ve taken things further last night,” Dex says, his voice low and warm. We’re sitting on the couch, the soft glow of a lamp casting shadows on his chiseled features. “I know we both wanted to. But I wanted it to be on your terms. I didn’t want to take advantage of you in a vulnerable moment. You’ve had enough of that already. And I definitely didn’t want it to feel like a pity fuck. You’re worth so much more than that.”

His words hit me like a punch—gentle but firm, knocking the wind out of my defenses.

“I thought you didn’t like me like that,” I admit, my voice small. His lack of trying to get in my pants was beginning to bother me, making me feel like he wasn’t interested.

“Oh no,” he says, shaking his head with a soft smile. “I really, really like you. And I respect you. Sometimes that means passing up on good sex now and saving it for some mind-blowing sex later.”

I laugh, the sound bubbling out before I can stop it. “I guess I’m not used to being around people who can regulate their emotions and impulses.”

“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “We exist.”

Stacey:

You’re sure you’re ready for a relationship? This isn’t too soon?

Stacey’s message pings on my phone, her concern radiating from the screen. I can almost see her infamous side-eye as she types. She’s ever-protective of me, and I appreciate it, even when it means she asks difficult questions.

And her question is fair.

Me:

It’s not a relationship. We’re just hanging out.

Stacey:

It seems to me that you’re spending an awful lot of time together for two people who are just… hanging out. Are you in love or what?

I see she’s typing more, so I wait for her incoming message while I ponder the answer.

Stacey:

Not that I can talk, seeing as my husband and I have been together since the night we first met.

I laugh. Stacey might be opinionated, but she’s no hypocrite.

Me:

I— I wouldn’t say ‘in love’. I don’t want to put a label on it just yet.

We have love for each other.

Stacey:

Well just be careful. I can’t bear to see you hurt again. You deserve happiness and a bit of rest after all you’ve been through.

I can feel her trying to get into my mind, to see what’s actually going on in there.

Me:

I’ll be careful. I promise.

Satisfied, she leaves it at that.

They say comparison is the thief of joy, but in this case, contrasting Dex with Timmy gives me nothing but joy.

Dex is strong, but he doesn’t use his strength to intimidate, coerce, or hurt me.

He’s confident, but he doesn’t use it to belittle me.

He’s interested in me, but he doesn’t weaponize my vulnerabilities and use things I tell him in confidence to hurt me later.

He’s generous—without expecting anything in return.

He never brings up my trauma with the purpose of hurting me.

He’s everything Timmy wasn’t.

Dex enjoys seeing me happy, just for the sake of it. He doesn’t keep a mental tally of favors or use my past against me. He has his own hobbies, his own life, and he respects mine. Sometimes we share, sometimes we don’t, and that’s okay.

He watches my shows without complaining, and I’m learning to enjoy football. Sometimes we’re in separate rooms, but we’re never far away.

I don’t feel the need to look at his phone or email or track his location. Realistically, may I peek from time to time? Probably, yeah. But it’s a trauma response I’m working through, and he’s never given me any reason to doubt him.

I know he trusts me. I hold that like a cherished gift—like one of those fragile decorative eggs some people collect, just so much more important.

He enjoys being there for me, supporting me through the bad and the good, surprising me, and just seeing me be happy. That’s all he wants.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I trust someone. Really trust them. It feels like a rare treasure I’m determined to protect.

I’d forgotten how good trust feels.