Chapter 22 #2
“Before moving to Seattle from London, I needed it constantly. Once I arrived in Seattle, it became less frequent, mostly surfacing when my parents called. However, being back in London, I found myself reverting to old habits, pulling at my hair quite often. I even bought a new laptop to work on upgrading it while there because it became that bad again.”
I bite my cheek at this, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. The thought of her struggling so much tears at me.
Especially because I was part of the reason she struggled.
“But now…” she continues. “Since we’ve been back, I haven’t had the urge to pull anymore.
It’s like an itch that comes back whenever something doesn’t work my way or when I’m anxious, and believe me, I am anxious right now.
But it’s basically gone. The urge to pull is gone.
” She fiddles with her smartphone, then looks up at me again.
“I’m looking for a therapist. I think I could need a little help with processing what happened with my family and also with my coping mechanism because…
this can’t be right. The urge to play piano is gone too.
I mean, sure, I want to play piano from time to time, but it’s not a need.
It’s more of a want. And I don’t know when the last time was that I just wanted to play and didn’t need to.
Maybe on my birthday, but not for a long time before that. ”
“I’m proud of you for seeking help,” I say earnestly because I really am.
“And there is nothing wrong with talking to a therapist, Misha does too. I guess I could use one as well.” I smile, and she gives me a soft smile in return.
I bet taking this step wasn’t easy for her.
But then I furrow my brow, confused. “But you just said you left work because it got too much, and you needed to play…”
“No,” she corrects me. “I just said I thought it would help, but it didn’t.
I was sitting there, thinking that what I really needed was you, Misha, and Oliver.
To talk to you or to hold me or… I don’t know.
It’s just… is that healthy? Is that a new coping mechanism that’s just as unhealthy as the others?
Unhealthy for me to be this attached to a new relationship, and unhealthy for you to have this kind of responsibility or even power over me?
I should probably ask the therapist, but, well, I haven’t found one yet. ”
Power over her?
“If someone has power over the others, it’s you who holds it over us, Amelia.
” I look into her eyes, seeing the worry there.
“Needing people in your life isn’t a coping mechanism or unhealthy,” I assure her.
“Believe me, having your people around you to help you cope and to be there for you is more than healthy.”
I watch as a hint of relief softens the tension in her face, her shoulders relaxing. “You really think so?” she asks, hope lacing her voice.
“I know so,” I reply, squeezing her hand a bit tighter. “We’re here for you, Amelia. Always. Through thick and thin, come hell or high water.”
She lowers her gaze, a blush creeping across her cheeks. She mumbles something so softly I can barely hear her. “And what if… what if it’s more than that?”
Curiosity piqued, I reach out, tilting her chin up to meet my gaze. “What is it, Princess?” It comes out soft, like a soothing balm meant to ease whatever worries are swirling inside her beautiful mind.
“Is it… is it still healthy if the need to have you around is… indeed a need?”
My brow furrows at her question, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words.
I’ve always felt the pull between us—a need that goes beyond mere want.
But I’m not quite sure that’s what she means, and I don’t want to assume.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, carefully choosing my words to gauge where this is coming from and how to address it without adding to her distress.
She looks so small, so tentative, like a fragile bird ready to take flight at the slightest provocation. “I’m… I don’t know. I’m… fuck.”
My hand cups her cheek, my thumb stroking her soft skin in a gentle, reassuring caress. “You can talk to me about anything,” I reassure her. “There’s nothing you can say that will make me think less of you or push me away.”
“Here goes nothing,” she murmurs before she takes a deep breath. “I’m not used to having this much sex.”
My eyes widen at her confession, surprise coursing through me.
Oh.
Oh.
“Okay, that’s… more than understandable,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady, even as my mind races to catch up with her admission. “I’m sure we can talk to Ollie and Misha about dialing it back… I’m sorry if we are overwhelming you.”
God, we’re fucking idiots.
Of course, having three men who can’t keep their hands to themselves might be too much. We should have been more considerate, more attentive to her comfort levels.
Fuck.
“Oh, my God, no,” Her eyes go wide as she rushes to explain, her words tumbling out in a frantic cascade. “No, it’s the other way around. I promise it’s not what you’re thinking at all.”
What?
“Amelia, I’m not quite sure I’m still following,” I admit.
Her cheeks flush a deep crimson, and it’s like she is struggling to find the right words. “I… I know you said I shouldn’t talk about other men, but we’re not in bed, so…” She trails off, and I can’t help but chuckle at that.
Good girl, following directions.
“And I’m not fucking you right now, so yes, you are allowed to,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood and put her at ease.
“I never really liked sex,” she admits, looking down at the piano keys, her fingers ghosting over them without pressing down.
The confession hangs in the air between us, heavy with implications.
“I mean, I never really liked it with my ex. It was always about what he liked and never about what I liked.”
Wow, what a fucking bastard.
The thought of her being with someone who never cared about her pleasure makes my blood boil.
I can’t even fathom having sex with her and not making sure she’s enjoying every moment, every touch, every kiss.
She deserves so much more than that, and I’ll be damned if I don’t give her exactly that.
She’s mine, and I intend to show her just how good it can be when it’s all about her.
“I mean, I liked the feeling. That’s why I have a vibrator, but I somehow never enjoyed sex with him that much. It always felt… lacking, I suppose.”
“And now you like… having sex?” I’m genuinely curious about where this conversation is heading, but I’m quite sure the orgasms I witnessed her having weren’t anything but real.
“Now sex feels like I’m on cloud nine, and I’m addicted to your touch… all of yours. And I’m wondering if this is… maybe an unhealthy addiction.”
God, she’s fucking adorable.
And this cute little talk about sex is making me so damn hard.
“Sex addiction is a thing, yes. But I don’t think enjoying a healthy, active sex life puts you at risk for that. It’s natural to crave intimacy, especially when it’s with people you care about… or are in love with.”
“Are you sure?” she presses, still looking for validation, her fingers tracing patterns along my palm, sending shivers up my arm. “Even if I think about it all the time?”
I lean closer, unable to resist the pull. “Think about what, baby?”
God, this innocent side of her is so damn sexy.
“Your hands on me, my hands on you,” she confesses, her voice barely audible but filled with longing.
Good God.
Knowing she wants me, that she thinks about me, I have to suppress the growl threatening to erupt at the thought.
Instead, I keep things lighter, more reassuring, even if I want to spread her out right here.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good.
” I reach out to cup her cheek again, my thumb tracing her cheekbone.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting us. We want you just as much,” I assure her. “Maybe even more.”
“You do?”
I need to do a better job at letting her feel it if she has to ask that question.
“I have a longing for every fiber of your being, every second of the day. Most of the time, my hands are shaking from holding back from you. You’re intoxicating, Amelia, in the best possible way.”
I lean in, closing the space that separates us as my hand threads possessively through her silky hair. Her breath hitches in anticipation as my lips descend toward hers, the air between us charged.
“Grey.” The softly spoken plea escapes her lips just as they meet mine, igniting a fire in my veins.
“When did they tell you that they still had two hours at the doctor?” I ask against her lips.
“Maybe an hour ago?” she responds breathily, betraying the effect I have on her when her body unconsciously leans towards mine.
“Perfect.” The word comes out as a growl.
I’m going to spend the next hour showing her just how much she’s wanted.
Giving a sharp whistle, I send Peanut scampering upstairs.
Then, in one fluid motion, I pull Amelia into my lap, cradling her against my chest. Our lips meet once more, and a moan escapes her as I stand, holding her up to me, and with gentle reverence, I place her on the polished surface on top of the piano.
“You make my knees so weak I have to spread yours,” I joke, but my words are laced with a possessive hunger that surprises even me as I push them open and step between.
“You’re an idiot.” She chuckles, the sound a sweet melody that does nothing to dampen the fire burning within me.
“Ah-ah, are you gonna be a good girl for me?” I ask, my hands already itching to touch her, claim her.
“Yes, Mr. Donovan,” she whispers, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“It’s Doctor,” I tease, correcting her with a playful smirk.