Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Icy silence fell between them as he drove.
Then she added, “Besides, I already know what it’s like to be with women. I’m bisexual, Daniel, I’ve dated and had sex with women before. With you as the exception, I’m usually attracted to people’s minds before their bodies. So don’t go thinking you ruined penis for me!”
She felt the truck swerve and gripped the doorframe, hoping he didn’t hit anything.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have imparted that little piece of information until they were safely parked.
She smirked to herself. It wasn’t often a person got to surprise Daniel.
Apparently he didn't know everything there was to know about her.
When they arrived in the parking garage, he hung up the keys and turned to her. “Your place or mine?”
“You’re giving me a choice?” she asked in surprise.
“Need to talk,” he said, taking her by the hand and leading her toward the elevators.
“Just talk?” she asked warily. “I want to go to my place then, if I have a choice.”
They went down to her apartment where he opened her door and ushered her inside.
He poured her a glass of wine while she sat on the chair in the living room.
She purposely didn't choose the couch so she wouldn’t have to sit with him.
She needed all of her senses and he had a tendency to overwhelm her.
She accepted the glass of wine gratefully while he sat opposite her.
“I want to be with you, Addison,” he said.
“No,” she said instantly taking a healthy sip of wine to steady her nerves and brace herself against what she knew would be his potent brand of persuasion. He didn’t so much as make a move toward her though.
“More than sex this time. I want to be with you. I can try to figure out this boyfriend thing,” he said gruffly.
Addison choked on the wine, spitting it back into the glass. Her jaw dropped. Neither said anything while she processed. Then, she finally said, “I don’t think you can be a boyfriend.”
“Probably not,” he agreed. “I’m too fucking old for this, but we’re going to try anyway.”
She sighed in annoyance. “I don’t get a choice, do I?”
“No,” he agreed. “But I’m going to make it easier.”
“How?” she demanded.
“Ask me your questions, Addison. I’ll answer what I can, best I can.”
Once more she was speechless. And cautiously optimistic. Daniel was actually willing to try this time. And he seemed to want more than sex. If it was just sex he wanted, he could easily take it. Hell, she was easy when it came to him. No matter how badly he treated her, she always capitulated.
“Right now?” she asked.
“Now is all you get,” he said quietly. “After this, no talk about my past, ever. Stays buried.”
She nodded. It wasn’t a healthy attitude, but she knew better than to argue.
At least for now. If he was willing to allow her this much, perhaps in the future he would let her push a little more to help him heal.
She took another steadying sip of wine and brought her leg up to curl against the side of the chair.
She launched right in. “Sometimes you speak with an accent, especially when you’re upset.”
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“What is it, what language?” she asked, quietly, barely daring to ask. “Where are you from, Daniel?”
He hesitated and then spoke, his voice steady with barely any inflection.
“Portuguese. I was born in Brazil. Lived there until I was about seventeen.”Her mouth opened, but she didn’t speak for a moment.
She’d known he was from somewhere else, yet the information about his birthplace was somehow precious to her.
She held it close to her heart, even though he clearly hated thinking about the place where he was from.
“And before you ask, I don’t know how old I am. Probably thirty-nine or forty,” he said gruffly.
“Oh, Daniel,” she said sadly, her heart hurting for the little boy that didn’t have a birthday.
“Don’t,” he warned her shortly.
She nodded and quickly cast her mind on to something else. She wondered what he looked like. Oddly she hadn’t really asked anyone before. She’d touched him of course, and been told by others that he was handsome in a chilling manner, but she didn’t know superficially what he looked like.
“Is… is your skin darker than mine?” she asked curiously.
He chuckled, clearly not expecting her line of questioning to take a physical turn. “Yes, several shades darker than yours. Your skin’s very pale and mine looks darkly tanned.”
“And your hair?” she asked breathlessly.
“It’s similar to yours, but not as rich. Yours catches different shades of red in the light. Mine is just brown. Lighter than yours.”
“And your eyes?” she asked eagerly. “What colour?”
“Brown.”
“Same as mine,” she breathed.
“No, mine are lighter. Yours are like dark velvet, very expressive.”
She thought about that for a moment. How alike they were, but also different. “Do you have any tattoos?” she asked.
“No,” he answered. “Have enough knife and bullet wounds. Don’t need to pay someone to add more holes.”
She didn’t really know what to say to that so she said the first thing that came to mind, “I don’t have any either.”
“I’m aware.”
Of course. He’d seen every inch of her body. Sometimes the sighted forgot that she was blind and conversely, sometimes she forgot the sighted weren’t blind. She realized her window of opportunity for questions was closing so she needed to move on to less safe territory before he shut her down.
“What about your parents?” she asked, barely daring to breath.
“Don’t know who my father was and I doubt my mother ever knew either. She was a street prostitute. Dead now,” he said, his voice hard.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be,” he grunted. “She sold me when I was eight.”
Horror filled Addison. She tried not to let it show on her face, but she was never good at hiding her expressions. She tried to drop her face and curtain her expression with her hair, but he stopped her.
“Don’t,” he snapped, “do me the disservice of hiding your disgust.”
Her head snapped up and her eyes widened.
“Never,” she gasped. She flew out of her chair, dropping her wineglass onto the coffee table and going onto her knees in front of him.
He tried to move back so she couldn’t touch him.
So instead of touching him she simply pressed herself against the couch at his feet and looked up at him. “I could never feel disgust.”
“Don’t want your fucking pity either,” he snarled, catching her by the back of the head and shaking her like a rag doll.
“No, no!” she shook her head. “Look at me, look at my face. I can't hide from you Daniel. Tell me what my face says?”
She could feel his eyes on her, searching her face. He sighed heavily, his fingers easing their tense hold on her hair, “I don't know, Addison.”
She reached up and touched his leg gently. “It’s empathy, that’s all. I would never wish that fate on anyone, especially a kid. If you had the chance to save another kid from a similar fate, would you save them?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“Then you can feel empathy for that kid too,” she said softly. “Not pity or disgust. Just sorrow and pain.”
He didn’t say anything for a long time. She could feel his chest collapsing and expanding as he processed her simple words.
He was a tough man. The toughest she knew.
Heck, he was the toughest she could imagine.
He had buried those memories so deep they were never allowed to see the light of day.
Now, with her, he was taking the first tentative steps toward healing.
She felt him nod and his hand absently start to stroke a path from her head, down her back and up again. It felt really good.
“Ask your questions,” he said. “You’re running out of time.”
She smiled and racked her brain for more questions. He was right! She needed to take advantage of this unique opportunity. “How many languages can you speak?”
“Five fluently, three less fluently,” he admitted.
“Eight languages!” she gasped. “You could be an ambassador or something for the United Nations. That’s incredible, Daniel!”
He shrugged. “This pays a lot more.”
She glared up at him. “Or you could have a conscience and do something wonderful with those amazing skills of yours!”
He continued to run his hand up and down the length of her spine sending waves of tingles through her body, reminding her of how deprived she’d been without his touch these past weeks.
“How about you have enough conscience for both of us, baby, and I’ll protect our backs,” he murmured huskily, sinking further down into the couch so his hand couch reach down her back, closer to her ass.
“How many times have you been shot?” she asked.
He hesitated.
“You said I could ask anything,” she pouted.
“Four.”
“What!” she yelped, her hands flying up to his T-shirt. She’d felt the scars of bullet holes in his skin before, but she was usually so far gone in passion that she was in no position to be counting. Apparently not even to four.
“Two of them were the same incident,” he said, as though that made it better.
“Perfect,” she said sarcastically. “Would that be the time Tyson King saved your life?”
He tensed. “Claudia has a big mouth.”
She smirked. “Her fiancé has a big mouth first.”
“Brat.” He tapped her jaw lightly with his finger. “Yes, that would be North Korea. Not my favourite shithole.”
“Care to tell me about it?” she asked eagerly.
“No,” he said with finality, standing up and towering over her. He reached down and hauled her up by the armpits. She yelped as he tossed her over his shoulder and slapped her ass hard.
“Daniel!”
“Enough questions,” he growled and headed for the bedroom. “Haven’t had my tongue in that pussy for weeks. I’m fucking starving.”
She gasped as her pussy flooded with warmth at his words. She didn’t murmur a single word of protest as he tossed her down on her bed and began pulling clothes off of her. He was surprisingly gentle with her dress. She arched a brow at him.