Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Blue
Red leads me to my bedroom. His presence fills the space immediately, quiet but commanding, his attention sweeping the room in slow, measured lines.
I linger by the bed, arms wrapped tight around my middle, pressing the pin marks.
Pain throbs low and constant, tangled with a reckless surge of endorphins.
He shuts the bedroom door, and the metal clicks loud enough to echo in my chest. His slate-gray eyes darken, resting on me and creating a frenzy of butterflies that overpower the throb from my wounds.
The air feels different in my room. It's smaller, safer, and way too honest.
"You're shaking, Blue," he comments, not moving.
"I am?" I glance down and grip my hands together, trying to stop the tremors, but I can't. The air between us is too electric. His kisses still linger on my mouth, and now he's in my bedroom, agreeing to stay the night with me. I lick my lips then smile, adding, "I'm fine, Dr. Mercer."
He swallows hard, inhales deeply, releases it even slower, and scans the room. It's typical Red fashion, quiet and assessing, like he's cataloging exits and threats and risks. Then his gaze drops to the mattress.
The knife.
The pins.
Shame burns hot and fast up my spine. I tried not to do it.
I almost stopped myself, but then I convinced myself that only one would take away the urge.
After the first poke, the pain numbed my racing thoughts but only for a brief moment.
So I kept going, feeling a high on each deep prick that wore off faster and faster until the blood dripped across my stomach and I realized what I had done.
Red swiftly crosses the room, his dress shirt taut across his shoulders. He gathers them up with deliberate care, like they're fragile, not dangerous, and puts them away in a drawer across the room, out of sight and out of reach.
My throat tightens. I force a hint of lightness into my voice, trying to hide my embarrassment. "You're thorough."
Worry floods his expression. "We have to work on other ways to deal with your emotions."
I nod, my face heating. "I know. I'm sorry. I tried not to fail you."
He sighs. "You didn't fail me, Bluebird. And your health and safety are first and foremost for your own good, not mine or anyone else's."
Bluebird.
He still loves me even though I disappointed him.
"Okay." I lift my sweater and slowly tug it over my head, then shake my hair out. My heart beats wildly, and blood pumps viscously through my veins.
"What are you doing?" he asks, voice rough, eyes darting over my body.
I close the distance between us. I put my palm over his heart, happy to feel it thumping as hard as mine. "Am I hideous now?"
"Don't," he warns.
I tilt my head, widening my eyes. "Don't what, Dr. Mercer?"
He grabs my wrist and moves it off his chest. In a firm tone, he reiterates, "If I'm staying, nothing sexual is happening between us. If you can't agree and stick to your word, then I can't stay. Understand?"
My insides quiver, and my voice shakes. "So I am hideous?"
A sound drags from deep in his chest. "You know damn well you aren't."
Happiness shoots through me. I bat my eyes, lean closer, and kiss his hand.
"I'm firm on my boundaries," he threatens, releasing my wrist.
I step back and smile. "Okay, Red." I pull the covers down, then saunter around the bed, and slide into my side. I pat the space next to me. "Take off your clothes, get comfy, and I promise I'll obey you."
His eyes narrow.
Heat spreads through my chest. "You don't trust me?"
A half-laugh comes out before he catches it.
I keep my expression neutral. "I promise I won't cross your boundary."
He stares at me for another moment, then sits on the bed, his face away from me.
I wait several minutes, barely able to restrain myself from touching him, before I ask, "Why are you sitting there?"
"I'm debating."
"About what?"
"What do you think?"
I sit up and soften my tone. "Red, get comfy. I'm not going to rape you in your sleep. I promise."
He turns his head and pins his challenging gaze on mine.
"Don't I get some leeway? You came here to help me, so I'm safe tonight. I'm embarrassed enough. Can't I prove to you that I won't cross your boundary?" I plead.
His face relaxes. "Okay."
"Good. For the love of God, get comfy. Sleep is important, according to Dr. Mercer," I tease.
He arches his eyebrows, then a chuckle escapes his lips.
I clap. "And he does know how to laugh!"
His grin grows. "Do I really come across as if I don't know how to laugh?"
I shrug. "Sometimes. You're a pretty serious guy."
His face falls. "I deal with serious issues."
My jaw tightens. I blurt out, "The session hit harder than I expected."
His hand settles on my shoulder. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't realize I was pushing too much."
"It's not your fault. I...I just haven't talked about them leaving in a long time. Everything turned super loud in my head when I got home and was alone," I admit, feeling the shame and regret of giving in to my self-harm habits.
His thumb grazes my collarbone, and tingles shoot down my spine. "I'm glad you didn't hurt yourself worse."
Words scrape out of me. "I wanted to."
"I know," he says quietly, looking at me with more concern than anyone ever has pinned on me.
My chest shifts, sharp and fragile. I ramble, "Can you please get comfortable? It's making me anxious like you're going to leave. And I want to prove to you that I can respect your boundary and not cross the line even though I'm super tempted. I need to. Not just for you but for me."
His body stiffens. Torment and debate fill his expression.
"Please," I beg.
He finally rises, turns toward me, and unbuttons his shirt.
My throat turns dry, then waters. Every button he releases exposes more skin and his taut abs, turning my body into an inferno.
He releases his cuff links, then puts them on the nightstand. He shrugs out of his shirt and carefully lays it on my chair, his torso gleaming in the dim light of my bedroom.
"Now take off your pants," I rasp, my pulse skyrocketing, and adrenaline pounding just as quickly.
His jaw ticks.
"Let me prove to you how good a girl I can be for you," I murmur.
His Adam's apple bobs. He kicks off his shoes, then his hands move to his waist, removing his belt, then his pants. They fall to the floor with a thud, jarring a rush so intense, my core throbs, and dizziness hits me.
I sit against the headboard, dragging my eyes over his body, then landing on the bulge trying to escape his boxers. I joke, "I didn't think you were a tighty-whities kind of guy."
He chuckles so hard, his eyes water.
I laugh too, relieved to reduce some of the tension. When I calm down, I pat the bed. "Come on. Sleep is important. Doctor's orders!"
He cautiously slides beside me, keeping an inch between us.
I ask, "Can we at least cuddle?"
An internal debate flares across his sharp features.
"Just cuddle. Nothing else," I add.
"Nothing else?" he questions.
I shake my head and hold out my finger. "Pinky promise."
He grins, loops his pinky through mine, and shakes. "Okay."
"Thanks!" I kiss his cheek and dart under his arm, resting my head on his chest.
He slides down, his hand drapes over my hip, and I prop my leg over his.
"This is nice, right?" I press.
"Yeah, Bluebird."
Another rush hits me, and my face hurts from my smile. I inhale his scent, letting it fill my lungs until I can't take in any more. My shoulders ease an inch at a time.
The tension hums between us, quiet and alive, carried in the way his arm stays firm around me and the way my body fits perfectly against his.
I shift, testing the space, and his hold adjusts immediately, tighter at my waist, anchoring me. Flutters hit my core, and a soft whimper slips from my throat before I can stop it.
His mouth hovers near my ear. "Sleep."
I let out a breath that turns into a weak laugh. "Bossy."
His chest lifts under me, a low sound rumbling through it. His grip stays steady, and time blurs.
The drawer across the room with my knife and pins stays closed. My thoughts slowly untangle. The guilt over hurting myself lingers, sharp but contained, but it's held in place by the weight of his arm and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
My eyelids grow heavy. I fight it for a moment, then let my body sink fully into his.
His arm tightens once more, claiming the space around me for the night.
Sleep takes me, wrapped in his hold, suspended between restraint and want. Then morning arrives too fast, and a murmur intrudes on my sleep. "Wake up, Blue."
Consciousness returns in soft waves. Warmth presses along my back, solid and unmistakable, and my body registers it before my mind catches up.
An arm locks around my waist, heavy and protective.
Breath brushes the back of my neck, slow and controlled, sending a ripple through me that tightens low in my stomach.
My toes curl beneath the covers as awareness sharpens, and then I realize exactly who's behind me.
Red.
His body molds to mine, broad chest spanning my back, his thigh fitted snug between mine.
Something thick and unignorable presses against me, hard and hot, fitting perfectly into the curve of my ass.
My pulse stutters as I inhale, catching his scent, clean and masculine and familiar enough now to make my chest ache.
His mouth shifts against my skin, lips grazing the sensitive line beneath my ear before settling at the base of my neck. Teeth scrape lightly, not biting, just enough to draw a sharp inhale from me.
"Morning, Bluebird," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and restraint.
My fingers tighten on the pillow. "You're awake."