Three
Candace
When he told me to be a good girl, a flutter erupted in my middle and startled me.
Honestly, it shouldn’t have. I’d been getting those butterflies for years. They shamed me and scared me. A long time ago, after I’d seen my babysitter’s boyfriend abuse her, she’d made me promise to always be strong, to never let a guy push me around. And Pax… He did. He overruled all my thoughts whenever we were in an intimate situation—a circumstance I avoided like Ebola. His dominance made me hot and turned my skin prickly. With a few words, he could have my thighs clenching, but then I’d remember my reactions weren’t right. Because I was a strong independent woman.
And there I was, in a dark motel room, shoveling trail mix into my mouth like a good girl.
Why did I want to be that for him?
“They had some of these for guests at the lobby’s coffee counter. The coffee looked questionable, but I know you like these things.” He edged a plastic wrapped tree cake toward me.
My mouth watered as I stared at it. “They’re my favorite. I only have them once during Christmas.”
“So I’m not the only thing you compartmentalize and deny yourself then? Good to know.”
“Oh my God,” I gasped, annoyed. “Pax.”
“Candy,” he mocked in the same tone.
“It’s Candace, ” I gritted through my teeth.
“Not to me.”
“You’re so annoying. I don’t know what you want from me,” I said exasperated.
“Yes, you do. And you want it just as badly. I’m warning you, though, I’m done.”
My heart fell down to my icy toes. I couldn’t explain why. Well, I could, but I didn’t want to admit the reason. I should want him to be done, as he said, and to leave me alone. It’s what I’d wanted all this time, right? My body screamed otherwise, my chest going tight and my eyes burning.
“Okay,” I rasped. I carefully folded shut the open end of my half-eaten trail mix packet and set it on the side table along with the water he’d given me. I didn’t touch the sugary cake he’d pushed over to me.
I grabbed for one of the extra blankets to wrap around me, but Pax stopped me, his firm warm fingers around my wrist. “You need to eat more than that.”
“I…” I shook my head, not wanting to explain I might as well eat sawdust as it would taste the same and settle just as well in my roiling stomach. “No. I’m…good.”
There was a rustling as he moved the horde of food onto the table on his side of the bed. I thought he’d leave me alone to wrap up in a cover and turn away from him, to pretend to sleep. But suddenly, he rolled me onto my back, under him, our legs tangled and our faces inches apart, with his hands pinning mine on either side of my head. I could just barely make out his stern features in the shadows, his body blocking out the minimal light from his phone. Still, his blue eyes seemed to glint while he stared down at me.
“No, you’re not good. You’re naughty. Very naughty. And maybe, Santa needs to do something about that.”
“Santa? What? I don’t understand. I thought…thought…”
“Thought what?” he demanded quietly.
His lips brushed over mine in the sweetest of featherlight caresses, a touch so diametrically opposite of how he could absolutely wreck me.
“But… That… But…” I stammered.
“You know what I think?” he interrupted. “The highway closing is a blessing. I’ve had months to figure out how to get us here—in a bed together, just not in this specific bed. But together. Horizontal. On a mattress.”
“But you said…we’re done,” I protested, my brain fuzzy with a need for him that always disoriented me around him. It overpowered everything when we were this close.
His head shook slightly as he stared at me.
“No…” he replied slowly. “I said I’m done. I’m done letting you go, baby girl. I’m done with the hundreds of fucking lonely nights. I’m done stealing minutes with you when you should be with me every day.”
I swiveled my head back and forth, trying to be strong. “No…I…”
“Yes. I know you’re scared. I know it’s intense between us. Do I scare you? Have I hurt you?”
“No, never,” I gasped before I could temper my shocked reaction over him thinking that. “No, it’s not y—”
His hand covered my mouth. “Please don’t say It’s not you, it’s me. Clearly, you do think it’s me. I’ve already heard you say you hate me too many times.”
I huffed a sigh, my warm breath dampening the palm over my lips. Saying I hated him was a lot easier than saying I wanted to be with him. That I wanted to be anything he needed me to be. That I wanted to let him hold me down or control me whenever we had sex.
I couldn’t admit any of that. So I lied about my feelings. To other people. To myself. The more I said I hated him the more I could make myself believe it. Right? Maybe?
So far it hadn’t happened.
“Do you hate me?” he asked in a hushed voice, a thread of vulnerability barely detectable in the question. I knew him well enough to hear it, though.
I stared at him. A lie would push him away. The truth would… I wasn’t sure what the truth would do, but I couldn’t hurt him, even if it hurt me.
My head shook. “No.”
“But you’re scare of me?”
“I said I’m not.”
“Then what?” he demanded.
“I’m not scared of you . I’m scared of who I am with you. I’m scared of being what you need.”
“I just need you to be you, ” he vowed, his hand grasping my chin and keeping me looking at him.
“That’s not true. You need—”
His hand tightened on my chin, and his lips crashed over mine, stealing my words as he pillaged my mouth, plundering with his tongue and demanding the very responses I’d just confessed to fearing. But I couldn’t stop my moan or the way I arched into him, my fingers grasping his biceps, and giving him just what he wanted. Like always.