8. Chapter 8 #3
“You don’t belong to them anymore.”
“I know...” He says with a nod, but it’s stilted.
It’s almost as if even though he’s out of their reach, they still have some kind of hold on him, and I don’t like that.
Lance isn’t the kind of person that can thrive when caged, and if they still hold a key to parts of him, he’ll never actually be free.
I know that they still have his brother, but Maven already has an agreement to take him when he’s of age. Which is soon. Very soon.
“Do you?” I ask, raising a brow in an auspicious manner.
“Most days,” he admits hoarsely.
I nod in understanding, because I get that.
There are days I can’t let go of the person I was before.
I went through a lifetime of training and conditioning, and I don’t know that all of it will never fully go away.
There are those persistent parts that cling to me like leeches, despite me doing my best to leave all of it behind.
I’ve been here for years, and I still struggle sometimes, so I can’t fault him for the parts of his past that he isn’t able to let go of yet or can’t let go of.
Recognition washes over his face, realizing that I understand his struggle better than most. I reach a hand out for him, not entirely sure if it’s more for his benefit or mine. “Come here.”
He quickly shakes his head, denying me, before reaching down and snatching up his pants.
He shoves his legs back into them, and all I can do is watch in a stunned daze.
He keeps defying everything I want, everything I say, and it’s driving me bat-shit-crazy.
I’m not used to people opposing my orders, and it feels like he’s being bratty just because he knows that it pisses me off.
I don’t necessarily hate, in fact, I kind of admire that he’s doesn’t cave to my every whim the way most people do.
Maybe the pushback Lance gives me is what intrigued me so much from the very beginning.
Once he pulls his shirt back on, I reach out for him again, letting him know that my affection wasn’t conditional or dependent on the state of his undress.
I just want to feel close to him and show him that it’s safe to be vulnerable with me.
He looks me in the eyes before reluctantly accepting my hand.
I pull him down on top of me. His eyes scouring every inch of my face for something.
What, I’m not sure, but I can’t tear my eyes away from his lips.
He pulls the bottom one between his teeth before pushing out the barbell in his tongue and running it back and forth.
That fucking thing is going to be the death of me.
I don’t even think before I start speaking. I don’t give myself time to consider how Lance might react to my words, or how his reaction will make me feel either. I just blurt out the stupidest thing in existence. “Can I kiss you?”
His brows furrow and he pushes against my chest, trying to stand up. I wrap my hands around his waist and tug him back toward me. “It was just a question, Lance. It’s okay to say no.” It’s a hit to my ego, but I want him to have the power here. I need him to. I think I’ve had it long enough.
“No. Absolutely not. Definitely not. I don’t kiss.“ He says as he shakes his head.
“Why?” I ask, purely out of curiosity.
“It’s too personal. Too close.”
I know exactly how he feels, because I’m normally the same way.
It’s extremely intimate, and I only ever do it when I’m craving something other than just physical affection.
Which, to be honest, is so rare that I can hardly recall the last time it happened.
I’m not really sure why I asked for it to begin with.
Why I’m even craving his lips. Having Lance this close to me feels right, and I guess I just thought that…
I don’t even know. It just seemed so natural, so necessary, that I didn’t even think about it.
I’m lucky that I had the decorum to ask for his permission first.
“It doesn’t have to be that way. You can make it into anything you want, Lance.”
“Maybe I want it to be special.“ His words drip with the sarcasm and sass that I’m used to, so I smirk at him.
“Is that so?” I ask as I brush a stray piece of hair from his face. He moves away from my hand instinctively, and as much as I want to be irritated, I don’t really think he’s doing it because it’s me. I just think that Lance has a problem being touched in general.
“How am I supposed to teach you anything if you won’t even let me touch you? Or kiss you?”
He’s opened up a lot today, given me a lot, and he’s clearly getting uncomfortable, so this time when he goes to pull away, I let him. He pushes to his feet, so I casually get up and move back to my chair to give him some space.
“I’m sure that you can figure something out,” he says distractedly as he brushes at the wrinkles in his shirt again.
This whole situation is starting to feel like some divine gift. I’ve craved Lance for far too long, and now…
Now, I get to have exactly what I wanted.