With You: With you, I am who I want to be.

by Jensen Kristyne

  Fuck.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I sound like fucking Wes when he smokes too much pot—a master of contemplating even the most minute of details. I roll my eyes. At least my high school English teacher would be impressed.

  I look up when I feel Brielle’s fingers stop moving, and to my surprise, she’s watching me. The dark green of her eyes hold my full attention as she moves to straddle my waist. Her hips slowly lower down until her body is flush with mine. Her bare sex teases my cock when I think about the fact that the only thing keeping me from filling her is the thin layer my fucking sweatpants provide.

  Jesus. This girl may be innocent around everyone else, but with me she definitely likes to play with fire—something I'll gladly endure.

  "Brielle, wait." I hold my breath.

  My fists are clenching as I try to fight the effect she has over me. I’m losing. It’s not that I don't want her because I do . . . want her. I just don't know what would happen if I lost her again.

  "I need you to know," I tell her, trying to make sure I choose my words carefully, "I want to do the right thing here and take it slow. But I’m weak and, selfishly, I can't resist you." I pause and release another long breath. "So I’m leaving it up to you to tell me what to do. I could never live with myself if I hurt you."

  I can feel my heartbeat pounding against my chest as I rise up on my elbows just so I can be closer to her. I let my eyes drift up to her mouth, as she sucks in her bottom lip and bites it. Her emerald eyes are daring me under thick lashes to make a move.

  Damn it.

  Is she teasing me?

  That's not helping either, baby.

  "Can I ask you a question now?” She smiles sweetly, and I nod my head. “Can I touch you?" she whispers. Her hands hover over the waistband of my sweatpants.

  I can barely nod yes, while I try to wrap the idea around my mind that this is actually happening. "Y-Yes, please," I practically beg her, then roll my eyes, annoyed, when I hear how needy I sound. I clear my throat. "I mean . . . do you, um . . . do you want me to show you how?"

  She answers me with a kiss as her body leans down, closing the gap between us. I push up further on my elbows, wanting more. My tongue teases the far corners of her mouth as I pull her to lie beside me.

  Her hands travel down my pecs with a featherlike touch while she uses the pads of her fingers to skim the skin. I inhale a sharp breath when she curiously treads the ridges of old wounds and circles them. Damn it. Please, don't ask. The thought of trudging up all my buried secrets in one night is daunting.

  "What happened here?"

  Fuck. I half laugh. I can't seem to catch a break.

  "Which one?" I ask honestly, focusing on her, waiting for the fear to build behind her eyes. For most girls—the ones like Katrina—my history is usually a turn-on. But because of who Brielle is, I wouldn't blame her if she ran away.

  "Are these all from him?" she asks, her words soft, gentle, and knowing.

  I cut my eyes away when it all starts to hit too close to home. I buried this shit for a reason. I want to tell her but I can't. "Some, yeah." I keep my head turned, not wanting to witness the horrified look she has to be wearing, when I'm jolted. The feel of her lips lightly pressing against my skin, catches me off guard.

  I watch her with a muted sense of shock. Why the hell isn't she running?

  "Brielle, are you sure about this?" I feel the need to ask again, if only just so I could hear it. Her fingers are now trailing the lines of my tattoos.

  "I don't need you to protect me, Theo,” she offers after a moment. "I want you. I always have. I still. . ."

  Still what? I feel my heart stop.

  Then finally, she says, "I still care about you, Theo."

  I lean back slightly at her response while reaching a hand out to brush a long strand of her hair that has gone awry. "Trust me," I whisper. I’m more serious than I have ever been. "A girl like you needs protection."

  "From who? You? Your dad?"

  "Yes, Brielle, my father is fucking insane."

  She pulls back and bites her lip. "Should I be scared of you, Theo? Honestly?" I hear the hidden meaning ringing behind her words.

  I want to tell her no and that I'd rather die than let anything hurt her, but people who live in my father’s world rarely have their happy ending. Why should I be any different? The truth is, I am the one who wrecks other people’s happiness—the one my father sends in when he needs to make a point.

  There it is. . . the issue that started it all. The one, we’ll never agree upon, and the one, undeniable truth that will never allow us to be together. If I can't promise her safety on top of everything else, I don’t deserve her.

  "Yes," I say, my breath ragged and uneven. I draw in a deep breath in an attempt to steady the sudden rise of my pulse before I continue, "You should be very scared."

  chapter twenty-three

  BRIELLE

  I hear the light click on before I realize I’m no longer alone. "Brielle?" Theo squirms hazily as he blinks his eyes over to where I’m sitting at the kitchen bar. His hair is mussed up and his voice scratchy. God, he's handsome. "What are you doing awake?"

  My cheeks burn when my eyes adjust, and I see that he's wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers. The hard muscles of his chest and biceps flex as he rubs a hand across his face. The labyrinth of black-inked tattoos, which cover a wide range of his upper torso, draw my attention. You should be very scared, his warning echoes in the back of my mind.

  I press my hands against my thighs and sit up. The long, black T-shirt he gave me to sleep in is loose and hangs just above my knees, the soft, cotton twisting under me as I cross my legs under the stool.

  "I. . . ugh. . . I couldn’t sleep." The insomnia is probably my mind’s way of trying to make sense of everything that’s happened today.

  I pinch a handful of my T-shirt’s neckline and raise it up to my nose, breathing in the smell of his cologne. I’ve missed it. It's the only thing about him that hasn't changed. The strong tones of mint and newly upholstered leather. It fills me with a sense of comfort and familiarity from memories we share that feel like a lifetime ago.

  "Brielle, it's three in the morning."

  I toss my eyes to the side of the room. “Wow! Handsome, rude, and he tells the time too.” I roll my lips over the top of each other before adding, “Lucky me.”

  Theo strolls to the fridge, pulling it open. His hand instinctively reaches for the milk. He shuts the fridge door and heads to a cabinet directly to the right. "Funny. Would you like anything?"

  "No, thank you." I smile, raising my mug. The warm ceramic is calming my nerves. I watch him pour half a glass before capping the milk and returning it to the fridge. "Why are you up?" I ask and sip some more of my tea, thankful that he had enough sense to stock the good kind of chamomile—my favorite, Twining’s.

  Should I be scared? I allow myself a second to think about it all over again. But like before, I arrive at the same conclusion. It just doesn't make any sense. I know Theo; I know he would never hurt me. When I'm with him, it’s like being able to breathe after drowning for so long. Even with this new side—darker and ruder—he makes me feel wanted.

  He closes the fridge, ripping me from my inner thoughts, then walks around the island to join me. "I. . . ugh—" He laughs and rubs his hand against the back of his neck. "I actually couldn't sleep either. I hate where we left things."

  I sigh, flipping my hair to the side. I wasn’t expecting him to actually answer me.

  He sets the glass down, his index finger skimming the rim. "I haven’t told anyone this, not even Wes, but I came back to Elm Brook a few years ago. It was my Sophomore year at Texas Tech—I screwed up, and let my father talk me into doing something to someone who . . . who didn’t deserve it. After that, I just needed to see you, even if it was only for a second, but you weren’t home.”

  “Theo, what are you—”

  He raises his hand to halt my word
s. “The point is that I left, and your life turned out the better for it. So it’s easy for me to think that everything would be a whole hell of a lot easier if I could just walk away. But I . . . I don't think I can." He pushes a hand through his hair before he edges the glass further up the counter, twisting his stool toward me as he does. "I would never do anything to hurt you, but I can’t sit here and look you in the eye and tell you that nothing will ever happen. My world is—the thought of anyone hurting you—"

  "You mean because of your dad?"

  "No. I mean me." He pauses. His expression is neutral. “My father is a lawless prick. But you don’t know the things I’ve done since I left. Terrible things.”

  I freeze when memories of a bruised and beaten Theo, stumbling into my family’s house after another fight with his dad, floods my mind. I cringe, remembering how old some of those scars were. My heart is breaking for a young, Theo who was forced to live with someone so cruel.

  "Theo." My face fills with concern before I set down my mug. My hands still warm as I reach out and brush my fingers over the three small scars lining the right side of his collarbone. He shivers under my touch. "I remember these now. You got them just after that baseball game with Denton High.”

  I inhale a slow, deep breath, feeling the tears beginning to well up behind my eyes. I was the first one to find him—drunk and asleep, curled up outside on our trampoline. He’d been beaten and was bleeding. The image of him lying there stirs emotions I haven't felt in a very long time. "I can understand if you’re concerned about your father, but I know you’d never hurt me."

  Recognition flashes across Theo’s face and he stills. "I can handle my dad. What I can’t handle is the idea of something happening to you."

  “I’m stronger than you think.”

  I pinch my eyes shut and start to pull my hand away. But in one, quick motion, he grabs ahold of it and laces his fingers over my wrist. My heart sinks. "W-What are you doing?" I ask when I notice he's staring at me. He licks his lips.

  "Nothing, just . . . come here."

  I hear the hitch in my breath, when I feel his fingers pressing into my skin as he moves his hands up the sides of my legs. The hem of the shirt I’m wearing slides up my thighs while he raises it. His hands reach down to cup my bottom.

  In a matter of seconds, he lifts me onto his lap. His hands slowly move up to my waist as his thumbs rub small circles along my bare stomach. "I love your body," he whispers against my neck. His words are shaky, as I feel a part of him slowly begin to harden beneath me.

  I flush and look away. How is it that Theo and I manage to go from arguing one minute to my straddling him the next?

  "You do?" I mumble and lean into his kiss.

  I close my eyes and give in to the feeling, when he pushes a hand into my hair and pulls my mouth back down to his. His lips close over mine, claiming me as he teases a series of playful kisses with his tongue until we're both left panting and wanting more.

  I rock my hips against him and moan.

  "Hold on to me, baby," he mumbles. His hands move under my butt as we slide off his stool and he stands. I wrap my arms around his neck and lean into him before he heads towards the staircase.

  “Wait, Theo, what about your—”

  "Kiss me." he groans, taking two steps at a time as he ascends the stairs.

  We come up to his room, and I can feel his hesitation as his hands slowly release me. My body slides down the front of him. I feel his erection press into my stomach and my heart stumbles. "Are you sure about this?" He breaks away from kissing me. His voice is ragged, and a hunger burns behind his eyes.

  "No. I mean, yes." A smile plays along my lips. "I mean, I want you. But I . . . maybe we should—"

  I giggle when all of a sudden, Theo opens the door, scooping me into his arms and carrying me into the room.

  "Welcome back." He chuckles as we fall onto his bed. My legs wrapping around his waist as I pull him to me. He presses against me, and I feel the muscles in my stomach clench.

  He knots his fingers in the base of my shirt and moans. The feeling of his boxers’ soft fabric rubbing against my body is heavenly, causing me to arch my back.

  "Lift your arms, baby. I want to see you."

  I nod and sit up, raising my arms above my head. Without any hesitation, Theo grips the bottom of the shirt and removes it. "Fuck, Brielle." He inhales a sharp breath, sucking his bottom lip as his eyes hungrily wander over my body while I lie sprawled out in nothing but a thong. "You're going to be the death of me."

  I blush, feeling my cheeks heat to an uncomfortable degree. My heart is racing as I stare up at him. I love the wayTheo sees me. It somehow makes knowing that he's been with other women a little easier to swallow.

  “Wh- what happens next?”

  With his knee, Theo edges my legs apart. His hands travel up my waist. “Well, at the moment, I’d like to keep kissing you.” He flashes a wide grin.

  “And after?”

  I gasp when I feel his teeth graze over my collarbone. “And after that, I think we should both try to get some sleep.”

  Wait. What?

  “So, you . . . I mean, we. . . we’re not going to—”

  Theo brings his mouth to mine and kisses me. He waits for permission before he deepens the kiss, his fingers smoothing their way up to cup my breast. “I have five years to make up for. But all of that can wait until you’re ready.”

  chapter twenty-four

  BRIELLE

  I wake up to the sun in my face and Theo's arms draped across my waist. Squinting in the direction of the light, I find that the curtains have been drawn back, revealing a beautiful floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the pond and gardens. A view to buy a house for, I remember Theo’s story from last night. The thought slightly taints this moment as I think about how hard it must have been for the previous owner’s wife.

  I know from experience how hard it is to be cheated on. I can’t even imagine how hard it would have been to watch the affair going on and not be able to do anything about it. She deserved better.

  Theo squirms when I sit up and scoot off the bed, but he doesn't wake up. My toes brush the carpet, and I’m thankful that the bedrooms are the only places that don’t have hardwood floors—something I found out last night before I ended up in the kitchen.

  I move to the window to get a closer look, sucking in a sharp breath as I sweep my eyes over the landscape. The gorgeous trees and rolling hills beyond the gardens make for an incredible sight. But it doesn't take long before a large farmhouse-styled table catches my eye; the far end of it is set up for two. Delicate looking ivory plates with navy chargers, hand-rolled linen napkins, and silver-lined cups adorn the table. It's extravagant, sure, but beautifully arranged.

  I roll my eyes at the lifestyle Theo lives, which I never knew about. I cut my eyes over to him in bed, and as always, I notice his tousled hair. I mean, I know his family is from old money. But still. This is . . . unexpected. No wonder Katrina is so obsessed with him. This looks like the type of luxury she’s used to having and raised to expect.

  I notice the huge selection of breakfast choices neatly arranged along the center of the table and my stomach growls. My mind is already planning what I’m going to devour first, when Theo's phone buzzes to life on the nightstand. I quickly pad over to it and silence it. After everything he went through yesterday, he deserves to sleep in a little longer.

  I sit down on the bed, my fingers clutching his phone, when I think about all the things in Theo's life that I don't understand. All those other scars he bears—most of them, in some way, because of his father. It’s no wonder he’s so guarded.

  I turn my head to the side and stare down at his knuckles; the light spray of bruising and the harsh, jagged lines where his skin tore looks irritated. "I need answers," I whisper, waiting for a response that will never come. I curl my hand around the other. "I still love you."

  Theo straightens out, and I fear he's heard me, but his soft snores
set my mind at ease. Oh shoot! I mentally say, when the sheet is tugged down and I can see his bandage is bloody. It’s not enough to be alarming, but I hate seeing it at all. This is all my fault. He’s hurt right now because of me. I cringe, thinking back to everything that he’s done, which I should have known better than to let him—like carrying me when I have two perfectly good feet. But that's the problem with us. When we’re together, we forget ourselves.

  I cut my eyes to the bedroom door and decide I should grab the medical kit. Standing up, I walk toward the door. My fingers brush the cool metal of the doorknob, when I hear rustling on the bed. Theo wakes up, groaning, and slowly slides up to sit back against the headboard. "Are you running out on me?" He laughs, shaking his head.

  "No." I smile, seeing that playful grin stretching along his lips. My body is already moving toward him, before I even realize I’ve turned around. "I was just going to grab my clothes. I figured your T-shirt probably isn’t the most appropriate attire for breakfast with his majesty," I tease. My fingers pulling at the bottom of my shirt.

  Theo tilts his head and rolls his eyes. "I think I’m missing something here." He shakes his head again. "But if you’re saying that you want to be my queen . . ."

  "I’m also going to grab the medical kit. You’re bleeding." My index finger points to the bandages along his side, red-soaked and loose. "You shouldn't have carried me last night; you probably tore something."

  "But I gained so much more." He laughs. He reaches out to me. "Come here," He pauses, leaning forward to grab me by my hips and pull me to him. My legs encircle his torso as I settle on top of his lap. "Proper breakfast attire, huh? I can help you with that because, in my opinion, you’re definitely wearing far too much.”